The Basement

by Jori Remington

Rabb/Other JAG characters. Slash/Humor

The Admiral has a party in his basement and one by one, all the guests get to try out the party favor, Harmon Rabb. NC-17 for m/m sex and lots of it. If that offends you, DO NOT read this story.

When I wrote this story a long time ago, there was another section that a few of my beta readers had a little problem with so I never included it in the finished version. After 'losing' this part for over a year here on our file server, I found it again and decided to put it back in. It's near the end after the Gunny section and the activity takes place between Tom Boone and Harm. Revised 09June2002.


The Basement
by Jori Remington

I always know it's going to be one of those weekends when Mac is dismissed from the meeting early. The Admiral gives her a curt nod while leaning forward and folding his hands on the table.

"You're dismissed, Colonel," he says without even so much as a clue as to why she is the only one whose presence isn't required. Mac looks around for some hint as to what is going on, her eyes naturally seeking out mine, but I can't . . . there's no way she can know this.

She gathers up her files and we all watch as she leaves the room, shutting the door carefully behind her. The Admiral punches a button on the intercom, connecting him to his yeomen.

"Tiner, it's time." That's all he says.

"Yes, sir. I'll be right there, sir," Tiner answers, knowing exactly what he's supposed to do. I look across the table at Bud who's tapping his pen nervously on the table top. He looks up at me and gives me a nervous smile before he goes back to tapping his pen.

"Lieutenant Roberts, is there a problem?" the Admiral asks and Bud stops in mid-tap.

"No, sir. No problem," But answers, shifting nervously in his chair.

"Good," he says as Tiner and Gunnery Sergeant Galindez enter the room. The two enlisted men stand at attention, waiting on the Admiral.

"At ease," he says as he finally settles into his chair. The two men drop their arms behind their backs but do not look at ease at all. "Same rules as last time. Everybody draws. That's how we will decide."

We all focus on him, knowing full well that he is the one that decides what happens and that there is no 'we' about it. The only part of this that is random is who, not what or how. Sometimes I wonder if he's figured out how to set up the who part, too.

None of our eyes move off of the Admiral. That would be too uncomfortable as we put on our best damn poker faces during this. Yes, we all know this shouldn't be happening and that there's got to be a million different ways to stop it. But we don't. He's figured out a million different ways to keep us from stopping it.

"Tiner," the Admiral says, handing the Petty Officer a folder. He shuffles through something and finally has the lots together that we get to draw from. The Admiral does the honor of holding the cover from which we draw and each one of us reaches in and carefully selects exactly what's going to happen to us this weekend. We aren't allowed to open them until later. The Admiral knows that we wouldn't be able to hide that on our faces. Instead, we all hold little white slips of paper between our fingers, waiting and wondering.

"By the way, I've invited a special guest this weekend. You will treat him graciously. Dismissed," the Admiral says.

"Aye aye, sir," choruses through the room as we all file out of the room, avoiding contact with each other. Even eye contact.

I nearly run into Mac halfway to my office, her arms loaded down with files. "Working this weekend?" I ask.

"The Admiral asked for me to take on some extra cases. I'm not sure why," she says, maneuvering around me. "So, what was that all about?"

"Nothing," I say, with a fake smile. I can tell she doesn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me. "We were just planning your . . . engagement party."

"I'm not engaged yet," she says, shuffling around the files to prove to me that the ring is still on her right hand.

"It's never too early to plan," I say as I slip by her and into my office, shutting the door behind me. I look out from between the blinds and see that everybody else disappeared so they could go look at their little slip of paper. I carefully unfold mine, my heart racing already.

I look down at the words written on the tiny scrap and the world starts to spin around me.

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

No one would ever guess by looking at the outside of the house what exactly goes on inside. Just down one flight of stairs, and it is a whole different world than what this suburban Virginia neighborhood appears to be.

I notice that everybody else appears to be here, anxious to get this started. Of course, they didn't get my slip of paper. This time. Their cars line the street, carefully parked so anybody can get out without someone else having to move. One never knows if that other person will be occupied and unable to move their vehicle.

Stepping out of my car, I tug my jacket around me, fighting off the cool night air. I walk to the house and notice the of the little car of the 'special guest' and my stomach almost drops out. Oh God. Not me. Not now.

The Admiral started this game a year ago. One by one we all ended up in it, for some reason or another. We all started out willingly, our curiosity getting the better of us. Now, it is part of our life. A secret life that would ruin each of us if ever found out. And that is what keeps us coming back. To make sure that each of us comes back.

The front door is open and there are few lights on upstairs. Why should there be? We all just pass through here. I throw my jacket on the couch, next to the others, knowing that mine will be the last one there when the weekend is over. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I open the door leading down to the basement.

The rumble of voices fall silent as I make my way down the steps and all eyes turn to me. I suppose they've discussed it already and determined that none of them are 'it.'

"Good evening, Commander," the Admiral says, but I know full well that I'm commander of nothing at this point. That has always been assumed since this started. That someday it would be my turn. "You're late."

"Sorry," I say with a nervous laugh as I try to make up some excuse beyond the obvious one. "I got stuck on the beltway and . . ."

He stands up and approaches me, his eyes flaring with anger. "That's no excuse, sailor. When I have a party, I expect you to be here, do you understand?"

His face is about one inch from mine and I can feel his hot breath hit my skin unlike I've ever felt it before. And he just referred to me as 'sailor.' I am now just a sailor. No longer a commander or even Mr. Rabb. Hell, I'm no longer Harm. I've gone downhill fast.

The Admiral turns away from me and faces everybody else. They are silent now, watching him, waiting to see what he's going to do next. "You know the rules, people. No one gets hurt. Everybody has a good time. You each have a number and you each get a turn. What you do while you are awaiting your turn is up to you."

I shut my eyes and images of the last 'party' fill my head. We are never supposed to mention what goes on here once we leave and we never do. But that can't stop the thoughts from showing up when I least expect them. And what I remember is I've always had a turn before. Now everybody is going to be waiting for their turn with me.

Strangely enough, just the thought sends a flood of heat rushing through my body. The Admiral turns to me.

"It's time. You know where to go, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, I do," I respond to the Admiral's question and I go off to a room and close the door behind me.

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

The room is warm and still smells pleasant. In the past, by the time it was my turn, the air was filled with the unmistakable scent of men and sex. Occasionally, there was an undertone of fear present, but I was never into that. I don't know who is and I hope I don't find out.

I've also never been number one in line, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do. My turn has always come somewhere in the middle and I've usually come in on someone tired . . . oh God. That will be me in a few hours.

I take a quick look around the room to see if anything has been changed. The bed is still neatly done but I'm sure that will change shortly. A pile of towels and clean sheets are stacked up by the side. The walls are plain and simple. Not much for art anywhere. Just one big mirror that shows everything from a certain angle. The floor is just beige linoleum. Easy to clean up. There are some soft throw rugs here and there, as if they were put there in a last ditch attempt to make this place 'comfortable.' Or maybe they can be moved around to hide a multitude of sins.

I rattle a door knob but the room doesn't open and I don't see the key for it anywhere. I don't remember it being open the last time I was in here, either. I wonder what other secrets the Admiral keeps in his basement? Well, besides the sling chair hanging from the rafters. Although I never used it, I know what it is for.

Candles are lit everywhere, and there are several choices of lamps, depending on the mood one would want to set. There's even a lava lamp I never noticed before. I have an idea how he ended up with it.

I do remember the stereo system with the impressive array of music. Something for everybody. I pull out a few CDs that I remember fondly from past experiences here and put them on top. Maybe they will remember, too.

Opening a drawer, I find a variety of toys that I've never touched before when it was my turn. Maybe tonight will change all that. Damn, I'm boring. I was always just in and out of here, usually too busy with work to spend my time here. Now I have no choice.

