Title: Surprise

Author: Gail

Fandom: La Femme Nikita/JAG

Pairing: Michael Samuelle/Clark Palmer/Clayton Webb

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Michael comes to D.C. to see Clark again and finds that Clark has a lover. They all have fun.

Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RSA, CKOS, WWOMB, and the archives of all the lists this ends up going to. All others, please ask.

Email: gem225@hotmail.com

Web Page: Mareen's Den, at: http://www.fortunecity.de/lindenpark/vogelweide/216/main.htm

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. This is for fun, not profit.

Warnings: m/m/m action, as in menage a trois or threesome.

Notes: I am writing a series in the JAG fandom, the Eclipse series, where Clayton Webb and Clark Palmer are lovers, although Clark's blackmailing Clayton into bed (Clark Palmer can be very bad). This story assumes that they work things out and end up together. This may or may not happen in the series. I'm not telling. The story of Clark and Michael's affair in Paris can be found by reading Tinnean's two gorgeous stories, "April in Paris" and "We Only See What We Want To See". To find those, either send me a message and I'll send them on, or go to Jori's wonderful Jagslash archive at
http://www.netroenterprises.com/jagstories/jagslash.html and read them there.

Archivers' Note: They are also included in the WWOMB archive.

This is definitely an AU, if that isn't clear by now, one in which Nikita never comes along to become Michael's soulmate.

This story is for Tinnean, since she inspired me to write it. She, Mareen and Silk betaed it, and none of them are responsible for how I've written Michael. Silk in particular has done her best to make me understand how Michael talks and acts and is. If I got him wrong, I'm sorry. No offense was intended.

ECLIPSE: SURPRISE

By Gail
*******

Michael didn't smile as he let himself into the apartment building, but inside he was as happy as he ever let himself be. He had finished a mission in the States, been checked over and deemed in need of some downtime to recover from the resulting mental and physical exhaustion from losing all of his team. He'd taken two days to sleep, but when his body's needs for rest had been sated, he had realized that there were other needs he wanted to sate, and he wanted to sate them with the man with whom he'd had two wonderful weeks in Paris some time ago, Clark Palmer. The man that he thought of as his friend had gone through a lot since they'd last met, but from all the information he had gathered, he was doing well in his new career with the Central Intelligence Agency. And now Clark was going to get a surprise. Him.

A frown crossed Michael's face, then was smoothed away as he went up the stairs, taking them two at a time with an automatic ease, even with the exhaustion he still felt. He hoped Clark wouldn't mind him showing up with no notice, but if there was a problem, he would leave. The truth was that he couldn't wait to see the other man again, get some of that wonderful sex Clark had given him with such skill. He *needed* it. So many missions, so many lost, and no one could give him what he needed, to dull the edge of this dark desire to be taken and dominated which had emerged recently after a very long time.

He found the right door and knocked. Not yet midnight. Clark should be up.

It opened right away, and Michael smiled at the sight of the other man. He looked good, and those clothes would come off as easily as the ones Michael was wearing. It was almost as though Clark was expecting him. Could he be that lucky?

"Clark," Michael said in his usual whisper. "May I come in?"

Clark was staring as though he couldn't believe his eyes. "Michael Samuelle." He smiled suddenly and reached out to pull him in. Michael went into his hard embrace willingly. "It's been so long."

Michael turned his head and kissed his neck. Clark opened his mouth to say something, but Michael captured it with his own, and after a moment's hesitation that Michael dismissed as surprise, Clark took over, devouring Michael in the way he remembered so well.

When Clark lifted his head, Michael smiled and licked his lips. "Do whatever you want with me, cher homme. I have a few days."

Before Clark could answer, there was another knock on the door. Michael gave Clark a curious look. "Expecting someone?"

Clark's face was a study. "Sit down. Now," he added sharply when Michael didn't move. "I know who this is." He strode to the door.

So Clark was expecting someone, probably a lover. Michael felt curiously disappointed and angry. He licked his lips again as he sat. But he knew that Clark hadn't been thinking about this man a few moments ago. He'd been kissing Michael and no one else. He settled into the couch. That was something to work with.

