Title: What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: JAG

Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer

Rating: NC-17

Email address: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Disclaimer: Not mine. I should be so lucky! And the universe in which they
are living belongs to Gail.

Status: New/Complete

Date: 5/01

Series/Sequel: not this time around

Other Web Site: https://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Archive: Sure, why not. You know the drill: I send to you, you archive!

Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and Clayton Webb is about to spend it alone.
Until something else comes up.

Warnings: m/m, song lyrics

Notes: Gail devised a place where Clark Palmer was able to leave the DSD and
become part of Clayton Webb's world. He likes being there; they *both* like
him being there. I'm not about to tell them he can't stay. Thanks to Gail for
helping me get these two straight. And to Silk for the ideas that grow out of
brainstorming sessions.

*****

What are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Part 1

"Maybe it's much too early in the game,
"Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same,
"What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?"

Clayton Webb looked out the window of his office. The skies were a gun metal
gray; the threat of snow was ominously hovering over the District.

His spirits were as dismal as the view before him. The Christmas holidays
always left him depressed. And by the time New Year's rolled around, he was
fit only to cut his own throat.

For days now, he had been considering his associate, Clark Palmer, late of
the DSD. He'd been considering him under him, in his bed, on his knees.

How that came about, he had no idea. He had to assume it had to do with the
season. But he wanted him, and he jerked off nights thinking of him.

He sighed and rose from his desk to walk to the window. Condensation was
beading on the glass, streaking it like tears. Clay leaned his forehead
against the cool pane and closed his eyes. He was going to spend this New
Year's Eve alone. Usually he spent it at the luxurious home his mother kept,
but this year she had made it plain that while she would welcome him on New
Year's Day, the evening preceding it she had plans that did not include him.

If he had known earlier in the week, he would have asked Clark to save an
hour for a drink with him. But how could he ask him now?

A light tap on the door drew him out of his introspection. "Come."

Clark Palmer poked his head around the opening. //Oh, yes, I'd really like to
do that with you!// Palmer thought to himself.

His face remained bland. His trainers at the DSD would have approved; he
revealed nothing of how he was feeling.

"It's after seven, Webb. You about ready to go home?"

Clayton glanced at his wristwatch. "You go ahead, Palmer. I've got some loose
ends that need tying."

Clark came further into the office, settling a hip on the senior agent's
desk. "C'mon, Webb. It's New Year's fucking Eve! Nothing needs to be done
that can't wait until after the First."

"Are you telling me what to do?" The words were challenging, but the tone was
mild.

Palmer grinned. "Yeah, I guess I am. You gonna do anything about it?" //I
hope!!//

To the other agent's surprise, Clayton Webb seemed to surrender without a
fight. "You're right, Palmer." He shut down his computer and went to the
closet to retrieve the jacket and overcoat he had placed in there earlier.
"Happy New Year, Clark."

Clark Palmer felt his cock swell and harden, and he licked his lips. Clay had
called him by his first name!

He fell into step behind the shorter man. "You have any plans for tonight,
Clay?" He was taking a chance calling his superior by name.

"You said yourself, it's New Year's *fucking* Eve. Did you think it likely
that I'd have nothing lined up?"

Palmer felt disappoint wash over him, but he was careful to reveal nothing of
what he was feeling. "No, sir. Of course not. I just thought that if you
weren't busy, you might have a drink with me. Just to welcome in the new
year."

Having a drink with Clark Palmer was not a good idea. Especially considering
the way his libido had been running wild lately. His mind had been filled
with visions of the former DSD agent on his knees before him, swallowing his
cock, or on his back with his legs pulled so far back that if it happened in
real life Palmer would have to be in serious pain.

But what the hell? It was the silly season, when people did things they
normally wouldn't dream of doing.

And having a drink with Palmer beat hell out of his original plan, which was
to spend the night in his townhouse getting quietly drunk.

"Did you have some place in mind, Clark?"

The smile that rewarded him was so brilliant his breath caught and his cock
quivered, and just the tiniest drop of precome dampened his shorts.

"You bet!"