And then there's the grab bag of condoms. The Admiral, after all, always ensures the safety of his men. I look through the selection. Everything from extra lubricated to non-lubricated mint flavored. I pull the one Rough-Rider Studded condom out of bunch and pocket it before anyone can find it. I'm sure there's more in there. I just don't have time to check.

That's when someone knocks on the door and I jump about three feet into the air. A shiver of anticipation runs through me as I try to find my voice. I don't know who is on the other side. I don't know what to expect.

"C-come in," I stammer, as I stand with my hands behind my back. The door creaks open slowly and I take a step back as Bud walks into the room. I let out sigh of relief as he closes the door behind him. There's only two people out there I'm worried about, and Bud isn't one of them.

"Sorry, sir. It's just me," he says, sounding far too apologetic. I sit down on the edge of the bed and look up at him.

"Sorry for what, Bud?" I ask, wondering why he even said that.

"I'm sure you're expecting . . . well, I just really want to get home to Harriet and you just seem like the type who would really be into this . . ."

"It's okay, Bud," I say, looking around. Somewhere in here, there are cameras. Security that this never will go past this room. And the way the Admiral knows each of us has a good time at his party. There is no walking in and out of the room without some contact being made. Those are the rules. Bud just stands there, looking around, too. "So, you drew number one."

"Yes, sir. And it's a good thing, too. Harriet had plans for the weekend. I had enough trouble explaining why I was going to be gone tonight. I can't even imagine if I had to tell her I'd be gone until tomorrow . . . or the next day," he says, and I look down to the floor. It is going to be a long weekend. "I'm sorry, sir. It really isn't that . . . bad."

I look back up at him and he shrugs his shoulders and gives me that Bud Roberts smile. I must have been away when it was his turn. I wouldn't know what I missed while I was on the Patrick Henry. We aren't allowed to discuss it.

"You want to sit down?" I offer, nodding at any variety of chairs . . . or the bed.

"Whatever you'd like, sir," he says, and he plops down next to me on the bed. Sure, it isn't the first time we've been in bed together, but this is different. Bud seems so innocent, but those are usually the ones that get you when you least expect it.

"I don't think this is about what I would like, Bud," I say, giving him a nervous smile.

"That's true, sir. But I'm not going to want to waste a lot of time here, so how about you and I just drop our pants and we'll come up with something," Bud says, and I know my mouth drops open and hits my chest. "Sir."

"I, uh . . ." know I don't have much choice?

"Really, Commander, I'll make it simple on you. I'm not looking for anything fancy. Unlike most of these guys, I get all I want at home. But I could really go for a blow job," Bud says, his eyes drifting off into deep thought. "Harriet . . . just hasn't felt up to it lately."

"Do you . . . want music or anything? Different lights?" I ask. For all I know, he and Harriet have never done it with the lights on.

"No. Just a blow job," he says again as he begins to fumble around with his pants while kicking his shoes off at the same time. That's when it hits me. I've never actually given anybody a blow job before. Sure, I've engaged in a variety of other play during these sessions, but I never did that. I suppose if the average 14 year old Catholic school girl can figure it out, so can I. "But I'd like it if you took your pants off, too, sir. I've always been a little curious."

"About what, Bud?" I ask, feeling like I'm back in middle school gym class again.

"Well, who wouldn't be, sir? You are the infallible Commander Rabb who can do everything. Fly F-14s and beat the pants off of everybody in court. It's probably the only time I'm ever going to get the pants off of you," he says and I control the sudden urge to laugh. Maybe it is good that this starts with Bud. I can trust him no matter what.

"Okay, Bud," I say, knowing this probably isn't going to be the strangest thing I do this evening. I stand up and kick off my shoes and socks.

"You're right, sir. This might be easier with a little different lighting," Bud says, as he stumbles over his pants across the room to the switches. He dims everything a bit and then turns on the lava lamp. Then he comes back to me, and stands before me and now that I'm no longer in control, he doesn't seem as short as he usually does. "You probably won't be needing your clothes for most of the evening anyway . . . Harm."

I'm glad we are getting to my first name. I'm glad I have still have a first name.

"Okay," I say, trying to loosen up.

"Then again, somebody may want you to dress up. Just go along with it . . . have fun," he says, sounding like the Public Affairs Officer Bud Roberts I first met years ago, making sure everything goes smoothly. Yet, at the same time, he's unbuttoning my jeans and his hand is sliding the zipper down.

I take half a step back, frightened at the fact that I'm actually getting somewhat aroused by this. I mean, this is *Bud.*

"Sir . . . Harm, the sooner we get this over, the sooner I can go home to my wife," he says, and for some crazy reason it actually makes sense.

"Sure . . . yeah," I say, as I unbutton my shirt and cast it aside. Bud has seen me without my shirt on before. And he's seen me in boxers before and in just the clothes I wear while I'm working out, but never in absolutely nothing. He has an expression on his face of anticipation. He slips my jeans down over my hips, taking my shorts down with them. I'm left with nothing on but my dog tags.

"Not bad," he says, and I just really don't know what to say. I'm not even performing at my absolute top notch best right now. Some things just aren't going to go into action just yet. "Man, would Harriet love to see this. She's always had a little crush on you, sir."

"Maybe you can get a copy of the tapes from the Admiral later," I joke, my voice rising a few octaves as his hand strokes my cock.

"So you could try your hand at being a divorce attorney, too? I don't think so, sir," he says, watching as I grow hard from his touch. This . . . really . . . isn't that bad. I want to thrust into his hand, and I know I could get off like this, but then I remember this isn't about me. Bud looks down at his handiwork and lets out a little whistle. "Not bad, sir."

"Bud, I thought you needed to get going," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, right, sir . . . "

"Would you please call me Harm. You do it all the other times when we are out of uniform . . . I don't mean like this, but you know what I mean," I say, and his hand is still sliding up and down my cock with ease, his thumb stroking across the tip with the precision of someone who's done this to himself many times.

"Right, Harm. I do really need to get going. I hope you don't mind. Wow, that really is impressive, sir . . . Harm, and I wish I could stay for more but I told Harriet I'd be home before midnight so maybe we should just get down to business," Bud says as he releases me from his hand and finishes taking off his pants and briefs.

"Right. Business," I think as I watch Bud take his own . . . I just can't make myself think of Bud as having a cock. Penis? Yes, Bud takes his penis in his hands and strokes himself until he's hard. His isn't all that small. I always wondered what Harriet saw in him. I mean, Harriet is really cute and Bud is . . . Bud. But he must be somewhat rushed. He didn't even take off his polo shirt. He also didn't take off his black socks and it almost makes me laugh.

With his other hand, he pushes me backward towards the bed until it hits me in the back of my legs and I sit down with a thump. That puts his . . . penis right in my face.

"Sorry, sir. Did you want me to wear a condom? The Admiral does have a selection of flavored ones just for this, but I can guarantee that I'm clean," Bud says, and I look up at him, my eyebrow raised. That's how stupid I am. I didn't even think of it. Most of the women I'm with don't make me put a condom on when they give me head.

"I trust you, Bud. Just let me know, before . . . you know," I say as he steps up to the plate and it suddenly becomes showtime. It also becomes about ten degrees hotter in here. I try to remember everything I like as I wrap my hand around him. He shuts his eyes and moans just from that contact. Then I lean forward and circle the head of his penis with my tongue, trying to judge by his reaction if he likes what I'm doing. I'd guess from the fact that his hands have gone to my head and he's pulling me closer, I must be doing something right. No wonder women hate that.

Taking him all the way into my mouth, I'm shocked and curious by how much I *enjoy* the sensation. Let's just say my own erection is still there, but I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm too busy trying to figure this out. I guess it feels like I imagined it would against my tongue. Soft flesh over something harder. My tongue traces over all the ridges, feeling everything.

Bud starts to thrust in and out of my mouth faster in his excitement, causing me to gag briefly."You okay, sir?" Bud asks, his voice filled with sympathy.