Clark was showing a shorter man in, and Michael gave him a deliberate and very smooth Valentine Operative smile. This was no competition. Not unattractive, but Michael knew what he saw when he looked in the mirror, and his lips were still burning from the pressure of Clark's mouth. He stood.

"Michael, this is Clayton Webb, my partner at the CIA. Clay, this is Michael Samuelle, an old friend who's in town for a few days."

"Enchante, Monsieur Webb," Michael said silkily. A member of the CIA and Clark's partner, showing up this time of night. Yes, this was Clark's lover. He must have something, but Michael wasn't seeing it. Perhaps Clark was simply sleeping with him to secure his place in, what did they call it, the Company?

The other man held out his hand. "It's very good to meet you, Mr. Samuelle."

"Please, call me Michael," Michael couldn't resist saying as he took it. Let this man know *he* was comfortable in this situation.

The other man inclined his head. "And I'm Clayton. I didn't mean to intrude on your evening."

"You know you're not intruding, Clay." Clark's voice was calm, but the look he gave Michael was hard, and Michael glanced down. The whole situation was amusing, but he didn't want Clark too angry at him. Just enough to give whatever game they played an edge of reality. "Would either of you like a drink?"

"Whatever you have, cher homme," Michael said very deliberately. Clayton glanced at him, then to Clark.

"I agree with Michael. There's no need to go to any trouble for me."

Michael shifted and realized that there was something he needed more than Clark's cock in his ass, and that he needed that now. "If I might use the bathroom?" He was close enough to Clayton Webb to feel his warmth and get a whiff of his scent. Very nice.

He looked to Clark, but Clayton answered. "It's the second door on the right, down that hall."

Nicely done, Michael thought to himself and gave Clayton a smile. "Thank you."

He left the room.

******************

As soon as he heard the bathroom door shut behind Michael, Clayton turned on Clark. "Were you going to fuck him on the couch or take him to your bedroom?" His eyes were blazing with anger. "Who is this? One of your precious DSD agents? I thought you hadn't slept with any man you liked before me. Clearly that's a lie."

Clark's answer was quick. "Clay, he just showed up. I had no idea he was coming. And he's not DSD."

"He's making it damned clear that he thinks you're all his. What the hell did you two have?"

"Two weeks of sex in Paris." Clark took a step and was up against Clayton's body. "I know he wants me. The question is, do you want him?"

"What the hell?"

Clark smiled and let his hand grope at the other man's crotch, finding him hard, as he'd expected. "He is pretty, isn't he?" He took his hand away. "Think about that mouth that was on mine before you got here sucking you," Clayton opened his mouth to answer that, but Clark rode over him, "about having a handful of that dark hair to pull his mouth off when you're ready for more than just his mouth, about stripping him and listening to him beg you to fuck him, about fucking him when you're ready to." Clark's voice went lower and darker as Clayton stared. "He begs very well, Clay. If you like, I'll do all the work. You won't have to do a thing but take what he'll give you."

Clayton wet his lips and thought. Clark waited, his eyes intent on Clayton's face. "You know this?" Clayton asked finally.

"I know Michael." He put his mouth to Clayton's ear and whispered a few sentences. Clayton's eyes widened.

"That's how you met him?"

Clark gave him a half-smile and stepped back. "I was saving it to tell you on a slow night. We can play that. Follow my lead when he comes back."

Clayton's smile in return was interested. "I should make you pay for this," he murmured.

Clark's half-smile turned into a grin. "You can do that later. Or now. Your call, Clay. Did you want him to come and find me on my knees in front of you?"

"We'll play it your way. Why don't you get us some drinks?"

"Whatever you say." Clark turned and went into the kitchen, and Clayton pulled out his wallet. He looked inside, nodded, then put it away.

******************

Michael came back after having taken his time, hoping that perhaps Clayton Webb had fought with Clark and left, but instead found Clayton sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand.

"Sit down," the other man invited cordially and reached for a second glass on the coffee table. "Clark should be right here."

Michael gave him another Valentine Operative smile and accepted the glass. "I'm sure he will." He put on his best careless attitude and draped himself over the other end of the couch from where his rival was sitting. "I hope I'm not disturbing your evening."

Clayton simply smiled. "Not at all, Michael. We didn't have any specific plans. It's good to meet a friend of Clark's."