*****

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Part 2

"Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight,
"When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night?
"Welcoming in the New Years, New Year's Eve?"

****

They left the building. A dusting of snow was covering the sidewalk, and
there would be major difficulties for the DC police later that night when the
revelers tried driving home on it.

The two men walked in silence, Clark wanting desperately to start a
conversation, but not knowing what to say.

//Large weather we've been having lately?//

//How about those Redskins?//

//What are the odds you'll fuck me tonight?//

Instead, he glanced over at the shorter man, his mouth opened to say
something, and found Clayton watching him. He had never seen that look
before. Not directed at him, anyway. Was it possible that his superior's
thoughts were running in the same direction as his?

And then reality reached back to kick him in the ass. Was he out of his mind?
Of course Clay's thoughts weren't going there. He was the senior member of
this partnership, and Clark would do well to remember that little fact.

But oh, those fine lips did have him wondering what they would feel like
against his.

****

Clark led Clay to the little pub he had chosen for their drink. It was cozy,
and dimly lit and frequented by only a select few who knew of it. He reached
around Clay's body to open the door.

And a wall of noise washed out to engulf them. What the...?

Of course. New Year's Eve. Even this place was hopping with those who were
getting an early start to their celebrating.

Clay leaned back and shouted into Clark's ear, "This is too noisy for me."

Glumly, the former DSD agent nodded his agreement and sighed. Well, there
went his plans for a quiet drink. "Sorry, Clay. I didn't realize the Six Nine
would be so crowded." He turned to walk away. "Maybe we can do this another
time."

"I'd like to do it tonight, Clark."

Did Clay *know* how inviting that sounded, the other man wondered?

"A drink, Clark. I'd like that drink!"

"Sure, Clay. I knew that! I'm afraid every place is going to be mobbed
tonight."

"How about your place then, Clark?"

Palmer couldn't answer. He swallowed, and swallowed again, finally settling
for a simple nod.

*He was taking Clayton Webb home*!

With a groan, he stopped dead in the middle of the street. It was so abrupt
that Webb couldn't prevent himself from walking into his junior agent.

"Problem, Clark?"

//Other than your hard on in my back pocket?// Clark was amazed at the idea
that he might be the object of his superior's desire. He looked at him
blankly, having completely lost his train of thought.

"Clark! Is there a problem with me going home with you?"

"Uh, the place is a mess?"

Webb continued gazing at him. Hazel eyes more green than brown bored into
hazel eyes more brown than green. Finally, Clark turned away.

"I find that rather surprising, Clark."

"What, that I haven't finished unpacking?"

"No. I could believe that, if I thought that was the truth. You're
exceptionally neat at work. And you've been in your apartment for almost a
year."

"How did you know that? It's not on my files at the Company when I moved
there!"

A lazy smile parted the shorter man's lips. Clark wanted to nudge them
further apart and slide his tongue into that mouth.

"Let's just say I have my ways."

"You sound like a really bad spy movie! Come on, it's getting cold out here."

Palmer turned on his heel and started back to the underground garage that
protected their cars from the weather. Webb fell into step beside him.

"I'll drive slow, so you can follow me, all right?" Clark asked, pulling his
remote from his pocket. His thumb froze over the button as he saw Clay
waiting patiently at the passenger door.

"Why don't I just go with you, so you won't have to worry about me getting
lost, hmm?"

Clark licked his lips. "I'm going to be honest with you, Webb. If you ride
home with me, I won't be driving you back here until tomorrow morning. Maybe
not even until tomorrow night."

"And maybe not even then?" Clay smiled. "All right." He got in the car.

Clark got behind the steering wheel and put the key in the ignition. An
easy-listening station was playing holiday music.

"Maybe it's much too early in the game,

"Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same,

"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

Clay slid over until his thigh was brushing the taller man's.

"What are we doing to welcome in the New Year, Clark?"

The tall agent spared a glance at the traffic light, which was red, and
moaned under his breath. He turned his head and captured his associate's lips
in a tentative kiss. His eyes were opened and so were Clay's.

"When we get to my place, I'm going to make sure I kiss you till your eyes
cross!"