"Emm okey," I mumble around his penis and he begins slower, shorter strokes.

I decide to go exploring. My fingers touch his balls and the patterns of his thrusts change slightly as he tries to compensate for the changing sensation.

I brush off a drop of fluid with my tongue, surprised at how salty it tastes. I really don't want all of that coming in my mouth, but I know I don't have much say right at this moment. Maybe I should have gone for the mint flavored condom. Instead of thinking about it, I continue to wrap my lips around Bud, getting him off.

"That . . . feels . . . so . . . g-good," Bud moans and stammers as he continues moving like that. "Harriet just doesn't want t-to s-since she found out she was pregnant."

"Mmm hmm," I slur, taking it all the way in until it hits the back of my throat, which isn't easy to do from this angle. I hear his breathing change and he pulls out sharply, spilling semen all over my face and mouth and lap. I watch as he stands with his hands over his penis, trying to catch the rest of it, but it is really too late.

"I'm sorry about that, sir. Here, let me get you something to clean that up," he says, as he tosses me one of the towels off of the pile. I wipe the sticky substance off of my face and then hand him the towel so he can clean off. "That was good, Harm. Not as good as Harriet, but, well, we've been married for a while and you know how it is . . . we're comfortable together."

"No need to explain," I say, feeling my erection fade away.

"There is one more thing I'd really like to do," Bud says after he gets his pants back on and his deck shoes are tied again.

"What's that?" I ask, looking around for the mini-bar that I know is in here. I could use a strong drink right now to knock the taste out of my mouth. Or a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

Without saying a word, he turns to me and puts his hand under my chin, lifting my face up so I'm looking at him. And his mouth comes down around mine. It isn't a sexual kiss at all. No tongues are involved. It is . . . just a kiss. He breaks away and steps back.

"I was just curious. Harriet said you were a good kisser . . . you know, the wedding. You aren't bad, sir. Not the best, but not bad," he says as he heads toward the door.

"What do you mean not bad?" I ask, leaning back on the bed and reclining on my elbows.

"Not bad. Hey, don't forget we have that hearing at 8 a.m. on Monday. Don't be late," Bud says as he opens the door.

"I won't forget. Night, Bud," I say, watching him leave.

"Goodnight, Commander," he says, shutting me back in the room.

I fall the rest of the way back on the bed and put my arm over my eyes, blocking out all the light. Good God. That was the strangest thing on earth. I just gave one of my best friends a blow job and sent them off to their wife. What could be next? I think I need to rest for a while.

*********

I wake up and decide quickly I need a drink. I barely have time to move a muscle before someone knocks on the door again. So much for a drink. Maybe later. I swallow and am hit with a distinct salty aftertaste. Definitely later.

I lift my head up from the bed and see Petty Officer Tiner enter the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. He drops a bag at his feet. The candles all seem to flicker around him and he flips on all the lights, blinding me in an incandescent glow.

Tiner is okay. We've both been a part of this game before. Tiner's turn came up a while ago. I didn't ask much more from him then Bud asked from me since I had to be somewhere. I don't even want to think about that right now.

"Hey, Tiner," I say, casually, before putting my head down again, not caring about my present state of undress. He's already seen the whole show here once before. It's nothing new to him.

"You will address me as 'sir' from here on out, do you understand me?" Tiner says in a well-perfected snap-to voice. I raise my head up again, my eyes wide I'm sure, and I stare at him. "Do you understand me, sailor?"

I sit up on the bed and answer. "Sir. Yes, sir."

So this is the game he wants to play. I can handle this. I can play his game.

"I can't hear you. Perhaps if you stood up, sailor, I'd be able to hear you better," Tiner barks at me and I stand up off the bed immediately. He looks me over carefully before he goes to the bag he has on the floor and pulls out a folded up uniform. "From this moment on, I'm the Commander and you are the enlisted 'kid' in the Popeye suit."

He tosses the white shirt and hat at me. Great. This is worse than having half of those toys in that drawer shoved into various orifices of my body. I'm a Naval aviator and a lawyer who's going to be dressed up like a two year old. "Aye aye, Commander."

I pull the uniform shirt on over my head, making sure the tie is right, and I put the hat on. No pants. I look at Tiner, standing there in jeans and a baby-blue sweater and I realize I'm not getting pants. I'm also getting extremely hard and he's noticed. Jesus, what's wrong with me?

"That's better, sailor," he says, licking his lips. Slowly. Enticingly. Petty Officer Jason Tiner can spend the rest of his life saying he's not gay, but I'm never going to believe it. Not that I care. His life is his life and it doesn't effect his work. But with him looking at me like that, I don't even know what to think.

He comes closer to me, as if he's doing an inspection. Tiner makes a small circle around me, spending a little more time in back than in front. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" I ask, my voice breaking a little. My throat is incredibly dry and I'm dying to know what he's going to do next.

"Did I ask you for anything yet, sailor?" Tiner says, his hand touching my jawline and moving across it as he walks in front of me. My eyes follow him as he moves, fascinated. Bud was . . . Bud. He acted just like Bud. This isn't the Tiner I know.

"No, sir. You didn't."

"The Admiral is always talking about what a trouble maker you are," Tiner says and he must notice the startled expression on my face. I'm positive Chegwidden would never say such a thing in front of an enlisted man, even though I'm sure he has said it to others. "I'm the eyes and the ears of that place, Rabb. Don't you forget it. I know most everything even before you do."

Well, if it makes him feel important . . .

He disappears behind me and I feel his hand brush across my ass and I stumble forward slightly before I catch my balance. His touch was barely perceptible but I must be overly sensitive right now, standing so close to him while wearing just this silly uniform. His hands now cup my ass cheeks, as if he's feeling for a good melon at the supermarket, and instead of swaying forward, I find myself leaning back now.

"Do you know what happens to trouble makers, sailor?" Tiner confides in my ear, his fingers still on to my ass.

"I have an idea, sir," I answer, my voice as low as his. I lick my lips, trying to bring some moisture back to my mouth, but it isn't working.

"Good," he says, as his one hand snakes between my legs and touches my balls briefly. "I'm going to show you how to be a good little sailor. I'm going to show you how I was shown, but I'm going to make sure you enjoy it. They didn't care if I enjoyed it."

The lawyer and investigator in me makes me want to turn around to look at him, to see if he's making this part of his fantasy up. I doubt he is. It would be nice if he would have spoken up about it before now.

"I understand, sir," I say as he stops his touches and stands in front of me.

"Do you trust me, sailor?" Tiner asks, and something flickers in those blue eyes and across that boyish face that tells me this is important to him. That doing a good job and having my . . . or anybody in charge's respect and trust is all he wants.

"I most certainly do, sir," I say, waiting for him to ask me to do something. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. A shiver of anticipation races through me and I find my hand reaching out for him even though he didn't tell me I could.

"Do you want to undress me, sailor?" he asks as I tug at the bottom of his sweater. A smile crosses his face and he tries hard to suppress it.

"Yes, sir, I do," I say, licking my bottom lip. I just never expected to want to do this, but now my curiosity is piqued. That and my cock.

"Then I suggest you get to it, sailor," Tiner says it and I have his sweater up and over his head in a matter of seconds. His tags get tangled up in it and he just pulls them over his head and allows them to jangle to the floor.

My hands stop on the fly of his jeans for just a moment as what I'm doing catches up to me. I let out a long, shallow sigh and I know my fingers are trembling. Unfortunately, I really can't feel them through this lightheadedness I'm going through.

Tiner leans toward me and his mouth meets mine for a brief kiss. Nothing more than a peck, really. "It will be okay, Harm," he whispers as his hands go over mine, guiding me as I unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down. At the same time, he's getting rid of his shoes and the whole thing is clumsy and awkward yet that doesn't seem to really matter. I slide his jeans down over his narrow hips and he wiggles out of them and then sheds his socks. That's better than Bud did.