Michael's eyes narrowed at the relaxed note in the other man's voice. So it was going to be that way. "Do you and Clark work together?"

"When Clark was pardoned, the Company assigned him to me. We've been working together for," Clayton frowned, "two years now."

Two years. And together. Maybe this was more serious than he'd thought.

Just then Clark came back into the room with his glass full and the bottle with him. "Any room for me on that couch?" he asked with a grin.

Michael turned his smile on Clark and put his hand on the middle cushion in a gesture of invitation. Yes, let him sit in the middle, where Clayton Webb would think nothing of it, where he could make sure that Clark got to smell and feel and sense him.

Clark set the bottle on a coaster. "Michael, move into the middle." He turned his smile on Michael, and Michael found himself moving automatically. Clark still had that power over him. He took a deep breath and found Clayton smiling at him with something in his face that made Michael wonder what the hell was going on.

"Clark does get bossy," he said casually and shifted, ending up with his thigh brushing Michael's. "You really should be nicer to your guests, Clark."

Clark laughed from the other side of Michael. "Sorry, Michael. I forgot myself."

"It's fine." Michael made himself relax, even though this was not what he'd thought was going to happen when he came over to Clark's. He was still partly hard, and the proximity of the two men was making him grow harder. His tongue darted over his lips unconsciously. "It is his house."

"How did you two meet?" Clayton's voice had a very real interest in it. "You said Paris, Clark?"

"Oh, yes, in Paris. You don't mind me telling him, do you, Michael?" Before Michael could say anything, Clark was speaking. "I picked him up over breakfast at a cafe. He let me believe he was a hustler."

Clayton's eyes were laughing. "He did? Clark, tell me you didn't believe him." Clark laughed and Michael opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then Clayton's hand was on his. "Let Clark tell the story, Michael," he murmured, and Michael found his mouth dry enough to need a good gulp of the white wine. The other man's touch had been brief, but knowing. He was about to stand and make his excuses when Clark smiled at him. In that smile he saw a promise for later that was enough to change his mind.

"I believed him. I agreed to his terms and took him back to my hotel. Didn't I, Michael?" This time it was Clark's hand that touched him, making a long pass down his arm.

"Oui," Michael murmured, slipping into French out of habit. "I mean, yes." He hoped Clark wasn't going to go into any more detail, like their ride in the elevator. The idea of Clark telling this Clayton Webb that he'd made Michael come with words and some rough handling alone was more than he was ready for.

Clark's hand lingered on his wrist. "I'm glad you remember." He turned his attention back to Clayton, who was watching them with interest. "He was going to charge me about a thousand dollars for the pleasure of having him."

"I wonder if the price has gone up," Clayton said thoughtfully and reached over to rest his fingers on Michael's thigh. Michael could hardly breathe. Clark's fingers were still on his wrist, stroking in an idle rhythm, and now Clayton's hand was almost on his crotch. They were seducing him, he realized, and his cock hardened to an almost impossible degree. "Or maybe he's no longer for sale."

"There's only one way to find out, Clay."

Michael watched as Clayton smiled and reached into his jacket. "I have the money, if you're interested," he said, holding his wallet in his hand. "Well, Michael?"

Michael made himself breathe, even though only shallowly. "For the two of you, it would be more," he said, and entered the game. He wanted to be a part of it, wanted to find out how it would be with these men, one he knew, one he wished to know.

Both Clayton and Clark smiled. "Of course," Clark answered. "Double it, Clay."

"You'll put in your share tomorrow?" Clayton calmly counted out two thousand dollars after Clark's amused nod and held the money out to Michael. "Michael," he said gently, "are you going to take it?"

"Put it on the table, mon ami," Michael managed. "My mind is not on money now."

Clayton did as he asked, making sure it was under a magazine. "Now." The statement was addressed to Clark, who responded by pulling Michael against him.

"You'll be a good boy for us, won't you, Michael?"

Michael felt what had to be Clayton's fingers stroking his back, sending shivers down his spine. "Of course," he breathed.

Clark rewarded him with a long, devouring kiss. When that ended, Michael felt his body being turned. He saw Clayton's face and knew what was next. "Whatever you want, cher homme."