"Big talk, for a subordinate! Why don't you talk dirty to me and see if you
can make me come?"

Clark's lips barely parted in a smile. "Think I couldn't do it, CIA man?"

Webb settled deeper into the seat and spread his legs comfortably. "Go for
it, DSD man!"

*****

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Part 3

"Maybe I'm crazy to suppose
"I'd ever be the one you chose
"Out of a thousand invitations you'd receive."

****

"When we get back to my place, I'll take your coat and hang it up."

"Thanks, I appreciate the thought."

"Don't interrupt! Then I'll pour you a drink. A brandy, I think."

"For New Year's Eve, Clark? I always have..."

"Doesn't matter, we're starting our own traditions here!"

Clay was suddenly, seriously hard! He cleared his throat.

"I think a fire would be nice, especially on a cold night like tonight. So
I'll start one." Clark slanted a glance at the other man. "In you."

Surreptitiously, Clay ran a hand over the front of his trousers. "Oh, yes?"
He tried to keep his tone disinterested.

"I have a rug in my living room that I've been dreaming of having you on.
While you're sipping at your brandy, I'm going to be undoing your tie, and
then unbuttoning your shirt. How responsive are your nipples, Clay? Do you
like getting them licked? Or would you rather I rolled them between my thumb
and forefinger, and maybe tugged on them a little?"

Realizing the former DSD agent was better at this than he had given him
credit for, Clayton Webb straightened in his seat and crossed his legs,
hoping that would contain some of the pressure he could feel building.

"Then I'm going to leave your shirt hanging open, and start working on your
belt. I'm going to open it, and then unbutton your trousers and just ... kind
of run my thumb nail over the zipper."

Clay looked out the window of the sedate sedan, wondering if it was his
imagination, or if the windows really were fogging up.

"Know something, Clayton? I've been dreaming of sucking your cock. I'd tease
myself, every time I'd have to go into your office. 'What would he think if I
just dropped to my knees and started going down on him?' I'd ask myself, over
and over. Do you have any idea how many times I'd have to go to the men's
room and jerk off, because I wanted you so badly?"

"Do you really think I care, Clark?" But Webb's voice was filled with
tension, and the former DSD agent could hear it clearly. He smiled as he
drove carefully through streets that were becoming more snow-covered by the
minute.

"Don't you, Clay? And what would you like to do to me?"

"Well, unlike you, Clark, I was brought up to be a gentlemen. I take my dates
out to dinner. I buy them expensive wines. I..."

"Would I be a date, Clay? Would you wine me, dine me? And then sixty-nine me?
Tell me you want me to fuck your mouth as much as I want that from you!"

Clay would have spouted a flippant remark, but it dawned on him the very big
chance his subordinate was taking. Palmer could be booted from the CIA, from
the entire intelligence community if this information ever got out. And
suddenly, he didn't want to play any more.

"Yes, Clark," he said, utterly serious. "I want that. I want everything
you've been describing to me tonight. I asked what we would do to welcome in
the new year, but I never told you what I would like."

Clark glanced at the man seated beside him. "What would you like, Clay?"

"When that ball in Times Square starts sliding down, I want to be buried
balls deep in your ass. I want to be coming, I want *you* to be coming, as
everyone screams 'Happy New Year!'"

*****

Note: A&E is the Arts and Entertainment Network, which airs a new biography
every week night. Lats-latisimus dorsi-muscles of the back

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Part 4/End

"Ah, but in case I stand one little chance,
"Here comes the jackpot question in advance,
"What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?"

****

It wasn't a real fireplace, just one of those faux things that had fake logs
and an electric element behind them. It looked good, but gave off no heat.

But on the floor in front of it was a plush brown rug, the pile so deeply
luxurious it felt as if he could sink into it and be swallowed whole. Unable
to resist, Clayton Webb toed off his wingtips and stripped off his socks,
then walked onto it, flexing his toes in its softness.

As he promised, Clark Palmer carefully hung the senior agent's coat in his
hall closet. Unobtrusively, he slipped something into the pocket and then
closed the door. He'd let Clay discover the key to his apartment on his own.