He's got on tightie whities and his erection is filling up the front already. Filling is an understatement. My eyes go wide again. I must not have been paying attention last time. And he thinks that's going to go . . . where? I hope not.

"What, sailor? You think the Navy only gives flyboys sticks?" Tiner asks with a little laugh.

"Can I take them off?" I ask in a barely there voice with my hands already on elastic waistband, the damn game forgotten.

"I'd like that," he says and I release him from the cotton material and toss them with his other clothes. We both stand there, both of us just a little nervous, not knowing what to say now. Maybe it is time to get back to the game.

"What would you like now, sir?" I ask, realizing that I'm still half dressed. Shit. I even have on a hat.

He licks his lips nervously and looks around the room. I try to follow his eyes, not knowing what to expect and worried about some of those things I saw in that drawer. "I'm going to turn on some music. Don't go anywhere, sailor," he instructs me and I smile with relief.

"Yes, sir."

He fumbles around with the CDs and I can only imagine what we are going to be listening to. Please don't make me strip to 'In the Navy.' I can handle a legion of punishments, but not that. I would have to say 'no' at that point.

"Do you like these ones on top? I'll put some of those in," he says, and I hear the discs drop one by one onto the plastic tray and slide into the player.

The music starts up and he comes back to me and places his hands on my hips, gently guiding me back toward the bed. I feel it hit me in the back of the legs again, but this time I don't fall backwards. Instead, he runs into me. That's all it takes. His hands go up to my face and he's pulling me in for a kiss. The hat ends up somewhere. I don't know where. Behind me. And now he's tugging at the uniform shirt, requesting for me to take it off. We stop kissing just long enough for me to toss it away but then we are right back at it, tongues dueling.

Tiner grinds his pelvis toward me and I stand splay-legged so my cock rubs against his in passing. And it feels good. He moves away again and I groan at the broken contact.

"Lie down, sir . . .sailor," he stammers and I sit on the bed and scoot backwards up it until as much of me is on this bed as is going to fit. "Um, keep yourself occupied. I've just got to get a few things."

My hand strokes my cock as I watch him move around the room. He opens a drawer and pulls out a tube of . . . some sort of lube I would guess. I can't really see from here. At least he hasn't gotten to the 'toys' yet. Instead, he goes to the little refrigerator and takes something out. I roll onto my side to see him better, my hand still maintaining a constant motion, and watch him as he grabs a few ice cubes and puts them in a plastic glass. I . . . I don't even know what to expect with that.

Tiner sets the few items down on the nightstand before he crawls on to the bed and sits cross-legged next to me. "Are you relaxed?" he asks. He gently pulls on my hip until I'm on my back again before moving my hand away and taking over stroking my cock.

"Y-yeah," I lie. How could I be completely relaxed knowing what's going to happen? I want it to happen and that's enough to put me on edge.

"Good. Let's have a little fun . . . sailor," he says, his blue eyes damn near twinkling. Without missing a beat with his hand, he nestles in beside my body and we kiss again. He does smell so very male, like soap and the woods and I never thought of Tiner as smelling like anything before right now. Certainly not anything so masculine. My hand seeks out his cock and I match the rhythm he's making on mine. He groans against my mouth as my hand goes up and down him and I smile, somehow pleased that I could make him do that.

Tiner moves his mouth away from mine and I feel his tongue move down my neck and then to my chest. He moves on to his knees and I can no longer jerk him off, but he never lets go of my cock. His tongue flicks out against one of my nipples before he takes it and rolls it between his lips. The sensation makes me thrust up into his hand and he backs off a little.

"You don't want to come just yet," he says, lifting his head to look at me. He touches my dog tags and moves them so they are over on the side instead of on my chest.

"I don't?" I say, breathing hard and very much wanting some sort of release soon. He pulls his hand off of my cock and I sigh with displeasure.

"No, you don't," he repeats as he fumbles around behind him and spills the glass with the ice. He manages to stop all of them from falling on the floor and brings one into contact with my skin. Trailing it down my chest, he circles my nipples with the small cube of the partially melted ice and I let out a groan as he replaces it with his hot mouth and tongue. He continues that all the way down my stomach. Ice. Mouth. Ice. Mouth. Ice.

He reaches my cock and I cringe at the thought of that touching me there. But he never leaves the ice on for that long before he replaces it with his lips. His mouth moves down my cock and I squirm under him, feeling his tongue flit across the taut flesh. Then he motions for me to part my thighs more, and I do, waiting for the ice to touch my balls. And it does.

Then the ice is gone, melted from the contact with my body. Tiner sits up and grabs the tube from the nightstand before settling himself right where he was again. He is motioning for me to shift around.

"Um . . . "

"Harm," I say, figuring now would be a good time to use my first name.

"Harm, here, bend your legs up like this . . . good. Now just relax," he says, shifting his positioning as I try to imagine just how stupid I look with my knees flexed up to my chest. But the moment his tongue hits right *there* I don't care how stupid I look. Fuck. That's good. His other hand has gone back to work on my cock and I know I won't be able to take much more of this.

His whole mouth works on me, with his tongue circling and circling and it is all I can do to keep my eyes open and my hands from moving his to the side so I could jerk myself off faster. But I let him keep this up instead. What did he say he was going to do? Show me to be a good sailor . . . and this punishment isn't bad at all.

He moves again, so he's looking at me over my abdomen, and I moan in desperation when he breaks that contact with his tongue.

"Do you want to come?" he asks and I can see he's playing around with the lid to that tube. "I'm going to make you come hard."

"What about you?" I say, looking at his hard cock just waiting there.

"This is about teaching you, sailor," he says with a smile, remembering his game. "Keep your legs up. I'll go slow."

I feel a finger, wet with lube, enter me slowly followed by another and I clench up. He waits patiently as I will my body to relax and it does, allowing him to slide in farther. His other hand goes back to my cock, stroking me hard as he fucks me with his fingers.

The small room is filled with the sound of what he's doing to my body and I can't concentrate on anything past that. Fingers . . . Tiner's fingers are all over me and in me and I'm going to come so hard if he just hits . . . right there again.

Tiner angles up and starts banging against my prostate and that's all I can take. My hands grip on to the headboard as I come, his hand milking the semen out of me for all I'm worth. I gasp for breath, unable to control my body just yet. Jesus. He doesn't stop. He just keeps thrusting with his other hand until I can't take it anymore and clench up tight around his fingers, forcing him to pull out.

My stomach is covered with my own come and I want to reach for a towel, but Tiner holds me right where I am. He lets my knees drops, but he kneels in between them, his cock in his hand as he begins to jerk off in front of me. I don't know what he wants me to do so I reach out and brush the tip with my thumb, his hand hitting my hand on the upstroke. Soon, his whole body tenses up and his back arches and he reaches orgasm, his semen splattering with mine across my body.

I watch his face as he tries to catch his breath, his nostrils flaring and I must admit Tiner's not bad looking. For a kid in a sailor suit. He falls down on the bed next to me, his hand resting on my chest as we both try to get our breathing back to normal.

"You better get cleaned up, sir," Tiner says, apparently allowing us to resume somewhat normal roles again. I reach over and grab a towel and try to wipe myself off the best I can before tossing it over the side. The room now no longer smells so pleasant. It has taken on the not so subtle smell of men fucking and the night is still early yet.

Tiner rolls off the bed and begins to get dressed, untangling his tags from his sweater and pulling them over his head. I watch as he pulls on the rest of his clothes, ties his shoes and gathers the pieces to the enlisted uniform he had with him. Then he stands at the foot of the bed and just smiles at me.

"I had a good time, sir," he says as he begins to walk backward towards the door.

"So did I . . . sailor," I say and he ducks out the door without saying another word. I roll over onto my side, hoping I can catch a little nap before whoever is next comes in . . .