"You won't regret this," Clayton assured him before taking Michael's mouth. When that kiss was over, Michael was certain that he was right. "On your knees," he heard Clayton say next, and shifted his weight to move to the floor. Before he could finish the motion, Clayton's hands were on his arms, keeping him there. "Not you," the other man said quietly. "Clark."

"Yes, Clay." Michael watched in amazement as the man who'd dominated him for two weeks with an ease and skill he still dreamed of knelt before another man. Clark looked up at Michael and smiled. "It's all right, Michael," he murmured before reaching to undo Clayton's pants.

Michael watched as Clark took Clayton's hard cock into his mouth and worked it. He remembered very well how good Clark was at that skill, and licked his lips, wishing he was the one receiving that pleasure. Hands shaped his face and pulled it closer. "You're not here to watch," Clayton whispered before his mouth covered Michael's. Michael's lips parted for the other man's tongue, and soon he was groaning, his body across Clayton's lap and turned to press against the other man's hard chest.

When Clayton released him, he was shaking. "Please," he moaned.

"What do you want, Michael?" Clayton's fingers stroked Michael's erection through his pants. "Do you want to come?"

"You can tell he does, Clay." Clark was looking up at them. "Let me." His fingers reached up to Michael's crotch, but Clayton's head shake stopped him.

"Not here." Clayton stood, holding out his hand. "Do you want Clark to make you come?" He drew Michael up and against him. Clark was standing now, lips wet, face intent. "Or do you want me to?"

"I thought I was here for you two."

The two men laughed. "For what we want, yes," Clayton answered him, his breath warm against Michael's neck. "And what we want is to see you come. Is that a problem?"

"No." Michael was glad of Clayton's arms and support. His head was spinning with desire, he, a trained Valentine Operative. How was it that these two men had reduced him to this? He didn't know and he didn't care.

"You can watch me fuck him, Clay. I know what he likes."

"I want you to watch me," Clayton countered, and Michael felt his breath come even faster. He'd been plotting to take his former lover away from this man, and now the two of them were arguing over who was going to have him.

It felt wonderful.

"Would you like Clayton to fuck you, Michael?" Clark's low voice cut through his daze. He started. Clark's eyes were glittering. "He's very good." When Michael simply stared, Clark laughed again. "Yes, I think you would like that. The bedroom's this way."

Michael found that Clayton stayed by him, and warmed even more to the man he had just met. Clark had found someone good, he thought. He was fortunate to have this chance to be with them both.

In the bedroom Clark and Clayton glanced at each other, then Clark shrugged and sat on the bed. "I've always wanted to see you fuck someone else. Of course," Clark laughed, "there was Rabb. I should have found a way to spy on the two of you."

Clayton was taking off his jacket and hanging it in the closet, taking off his vest and tie, every piece of clothing that came off his body making him even more desirable to Michael. "Clark, that's over. Shut up." Clayton smiled at Michael. "He talks too much."

Before Michael could answer, Clayton had pushed him gently down on the bed and was working on the buttons of his shirt. Michael wondered for a moment who this other man was that Clayton had slept with, this Rabb, then Clayton's finger stroked over his nipple, peaking it, and he lost his train of thought.

"Cher homme, more, s'il vous plait," he moaned, mixing languages as Clayton pushed his shirt apart and leaned over.

"You'll get more," Clark's voice assured him. "Be patient, Michael." His laugh was low and satisfied. "It's always worth it with Clay."

Clayton turned his head and gave Clark a long look. "I said to shut up. Do what you're told." He licked Michael's nipples, one after the other, and Michael moaned even more. Clayton lifted his head and looked over at Clark, who was smiling with a gleam in his eye as he rubbed his bulge though his pants. "Behave yourself, Clark." Clayton's voice was hard.

"Make me," Michael heard Clark say, and then Clayton's warmth was gone.

He watched as Clayton pinned Clark against the bed and took his mouth with a fierceness that made Clark writhe and Michael lick his lips. The sight of the two men kissing was incredibly exciting. He wanted to be a part of their pleasure. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers down Clayton's back, and heard with pleasure Clayton's gasp.

"You wanted to do this," he heard Clayton say to Clark. "Now play the game. You'll get your chance."