Webb's curiosity drew him away from the rug, and he carefully examined his
associate's spare living room. Aside from the fake fireplace, all the room
contained was a comfortable-looking couch and a twenty-seven inch TV-VCR
combo that sat on a neat corner TV stand.

He squatted down before it and examined the tapes that were neatly labeled
and stacked in date order. When he stood again, it was to find Palmer so
close to him he could see the small nick where his razor caught him that
morning. Those hazel eyes lingered on Webb's lips, and they began to tingle.

"Biographies, Clark?"

"Hmmm? Yeah, I like A&E." The taller man was crowding his superior, letting
him feel the arousal that was pressing relentlessly against the front of his
trousers, demanding to be set free. 

"But...*Santa Claus*, Clark?" But the smile on his face was accepting.

The taller man slid his arms around the compact body in front of him. "I
could tell you he's an honest-to-God historical figure."

"Yes, you could." Clay leaned into the embrace and raised his hand to stroke
the curve of Clark's cheek. "I wouldn't believe that's why you taped it and
kept the copy, though."

"You wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't. Clark. Do me a favor. Shut up and kiss me!"

"Until your eyes cross?"

Clay moaned softly. "Yes!"

The kiss started out gentle and questing. Palmer licked his superior's lips
and nuzzled them until they parted. Then he settled his mouth on the one
under his and began a thrusting that was mimicking the action of his lower
body.

But the material of their trousers interfered with their pleasure. "Naked! I
want you naked!"

Hands went to work, untying ties, undoing buttons, unfastening belts,
unzipping zippers, and all the while, lips were feasting on a mouth that was
made for kissing, that was so fuckable a fine trembling began in two sets of
lower extremities. Legs could no longer support the weight of a body which
wanted only to be supine.

They sank to the lush, textured rug. "I want to watch you as I take you!"

"Yes!"

The taller body lay as the other had often imagined him, his knees pulled so
far back Palmer could feel the strain on his lats, but he wanted this too
much to protest. He was open and exposed. His cock was hard and oozing pre
come.

Webb dipped his head forward and lapped at the fluid before coating his
fingers and beginning the stretching process.

"Don't take too long, Clay! I've been wanting this forever!"

"I don't want to hurt you, Clark."

"Screw that! Just fuck me! *Please*, Clay!"

The neediness in his subordinate's voice almost proved Webb's undoing. To
distract himself, he began reciting the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry
the Fifth as he searched his pockets for what he desperately needed. Finding
it, Clay rolled on a condom and carefully coated it with lubricant.

"'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his
blood with me shall be my brother.'" He didn't realize that as he positioned
his cock at the tight entrance to Clark's body he was speaking the words
aloud.

"Clay, don't get kinky on me now, baby!" Clark gasped as the sense of
fullness in his ass seemed to reach to his throat. He had been without a
lover, male or female, for too long.

The friction of Webb's abdomen against his cock was wildly pleasurable. And
then Clay took Clark's chin in his hand, forcing the man beneath him to meet
his eyes. "You, Clark. Only you!"

Palmer could feel the shorter man's climax pulsing in his snug back passage,
contained in the rubber sheath. Clay took him in his hand and began to jerk
him off. The hot fluid spilled onto Clark's navel, and the clenching of his
inner muscles milked the last of his lover's orgasm from him.

With a satisfied groan, Clark released his legs and let them slide along
Clay's hips to cradle the shorter man's body. His breathing smoothing out, he
slid toward slumber.

"If you fall asleep now, we're going to wake up all sticky," Clay murmured.

"We?"

"Well, if you stay here, *I'm* certainly not going anyplace!"

"So we'll just have to take a shower. That's another place I've wanted to
make love with you. Umm, Clay, does this mean anything? Other than a fuck to
welcome the new year?"

"You worry too much, Palmer. Go to sleep. I'll wake you up in a couple of
hours."

"To welcome in the New Year, Clay?"

"Yes."

"That'll be nice." His voice became indistinct as sleep claimed him. "We
nearly didn't make it this year."

He didn't hear Clay whisper, "No, we didn't. But we'll do better next year."


~End~