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

Even in my deep sleep, I get the unsettling feeling that someone is watching me. He's watching me closely, yet he isn't anywhere near me. I'm sure once I open my eyes that will all change quickly. There's a quick rustle of fabric across the room and I shut my eyes tighter.

"Rabb, I know you're awake."

Webb. Thought so. Sounded like an expensive suit rustling around and who else could sneak in here so quietly?

"You know this is all being taped, don't you, Webb?" I ask, still not opening my eyes. Webb is one of the Admiral's guests and not someone I wanted to run into naked in the dark. God only knows what kind of interrogation games he'll want to play.

"The Admiral and I have an agreement concerning that little detail, but that's not important right now," he says, his voice drawing near. "Interesting choice of music, Rabb."

I open one eye and then the other to discover Webb standing in front of the stereo, adjusting the volume. I try to figure out what is playing and the voice sounds somewhat familiar, but it certainly isn't something I would choose.

"Tiner put that on, not me," I say, suddenly having an urge to cover myself up. With everybody else, the relationship is always clear once we get out of here. I'm still above them, or below them, depending on who they might be, but with Webb, it is different. There are no control boundaries already in place and that changes the game just a little.

"Petty Officer Tiner would choose this . . . in lieu of the Village People," he says, turning it up a bit. "He was probably ten when this came out. Do you mind?"

He holds up another CD. Opera. Must be my lucky night because I get to 'go' to the opera with Webb. His mother must be out of town or else he'd be with her instead of doing this. I'm sure he's here just to torture me, which leads me to believe the Admiral has this whole thing rigged . . .

"Go ahead," I say, putting that thought aside as I gather up a pillow to put in front of me. He just smirks at my sudden modest behavior.

"Please, don't flatter yourself. Actually, I'd rather see you dressed. I left your uniform over there," he says, nodding at the doorknob to the locked room. A dry cleaner's bag hangs from it with my dress whites wrapped in the plastic.

"How'd you know . . ." I start to ask.

"How did I know how to find your dry cleaner? Rabb, I can find out just about anything I want to know about your life. Who does your laundry is hardly classified. Hell, I can even tell you what kind of toothpaste you use," Webb says. He doesn't look at me, he just stands there carefully handling the CDs as he puts them on the player. He's meticulous with them, only holding the discs by the edge.

"What kind of toothpaste do I use?" I ask, curious as to whether he's just bluffing.

"Crest. Regular flavor. Very unimaginative but I didn't expect anything more from you. You usually buy Charmin . . . double rolls . . ." he says but I cut him off.

"That's enough. I believe you," I say as I crawl off the bed and walk to where my uniform is hanging. It is mine, right down to the correct ribbons and my wings put on there perfectly. Funny how two people in a row are dressing me up like a doll.

I can most certainly feel his eyes on me, crawling with deliberation up my body. It sends shivers up my spine, but not of anticipation. Well, maybe a little anticipation of what's going to happen next. Most everything with Webb is a game of posturing, usually over how long he's going to hold out until he tells us the truth. Now it's a game to find out exactly what either one of us wants from the other. Same old game. Different consequences.

I slowly put my uniform on, wondering what his game is going to be. I'm sure it will be a game. If Tiner could come up with something, Webb can probably come up with something ten times better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. I hear his breath catch slightly as I turn around, completely dressed. Shit, don't tell me it works on men, too? I kind of guessed, but none have ever looked at me like this.

He wets his bottom lip quickly and then looks away, slightly embarrassed. He's wearing one of his suits . . . they all look just as alike as any uniform could . . . and we are equals right at this moment. Until he asks for something more than me putting my clothes on. Maybe I should be offended?

"Do you know what this particular piece of music is?" he asks, his eyes meeting mine. My hands are clasped behind me and I try not to squirm under his steady gaze.

"N-no, I have no idea," I say, as I listen to some soprano sing her heart out. Webb finally leaves his post next to the stereo and walks toward me, stopping when he's a few feet away from me. "I'm not big on opera."

"That's too bad. I try to take Mother at least once every season. This is one of her favorites," Webb says and that thought disturbs me. He wants to fuck me to his mother's favorite opera?

I shake my head, still not recognizing it. So I'm a cultural idiot as compared to Webb, but can he fly a Tomcat? I doubt it. Just because he was raised around opera and ballet and everything nice and I was raised around jets doesn't mean he's a whole lot better than I am. "I don't know," I answer again.

"'Madama Butterfly' by Puccini. Listen to that voice . . ." he says, shutting his eyes briefly as he becomes immersed in the music. It is nice to know Webb has a hobby for his off hours from being a spook. ". . . do you know the story?"

More opera trivia. Soon, it will be a relief if he just asks me to give him a blowjob. Anything would be better than dissecting Madama Butterfly. "Vaguely. Someone falls in love with someone else and it ends tragically."

"You just named the central theme to 3/4th of all operas and most all literature. I'm impressed, Rabb, that you could get so specific," Webb says, smiling because he thinks he knows something I don't. I can still fly Tomcats. "I meant, do you know what the story is? Not just the plot."

"I'm guessing it has an American Naval officer in it," I say. Actually, I'm not guessing because I know that much. But Webb looks so pleased with himself that I will just go along with this and pretend I don't know any more.

"Do you really want to know the story?" he asks, taking a step closer to me. I'm tempted to back up a step to offset his advances, but I firmly hold my position.

"If you want to tell it to me," I answer, my voice anxious and far lower than I expected. Webb stops moving when we are within inches of each other, so close I can hear and feel each breath that he takes. "I . . . would like for you to tell me the story."

He takes another step closer and I draw in a breath, waiting to see what he's going to do. All he does is reach out and touch a gold button on the front of my uniform before he draws his hand back and down to his side. I can breath again. It isn't easy, but I can do it.

"The naval officer is Lieutenant Pinkerton. While in Nagasaki, he marries a very young Cio-Cio-San Butterfly, but it is only a game to Pinkerton. He eventually leaves her only to return a few years later with an American wife, but Butterfly doesn't know this and eagerly waits for him to come back to her. She has borne him a son and she thinks this will make him happy. When she realizes what he has done, she wants to give her son up to him and in the end dies on her father's sword," Webb tells me while the music continues to fill the room.

I'm sure it really takes more time than that. Or at least it would feel like it if you were stuck at the opera with your own mother. At least when you take a date to the opera, there's a chance of getting laid afterwards. Then again, Webb and his mother do appear to be very close . . .

"Sounds beautiful, Webb. But why have me dress like this?" I ask, hoping he doesn't want to act this opera out. I am allowed to say 'no' to certain things. I think that would have to be one of them.

"Come on, Rabb, even you aren't that stupid. You know what you look like in that . . ." he starts to say, but turns his head away, embarrassed by the line of conversation.

"No, Webb. How do I look?" I ask, goading him on. This is a whole new side to Webb I've never been privy to before. This time, I reach out and touch the top button on his vest. Does he not know the definition of casual wear? I hear him take a deep breath as my finger lingers there for a few seconds before popping it through the buttonhole.

"You look . . . y-you look like you knew how the uniform would look on you when you joined the Navy," he says nervously, working his way around anything remotely resembling the truth.

"Are you saying I use this uniform to get what I want?" I ask, not able to draw my hand away just yet. I like to watch Webb squirm since it doesn't happen very often. Usually just when . . . I'm around.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is . . . do you like this particular piece? I think this is mother's favorite. I'm sure of it. Or maybe it is the next one," he says, and I watch his tongue swish across his bottom lip again.

"It's nice," I say and when I pull my hand away, he closes his eyes. Just briefly, but long enough to register some sort of loss after that touch. "And you want me to be . . . what was his name?"

"Pinkerton," Webb replies, and this time I take a casual step forward, just a little closer to him. This is supposed to be his game, but I think it can be *our* game. Webb is good at games. I'm good at figuring out what he's up to.