"Let me help," Clark said in a low voice. "I know him." He turned his face to look at Michael, and Michael was ensnared by the knowledge and passion in the hazel eyes. "I told you you didn't have to do a thing. I'll have him begging for you."

Michael let his head fall back. God, Clark making him beg for Clayton. He knew Clark could do it, and that it wouldn't take much. He wanted both men.

"It's my turn to learn what Michael wants." Clayton's voice was low as well, but firm. "He's asked. He doesn't need to beg." Clayton shifted on the bed and drew Michael against him. "If you want something, tell me."

"I will, cher homme." Any further reply Michael might have thought of making was cut off by the pressure of Clayton's lips on his and the slow play of his tongue in Michael's willing mouth. Michael slipped his hands around to stroke Clayton's back, then worked them in between their two chests and tried to find the buttons. He wanted to feel skin.

Clayton drew back, his hands resting on Michael's hips. "Go ahead." There was a hint of a smile on his face, and Michael understood that Clayton was enjoying this very much.

"I'm still here," Clark said pointedly as Michael reached for Clayton's top button.

"We know that, Clark. Now shut up and watch. You might learn something." Clayton's voice was teasing now, making Michael smile as he moved on to the next button. He enjoyed the playfulness of the other man.

Clark's reply was a snort. "Right."

"Patience, Clark," Michael dared. "Later."

"So now you're starting in on me?" And with that, Clark moved and had his hands on Michael before the other two could stop him. Michael let out a startled cry. Clark was rougher, and the knowledge in his touch was more than enough to make Michael moan. Then nothing was touching him at all, and Clayton had hold of Clark's arms.

"Stop it. Or I'll cuff you. Is that what you want?"

Clark was smiling. "That wasn't what I had in mind. Another time." Michael saw the look the two men exchanged, and knew this was something they had done before. The thought made him smile. Clark not able to use his hands? It had to be something that would drive him crazy. And obviously, something he enjoyed with Clayton Webb. "All right, go ahead and do it your way." He got up in a lithe motion and went over to the wall, leaning against it. "Better, Clay?"

"Better." Clayton smiled at Michael. "Back to you." He finished stripping Michael of his shirt, then got down on the floor and reached for his shoes. Michael stared at him. This was incredible.

Clayton didn't speak again until he was drawing off Michael's pants. Michael bit back moans as the other man's fingers brushed deliberately against the sensitive inner skin of his thighs, making his cock leak fluid. "How do you like it, Michael?"

"Any way you want to give it to him, Clay," the drawled reply came from Clark. Michael flushed, remembering Paris and Clark's mastery of him. "Just make sure you've got enough lube. I wouldn't want him hurt."

Clayton folded the pants and put them over a chair with the rest of Michael's clothes, gave Clark another glare that made him shrug and smile, then came back to the bed. His hands were gentle and knowing on Michael's body. "Tell me what you want," he whispered.

Michael looked into the other man's deep eyes and smiled. "Do what you want."

Clayton answered by pushing him full-length on the bed and reaching for a bottle that was conveniently on the nightstand. Michael watched as the other man coated his fingers and slid them down between Michael's now-spread thighs. Michael soon found that he couldn't watch. The feelings that Clayton's expert touch were rousing in him were too much. His cock was aching by the time Clayton positioned himself between Michael's legs.

"I'll take it slow," he murmured, and Michael opened his eyes to see a smile that had more hunger in it. Clayton had gotten out of the rest of his clothes, and the body that was revealed was firm and muscled. Michael licked his lips and Clayton's smile became more predatory. "God, you're gorgeous," he growled and worked the head of his erection into Michael, who gasped. No pain at all, just pleasure, and the sight of Clark's intent face across the room made the pleasure even greater. Both of these men, here, with him.

"Cher homme, please, let Clark join us," he begged, then moaned as a deeper thrust hit the spot that made it all so wonderful.

"As you wish," Clayton said simply, then raised his voice. "Clark, come here."

"About time." Clark was there in a flash, taking up a position on the bed beside Michael when Clayton gestured to him. His fingers stroked Michael's chest, lingering over the hard nipples. "He's fucking you," Clark whispered to Michael, who moaned. "Just like he fucks me."