"Pinkerton. And you can be . . . Butterfly?" I ask, trying hard not to smile too much. "Poor Butterfly. In love with an American sailor who will never love her back."

I put my hand on his vest again, letting the second button slip through the buttonhole. "Pinkerton did run in the end, coward that he was, only to come back when it was too late."

"Did he learn his lesson?" I ask, our eyes locked on to the other's.

"Does any man ever learn their lesson when it comes to women?" Webb asks and I finally look away. I'm sure he knows every mistake I've ever made with the opposite gender. He apparently knows everything. He quickly steps back away from me and my fingers, not waiting for me to answer. He walks over to the mini-bar and opens it. "Would you like a drink? Not much ice here, but I'm sure I could mix up something. Better yet, Chegwidden supplied your brand of beer."

"How would you know . . ."

"You prefer Heinz over Hunts when it comes to ketchup." He hands me a bottle of beer after popping the top off of it. He has a smirk on his face and he's acting like he's in control again.

"Is there anything you don't know about me?" I ask, taking a sip of the beer. Maybe some alcohol will make this all go easier, though I noticed he didn't pour himself a drink. Now I feel at a disadvantage. Either he's good at guessing or he does know everything about me. I wonder how much of my past he knows? There's some embarrassing stuff in there.

"I'm sure there is something I don't know about you. Not much, but there's something," he says. He walks by some of the Admiral's toys, including the sling seat hanging from the ceiling. He swings it just a little, as if he's testing it out for future use. I set the beer down.

"What would you like to know about me . . . that you don't already know?" I ask, wanting to undo the collar on this damn uniform. Is it getting hot in here? I swear someone must control the temperature from outside, turning on the heat just to make things more interesting.

"Who says I don't already know everything I need to know?" he asks, trying to distract me. He's quite good at it -- double talk and any variety of 'spook' stuff. Neither of us is going to be the first to sit down anywhere in this room and we are as edgy as a couple of old tomcats defending some staked out territory. I suppose that territory would be pride in this case.

"Come on, Webb. What is it you want from me? We can't keep this up all night," I say, watching him come closer to me. My last words evoke a smile out of him but it soon fades.

"Does it ever matter what anyone wants from you, Rabb? Do you even care? You seem to bounce through life caring only about yourself. You care about people in general, but not any specific one," he says, his eyes still steadily focused on me. Where in the hell is this line of questioning coming from? "Aren't you afraid of ending up alone?"

"Aren't you?" I snap back at him. Like he's a different creature than I am? We are more similar than we want to admit and that is why this is going so slow. Of course, we have our differences, but under it all, we have a hell of a lot in common.

"Actually, no. I've accepted the limitations my career places on my personal life. But you . . . you use your career to push people away," he says. He stands there with his hands on his hips and I've had about enough of this. Maybe this is his whole plan. Dress me up and spend the night analyzing me.

"Okay. Enough. What is you want?" I ask, my words sounding rather harsh. I swear all he really wants to do is play with me. Webb probably gets a thrill out of it.

"I want you to be Pinkerton who realizes too late what he did to Butterfly," he says, and I can only shake my head in confusion. This game is too strange. Leave it to Webb to play head games with me instead of just fucking around. That would be too easy.

"Fine. If you want me to break your heart and leave you, too, I will," I say, and he nods his head. Well, this is interesting. At last, a role I'm perfect for. "What do you want me to do?"

"Undress me," he says and I walk over to him, realizing that he's still very much in control. He's going to be through this whole thing no matter how hard I try to shift the power around. I might be doing something to him, but he's directing me.

"Like this?" I ask as I unbutton his jacket first, letting it slide off of his shoulders. He watches it puddle around his feet on the floor and I know he wants to pick it up, dust it off and put it on a hanger, but I don't give him the time. My hands move to his ever-present vest and slowly unbutton it, watching him watch my hands.

If I had to say I was physically attracted to a type of man, even though I'm not, it wouldn't be Webb's type. Yet, there is something about him that is spurring me on, making this easier than I thought it would be. Something about the fact that he doesn't need anyone anymore than I do that makes him . . . attractive. A challenge. I want him to need me for just a few minutes. I need for him to need this.

The vest slides off and lands on top of the jacket and one would think I just put a giant chink in his armor by the way he's fidgeting. Webb comes undone without the suit to hide behind when I'm around.

I'm a good six inches taller than he is and usually it goes unnoticed. But not right now. No matter how hard he tries to regain his composure and stand taller, he begins to shrink when my hand unknots his silk tie and slides it through the buttoned-down collar. I hold the tie in my hands and play with it, twisting the slippery material around in my hand.

"W-what are you going to do with that?" he asks, his eyes growing dark and . . . curious. Willing. Ready.

"You want me to do something with it?" I ask, sounding quite smug. A smirk crosses his face in answer to my smugness.

"Drop it," he says without a waiver in his voice. He wants the control back. Maybe I'll give it to him. Maybe I won't. I hold the blue striped material up between us and start to let it slide between my fingers only to have him catch it before it can snake its way to the floor. "Turn around."

I look at him, his smirk in full force now. I really don't want to turn around because I don't know what he's going to do. Not know what Webb has planned next is always a dangerous thing.

"Rabb, turn around. For chrissakes, I'm not going to hurt you," he says, taking hold of my arm and spinning me around. The dynamics of the game are changing quickly . . . too quickly for my tastes. The material goes over my eyes, the thickest part in the perfect place, and he has to reach up to tie the knot behind my head, but I am blinded now. Everything has gone dark.

"Now what?" I ask, turning around to where I guess he might me. I feel like a kid going to pin the tail on the donkey at a birthday party. Well, in this case, pin the tail on the ass . . .

"Undress yourself."

I get it. He doesn't want me to see him while I do this, to be able to sense his reactions and be one step ahead of him. No one can be one step ahead of Webb, not even during sex. Must be one of hell of a woman to get the better of him and make him fall.

"You already saw me undressed, Webb. When you came in," I say, motioning in the direction . . . what I think is the direction of the bed.

"I saw you undressed for Petty Officer Tiner. I didn't see you undressed for me. Get undressed."

"Whatever you want." I release the collar of my uniform first and I can't tell where he might be by now. I know he's moving, but I swear he moves around like an annoying cat on padded feet. He could be inches from me or he could be on the other side of the room. I turn a little, listening for any movement, but there isn't any. Damn spook school.

I pop each of the gold buttons free and let the jacket slide from my shoulders. I toss it in the general direction of something and hope it doesn't hit the floor. I have a function I have to attend next week and I don't want to go through the hassle of drycleaning it again. I slip the pants off and am as naked as I was when he got here. I have no idea what game he's playing now. The opera music plays on yet he remains silent.

All I can do is stand there blind in the middle of the room. And I don't know what the fuck to do with my hands.

"Come towards me," he directs and I follow his voice but I don't reach out for him. He has to reach for me. "Okay. Stop."

I can sense that he is directly in front of me and I think we are somewhere near the bed. This room isn't *that* big. The tension between us stands up and obeys, as if it is a third person here this room always at attention, always alert. "Now what, Webb?"

"Finish what you started."

"Finish what? Undressing you? I can't see," I say. He wants me to reach for him. He wants me to pull him towards me. Fucker. He wants me to *need* him. Pinkerton needs Butterfly at last.

"You've taken a dress shirt off yourself -- what? Hundreds of times. You've already done the difficult part and gotten the tie undone. I'm sure you can manage," he says, not backing down.

What pisses me off the most, more than him demanding that I reach out for him, is that I'm becoming extremely aroused from this and there is no way I can hide it. And the bastard is probably going to walk out of here with a copy of the tape.