Clayton was thrusting harder now, pleasure coming to Michael with every heartbeat, and then Clayton reached down to take Michael's shaft in his sure hand. Michael arched up into the tight grasp, felt Clayton thrust the hardest yet, and knew Clayton was coming. Clark had lowered his head and had Michael's mouth under his, and Michael knew that he was about to come himself just before he shuddered in a hard, welcome, and needed orgasm.

Michael had his eyes closed by that time, so he felt rather than saw Clayton pull out, then himself being cleaned off by sure hands that he thought were Clark's.

"What about me?" Clark asked, and Michael got his eyes open to see that Clark had stripped. His eyes went to the cock he remembered so well, and his tongue came out to lick his lips.

"You can wait a little longer," Clayton said coolly, but with an amusement in his eyes that made Michael smile to himself. These two had an interesting relationship. Clayton joined the two of them on the bed, and after a few moments and some shifting they were all under the covers. "Michael's not a wind-up toy."

"No one said he was," Clark retorted and took Clayton's hand, guiding it down to his crotch, where he molded it around his erection. He then reached for Michael's near hand and cupped it around his balls. "You two had fun. Now you can give me some."

"This is all you want, mon ami?" Michael began to stroke the sensitive balls, listening with pleasure to the gasp that brought from Clark.

"You can have more if you'll just be patient," Clayton joined in and stroked harder.

"I will have more, but that was too fucking hot to wait any longer." Clark's voice was suddenly strained. "Please, Clay. I need this."

Michael shot a worried glance at Clayton, who gave him a quick smile back. "Then you'll have it," Clayton said simply and kept working him.

It wasn't long before Clark groaned and came, the fluid getting on both Clayton and Michael's hands. He slumped back against the pillows as Clayton gestured to Michael to pull out some tissues and hand them to him. Michael wiped off his hand and watched as Clayton cleaned off Clark, then himself.

He tossed the wad of tissues into a nearby wastebasket and held out his hand for Michael's bunch, which the other man handed to him. "Rest now," he said quietly when he was finished. "Both of you."

Michael realized that he was tired. "But you paid for the whole night," he tried in a low voice. Clark was already burrowed under the covers.

Clayton gave him a tired smile. "Just a nap, Michael." His eyes darkened. "Come here." Michael felt himself being pulled into a warm embrace, then released. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not taking off with Clark before I got here." His voice didn't change as he continued. "I know you could have."

"Mon ami, that was not my intention," Michael protested, lying and knowing that there was a good chance Clayton would know that, but needing to reassure him. He glanced at Clark, wondering if he was hearing this, but there was no movement. Not that that meant anything.

Clayton's smile was faint. "He would have come back, but who knows how long you could have kept him?"

Michael took a long look at Clayton's face and saw the strain there. He hoped whatever was driving Clayton to this uncertainty would be gone after a good sleep. It was clear to him that the two men cared for each other, and that there was no way that he could have taken Clark away from Clayton for more than a brief, passionate encounter. "Sleep," he echoed.

Clayton gave him a long look, then nodded and settled himself into the bed as Michael did the same. He turned on his side and felt the throbbing in his ass. It was just what he had needed, and there had to be more to come. For the first time, he remembered that he had more than this one night. Would these two still want to play with him, still want him there? He hoped so.

He felt himself drift into sleep, the warmth from Clark's body soothing him and the sound of both men's breathing doing so as well.

******************

Michael woke to sure hands on his body. "My turn," he heard the low whisper, and knew that he was Clark's now. "You came so well for my Clayton, but I know you've got more for me."

The hands, just as strong and knowing as he remembered, pulled him back against a very definite erection and a hard body. The next breath Michael took filled his nostrils with Clark's
remembered scent, the musk that never failed to arouse him.

"Cher homme, anything," he moaned.

"Quiet. Clay's still sleeping, and he needs it," Clark ordered, his voice still low. His long fingers wrapped around Michael's hardening cock while his free hand came up to take and pull on Michael's nipple, letting a soft, pleased sound when that made Michael jerk. "You're still my good boy, aren't you, Michael? You'll do as I say."

"Oui." Michael knew that what he was doing here was surrendering to the game, and trusting Clark to be able to play it safely with him. This wasn't usual behavior for him, but then none of this was usual.