I tentatively reach out in front of me and my fingertips strike up against the expensive material of his shirt. He sucks in a nervous breath as I move my hands across his chest, seeking out the tiny buttons and missing them every time. Just because he's in control doesn't mean I can't play. Finally I find one and release it and inch my hands up to the next one, going as slow as I can. I think I'm starting mid-chest by the feel of his body, which means I will have to head back down as soon as I finish up with the collar . . .

"I'll get that one," he says, brushing my hand away as I my fingers struggle with the one at the very top. I don't think Clayton Webb trusts anyone getting that close to his throat. Not even me.

"I'll just do these down here," I say, my hands sliding down his abdomen, feeling it quiver involuntarily as I find where I left off with the buttons. I pull his shirt out of his pants and finally finish up, letting the shirt slide off his shoulders.

"Cuffs."

"What?" I ask, swallowing hard. What in the hell does he want to do now. Being blindfolded is one thing . . .

"Rabb, you forgot to unbutton the cuffs," he says, sounding frustrated. I hear him wiggle back into the shirt and his fingers quickly unfasten the last buttons.

"Sorry," I say. I reach for him, not caring anymore. He has an undershirt on and my fingers clutch on to it, pulling it up and over his head. I can hear him kick off those damn expensive shoes of his. I bet he normally has to untie the son of a bitches and keep them sized by using cedar shoe trees. I fumble around with his belt, unlatch his pants and let my hand slowly unzip his fly, wanting to feel if he is as aroused as I am. He is. Good.

I expect his pants to drop down, but they don't. "Take your hands off of your hips, Webb," I say, patting his hands. He moves away from me for a second, probably to make sure his pants end up with a perfect crease in them when we are done.

Then I feel his hands press squarely against my chest, pushing me back until I'm falling onto the bed. Bouncing on the flat surface, I feel around me but I'm all alone. He didn't come down with me.

"Webb?"

No answer. I can hear him shuffling around the room, discreet little noises that would go unnoticed if the only other sound in here wasn't just my heart pounding against my rib cage. I feel my eyelashes bat against the fabric, but it doesn't give way to their insistence. I *could* just slide it off with my hands but right now I'm too nervous to look anyway. I have no idea what Webb is up to and I don't necessarily want to see what he's gathering together.

"Webb, speak to me," I say, just so I can get a better bearing as to where he might be in the room. He knows what I'm up to and doesn't answer me just yet.

"What's the matter, Rabb? Never been blindfolded in a room before?" he says, his voice just as smug as he always is.

"Actually, I have. Usually not with you," I say, turning my head in the direction of his voice. "And I usually have clothes on."

He laughs. It's a frightening laugh because I can't see the expression to go with it. All I can do is lie here and wait in darkness while he finishes preparing . . . whatever. I nervously raise my hand to and touch the blindfold.

"Don't remove that yet," he says. He's not stern with this warning, but it is a warning nonetheless. I move my hand back down to my side. There is no use in trying to cover myself. The only protection I have now is with words.

"Why, Webb? Afraid you won't quite measure up to Tiner in my eyes?"

I know it isn't incredibly clever and I can hear him snort in that genteel way brought about by years of gracious upbringing. I didn't grow up poor, but I certainly didn't grow up like Lt. Abby Cowen over there . . . here. The edge of the bed dips as he moves on it and I fight the urge to turn away.

I am exposed and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Relax, Rabb."

That's all he says before I feel a hand slowly drift up my thigh toward my groin. Relax? How in the fuck am I supposed to do that? I bet he's so good at interrogating people. Tells them to relax and does something to distract them. Probably not *this* but something. Hell, what do I know. Maybe he does do this. It would distract me into talking. I'd sound like a blathering idiot, but I'd be talking.

His hand travels up my thigh but bypasses my cock, instead slowly stroking up my abdomen instead. I feel little ripples pass through the muscles and before I can wrap my mind around what's going on, something wet takes the place of that dry, well manicured hand. His mouth. His tongue.

It is cold yet hot all at the same time. The air hitting the damp trail left behind sends chills through my body, but his mouth . . . where it makes contact . . . burns. Burns right straight through my skin and muscle and to the bone.

And then without saying a single word to me, without any warning, his tongue flicks up against the head of my cock and my whole body jerks up off the bed. His hand pushes back down on my hip, settling me so he can continue what he's doing. Tiner's mouth was there, but it wasn't like this.

No, this soars though my body and I can't control where it is taking me. His lips close all the way around me, mouth taking me in and my hands go up to remove my blindfold because I *have* to see this, but he somehow manages to hold me down. I never imagined he was so strong. Or maybe right now, I'm too weak.

Even though I can't see anyway, my eyes flutter close under his necktie and I can't force them open. The only thing I know is open is my mouth. I know it is gaping open as I feel his mouth slide up and down my cock with ease, his tongue swirling around the tip with each stroke he makes.

"I w-want to see you," I mumble, trying to get out of his hold, but he doesn't let up. With his arms or his mouth. "Please, Webb. Please."

Fuck. I'm begging. I am begging Clayton Webb for something. He's got me, but still he doesn't give in. He breaks the perfect suction he had around my cock and I gasp as the cold air rushes in.

"You'll see everything soon enough."

"Please . . ." I whimper as his hand wraps around my cock this time. Why is he making me come undone like this? He slides it up my wet flesh, his thumb brushing across the fluid forming at the top and then he slides his fist back down. We all know how to do this to ourselves, but it is always interesting to feel how someone else does it . . . the pressure, the angle, the slow touch across the top. Jesus. I'm going to die right here.

"Please, what?" he asks, stopping his movements as the words are spoken.

"Fuck me. Let me fuck you. Whatever. Just let me do something."

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't respond. Doesn't touch me again. He's silently thinking. Does he even have to be so *him* even here in bed with me? He releases his hold on me and immediately my hands go up to my eyes, but he beats me to it. He just taps my hands with his fingertips. That's it. Then he pulls his hands away.

"Don't."

That's all he has to say and my arms seem to obey as they fall to my side. I'm obeying Webb. Shit. Hell freezing over and all that. But it certainly isn't cold in here, not now that his body is so close to mine and his hand is on me again. Not on my cock, but there's one hand resting casually on my hip. Just that is enough to send me to that cold hell. Please, do more, Webb. Please.

Something rustles around in his other hand and those warm fingertips leave my hip. I know that sound and it sends shivers down to my toes as I hear him rip open the little package. I can't see, but I know. He busies himself with something else . . . I can only feel movement and his warmth next to me and then his fingers roll the condom down on *me?* What in the hell is he doing?

He slathers something wet everywhere on my cock and I can feel the chill even through the latex and that chill is the only thing grounding me right now. What in the fuck is he thinking? There's got to be an ulterior motive here . . . there just has to be. Webb wouldn't willingly . . .would he? Only if he wants it. That would be the only way. But why would he want it . . .

With an unexpected movement, Webb is half on top of me and our cocks brush up against the other's for the first time and he moans. It is nearly inaudible but I caught it. He's not in complete control. But then again, neither am I.

Finally, he has to speak. Has to utter something other than simple commands. And his words bring a smile to my face. Not a smug one or one of victory. Just a smile. "Rabb, I kind of need your help with this."

"What is it you need . . . I need to do?" I ask. He sits up straighter and I reach tentatively out in front of me expecting to find darkness on my first try but instead I find him. More of him than I expected and I discover I can't move my hand away now. He is so aroused and I wrap my fist around him, tugging gently at his erection.

"You can do that," he replies, whatever other plans he had forgotten for the moment.

"What else?" I ask, finding it hard to form words right now. The CD falls silent in between tracks and I am suddenly aware of every small noise in the room, even for just a brief second. My hand on him. His short, panting breaths to go with my longer, uneven ones. I swear I can even hear the flicker of a flame on one of the candles. Then the music starts again.

"Hold yourself . . . while I . . just hold it," he tries to say calmly and I release his cock for a moment and instead wrap my hand around the base of my own. He straddles me completely and eases himself back gently, slowly. So slowly I can't stand it.