"Tres bien," Clark murmured and pushed his hardness into the crack of Michael's ass,. Michael pushed back toward it. "So eager."

"Always, for you."

"I know that." Clark kept grinding into Michael, and it felt so good, along with the hold he had on Michael's cock and the work he was doing on his nipples. "You made that clear at the door. I should punish you for that stunt of yours. You could have fucked up everything."

The thought of Clark spanking him or doing anything like the games they'd played in Paris on occasion made him harden even more.

Clark let go of Michael and pushed at him. "Get up."

Michael slid out of bed, glad of the training that helped him be quiet. He glanced at Clayton to find that his body was still and his breathing steady.

Clark was up now, his hands hard on Michael's body. "Move. If he wakes up, it'll spoil everything."

When they got into the hall, Clark moved up beside him, took him by the bicep, and steered him further down the hall into a small room. Michael's mouth was dry. What game was Clark going to play now? He looked around to see that there was a large mirror on the wall and not much else but a mat in front of it.

Clark pushed the door closed while still holding on to him. "Now Clay can't hear a thing. You're all mine." The possessiveness in Clark's voice made Michael shake. "I'm going to spank you and then I'm going to fuck you right here where I can put you on your hands and knees and watch you in that mirror. Make you watch yourself lose all control. You don't like losing control, do you, Michael? Except with me." He shoved Michael forward, and the Section operative lost his balance and fell on the mat. Clark was right on top of him. "You always lose that with me."

"Go ahead and punish me, then," Michael gasped. He was sure Clark wouldn't really hurt him, only in a way that would make it better for both of them.

His answer came in a hard slap to his ass. "I'm so glad to hear you ask for it," Clark growled and hit him again. Michael moaned. "Anyone else find out how much you like this, Michael? Or am I the only one who knows what you really are?"

This was darker than the games in Paris, but Michael knew that Clark knew more about him now. And he could take it. "The only one, Clark," he moaned and braced himself. The hard slaps kept coming, warming his skin and making his cock want something, anything. But Clark would decide when he got more. He knew that, and it was fine. Clark always made it good for him.

"That's good to know." Clark laughed, and Michael glanced at the mirror. There he was, face flushed and desperate with need, and there was Clark, his face intent and full of a particular joy that Michael had seen before. Clark hadn't really changed. Maybe he was managing to fit into the CIA, and he certainly was surprisingly submissive to Clayton, but he was still the forceful and brilliant dominant Michael remembered. Memories of that time rose up and possessed him. Clark tearing off his shirt. Clark restraining him with his own clothing and sucking him until he came, then turning him over and fucking him. Clark pinning him to the wall of that elevator and establishing a hold on him that was still there. Clark holding him even as they slept, unwilling to let him go for any period of time. So many memories, and all of them good ones.

The slaps kept coming, and Michael knew he was jerking his hips forward in a rhythm that was getting him nothing but more frustrated. Then he saw Clark's hand reach forward and take his cock, and he moaned and thrust into the tight grip.

"Desperate, that's you." Clark's voice was rough as he let go. "Ready for anything. And that's good, because I'm ready to fuck you, and I'm in the mood to fuck you as hard as I know you like it."

Despite the harsh words, when Clark spread his burning cheeks and worked a lubed finger into him, Michael knew that Clark was making sure that he was all right before doing anything else. No, Clark hadn't changed.

"Please," he begged. "Please fuck me."

Clark let out a pleased laugh. "Very good, Michael. You remembered how much I liked it when you begged." He slapped his ass again and Michael let out a cry. "Very nice. I'll fuck you. Get ready."

Michael could see it all just by looking in the mirror. Clark's lean body behind him, getting into position to take him. His eyes drifted shut and then Clark was pushing into him, making him moan. Clark worked him with remembered skill, interspersing thrusts with slaps on his ass to keep the skin hot and sensitive, one hand always on him, making sure Michael didn't try to speed up or otherwise interfere with Clark's plan, and always that intensity when he opened his eyes.

He was trembling and wanting desperately to come when the door opened. Clark stopped and looked, as did Michael.

"So this is where you two went," Clayton said with a slow smile. He undid his robe to show that he too was hard, then hung it on the doorknob. "Inconsiderate of you."

Clark answered. "I wanted him, and you were sleeping. Watch if you like."

"I had something else in mind." Michael heard the pleasant command in Clayton's voice and watched as he got behind Clark.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clark said sharply and froze as Clayton's hands caressed Clark's ass with an intimate assurance.

"Who do you belong to, Clark?"

Oh, god. Michael's breathing became even rougher. He strained to hear. Seeing wasn't a problem.

"To you, Clay." Clark's voice was low and strained.

"Again." Clayton reached down and picked up the lubricant that Clark had used. Michael could see the concentration on his face. "Louder, please. I want to be sure Michael hears you."

Clark's face was both angry and tense. "Clay, dammit..." His protest turned into a moan. "Clay, please," he whispered, and Michael thought he knew why. Clayton Webb was putting lubricant on Clark, maybe even working him with a finger or two to loosen him up for penetration.

"Say it, or leave. At this point Michael's here for my pleasure, not yours. That's my money I gave him. You're here because I allow it. Is that clear, Clark?"

Suddenly the tension went out of Clark's face. Michael watched with amazement as he saw what took its place, hunger. "I belong to you."

"I'm glad you remember that. Michael, is it all right with you that Clark fucks you?"

Michael knew he had to answer. "Oui, cher homme."

"Just a moment," Clark groaned as Michael felt Clark's cock throb inside of him and knew that with that Clayton had taken Clark's ass in one smooth thrust, "all right. Go ahead." He laughed. "I'll set the rhythm."

Michael felt the next thrust and moaned. This was even better. Clark was still fucking him, and the knowledge that Clark himself was being fucked, and the view of all three of them in the mirror brought him so close to coming. "Please," he gasped.

"What is it, Michael?" Clayton was the one who asked.

"Please don't stop."

"He won't. Will you, Clark? Give him what he wants."

"No," Clark groaned. "Oh, god, Clay, please. I need this..."

"Give him what he wants, and I'll give you what you need." Clayton's voice promised everything. "You said you knew him. Prove it. Show me how good you are."

Michael could see how that focused Clark, feel the thrusts go deeper and hit his prostate every time, making him end up with his eyes screwed shut, knowing that he was so close.

"God," he heard Clark moan again, and the desperate sound in his voice, along with the sudden thrust, had him almost there. But then Clark was coming, without him. Michael felt him pull out.

When he looked, he saw that Clayton had pulled out of Clark as well, both of them breathing harshly. They had come. But what about him? He moaned.

"Clark, you finish Michael," Clayton said with a smile that made Michael shiver. "Use that smart-ass mouth of yours. He deserves to come, and I want to see that."

Clark was still panting. "Bastard," he whispered.

"You like me that way." Clayton settled on the mat. "Do it, Clark."

Clark licked his lips. "You never used to be this damned good at fucking with my head."

"You never used to let me see what the hell mattered to you."

Michael let out a surprised gasp as Clark's mouth swooped down to take his cock. He was so close.

"Yes, Michael." Clayton's eyes were gleaming. "Let him work for a change. He's so damned good at that."

Michael moaned. "Yes," he got out after a moment. "Mon dieu, magnifique."

Clark replied by sucking harder, and Michael thrust up and came. Clark swallowed it all, then drew his head off. "That what you wanted?"

Clayton answered by stroking his hand down Clark's back. "Very much so." He stood. "Come back to bed. And next time, don't start without me." He reached down a hand to Michael and pulled him up. "You remember that, too," he murmured and took Michael's mouth in a long, sweet kiss. "I paid for you, and you haven't earned that money yet."

The assurance and words that Clayton spoke made Michael's cock stir. "And when will I?"

"How long do you have?"

Michael turned to glance at Clark, who was standing, too. "As I told you, a few days. Five, to be exact."

"Think we can take turns calling in sick?" Clark's face was mischievous.

"I'm sure Michael can amuse himself during the day," Clayton said firmly, then reached for his robe with a grin. "But I would hate to waste this opportunity."

They wanted him to stay. He was going to get the release that he needed, and the fun that he wanted. Yes, this was going to be a good downtime for him.

He let Clayton and Clark take him back to the bedroom and settle him in between them. As his eyes closed, he could feel both of them against his body, and it was so good.

He'd made the right decision coming to Clark Palmer.

The End