I am inside of him, the tightness so intense and hot I can barely breath as I grasp the bedding with my free hand. I swear I could dig right through the linen with my fingers as he settles a little further back on my cock. The sound he is making is somewhere between a groan and a hiss and I want to thrust up into him but I control myself. I let him control this. Control me.

Blindly, I reach out for his face. I want to know if he's okay with this but before I can touch him, he swats my hand away. He doesn't want me to know how this feels for him. All I can do is listen to the sounds he makes and feel the muscles in his thighs tremble on either side of me. Then with a throaty groan, he takes me in further and stops. To torture me, I'm sure. So that was his plan all along. If he's in control, he can torture me.

And what fucking sweet torture it is. I haven't felt anything this tight since I was up Bobbi Latham's ass a few years ago. Maybe this is tighter. His hands are flat on my chest for leverage and he begins to move up my shaft until I almost slip out before he slides back down again, bearing whatever pain this might cause.

"So damn good," he moans as he adjusts the angle I penetrate him at and I begin to rethink that pain thing. I reach for him again, but instead of reaching for something as forbidden as his face, I touch his cock, wrapping my fingers around his thick hardness and stroking him in time to his movements. "Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah."

"Good?" I ask, my voice cracking on just that word and he doesn't answer. I'll take that as a 'yes,' but I want to hear him talk to me. "Tell me . . . tell me about the music. About this particular piece."

"Now?" Webb asks, incredulously as he keeps pumping up and down on my cock.

"Yeah, now," I answer.

"Jesus, Rabb . . . Butterfly sees Pinkerton's ship come back and she thinks he's come back for her . . . and . . . she runs to get a better view . . . fuck, keep doing that. . . " I thrust up hard into him and he counters back against me. " . . . but Butterfly doesn't know about Pinkerton's new wife . . . Rabb, I'm so damn close."

I bend my knees to get a better angle and slam into him one more time while my hand works around his cock. With a low and desperate groan, Webb releases everything he's got in my hand and on my stomach. It pumps out against me hot and fast and now I want to do the same inside of him. His breath comes out in shattered little pants and his muscles are struggling to maintain the position he's in.

My cock can only take so much more heat and friction but every time I'm on the verge of orgasm, Webb stops moving. In my mind, I can picture the smirk on his face. I bet he looks like a sated cat who dipped his paw in the goldfish bowl for dinner. He's going to leave me in pain.

I wrap my hands around his hips and that's the only reason he moves. Shit. I'm fucking a man I don't even trust on a good day and it is the best thing I've ever felt. He knows it. Goddamn bastard knows it and he's going to use it.

Pulling him all the way down on me until he cries out, I come hard and fast, every muscle in my body quaking. Everything goes bright and for a moment I suspect he has pulled the tie from my eyes before I realize it is all in my mind. I'm still blindfolded. I wonder if he's going to take it with him, allowing me to see him? This can't go on forever. Besides, I'm so damn tired after all this mind and body play with Webb, I really just want to go to sleep for a while before the next person gets in here.

Before I can even catch my breath completely, I feel him reaching under him and holding onto the condom as he slips off of me. I sigh as the warm contact is broken and am shocked when I feel his lips touch mine in a soft, gentle kiss. He breaks it off and I hear him begin to pick up his clothes. If he doesn't want me to see him, that's okay. I don't mind.

"Goodbye, Butterfly . . ." is all I say, before I turn over onto my side and drift off to sleep.

***********

"You are a mess, sir."

I open my eyes and stretch my muscles as I try to bring myself out of some sort of post-coital haze. How long was I sleeping anyway? I pull the tie off from over my eyes to find Victor Galindez standing at the end of the bed, his arms behind him as he stands at-ease, looking ever like the proper Jarhead. I, on the other hand, am sprawled across the bed, with a full condom still hanging off my cock and a layer of dried semen now congealed on my stomach.What a picture. No wonder his lips keep twitching into a grin.

"Are you having a good time, sir?"

"I can't complain," I say, reaching around, trying to find a towel to clean myself up with. I roll from one side of the bed to the other, not finding anything. I look back at Galindez, and now he's shaking his head. He controls the expressions on his face well.

"Let me, sir," he says, moving to the dresser and pulling more clean towels out of a drawer. Get men together to have sex, and you need lots of towels. He tosses them my way and I peel off the condom and wrap it up in a towel. I wipe at the dried semen, but it isn't going to come off now. Not without taking off a layer of skin, too. Maybe the Admiral has a sandblaster down here somewhere . . .

"Damn," I mutter as I sit up, looking around the room uncomfortably for a way to solve this dilemma. The music is over. No more opera. The room is silent now, except for our my movements.

"I have the key to the shower," Galindez says, looking over at the locked door I tried opening earlier. Then he looks back at me. "Sir."

"S-shower?" I stammer. He finally lets go and smiles at me. Jesus. What a smile it is. No wonder Mac hired him. Someone had to smile around the office while I was gone.

"Yes, sir. A shower. I'll get you all cleaned up. It isn't normally in my job description to clean up other people's messes, but I do have a certain flair for it. I think you'll enjoy it," he says sounding as cocky as can be, as he walks across the room. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and slides one into the lock. I try to see if they are the keys from the office, but I can't tell before he slips them back into the pockets of his jeans. He disappears into the room and shuts the door behind him.

I hear the water start but I still don't move off the bed. Am I supposed to follow him? Is that what he wants? In the short time I've worked with him, I know that the Gunny is usually in charge of whatever . . . it is he's in charge of. I suspect this will be no different. I sit on the edge of the bed and peer in the direction of the bathroom, waiting for him.

Finally, he opens the door and looks at me. "The water's ready, sir."

"You don't have to keep calling me 'sir,' Gunny," I say, standing up off the bed.

"And you don't have to call me 'Gunny,' sir," he says, smiling again. "Victor will be fine."

"You can call me Harm," I say. We both stand there in a slightly uncomfortable silence now that we have that little issue settled. Again. With one more person.

"Okay, Harm. The water is getting cold."

I follow him into the room, expecting some sort of utilitarian military-like shower made up of one shower head with bad water pressure and a standard white mildew repellent shower curtain. I nearly choke when I discover the whole room is green Italian marble with brass shower heads that can spray from just about every direction. There are built in seats and the one wall is lined with mirrors that reflect back the look of surprise on my face.

Victor just has two shower heads spraying and he motions for me to step under them, all the while he stays out of the way of the water and completely dry and dressed. He leans back against the mirrors and crosses his arms over his chest, watching me with those dark eyes as I rinse the remains of Webb down the drain.

I dip my head back under the running water, soaking my military cut in no time. I bet his hair would take even less time to soak down. . .

"You want to join me?" I ask, as I wipe the water from my eyes with the back of my hand.

"I thought you'd never ask, sir," he says, his voice so smooth it nearly makes my knees give out. I beginning to think Mac got him hired for more than his smile. I'm sure of it.

He slowly peels off all of his clothing and tosses them out the door, closing it again and trapping us in a room filling fast with warm steam. He steps toward me, using care not to slip on the floor and joins me under the spray. My eyes take in his whole body quickly, going wide with with . . . appreciation. His dog tags glimmer against his chest and I want to reach out and touch them.

I glance away, looking around as I try to figure which of the many faucets turn on the other jets. As if he can tell I'm not looking for a bar of Irish Spring, he reaches out and cranks one of the brass fixtures. I watch the muscles flex in his arm, rippling smoothly under that caramel candy skin.

Water flows at us from all sides now, aimed with perfect precision. He leans his wet back against the marble, crossing his arms across his chest and bending a knee so he has a foot up against the wall. Victor just lets the water flow -- he doesn't watch me or watch anything, really. The only thing I can see him focus on is the water heading toward the drain. It's as if we are two men in a locker room taking a shower after a sweaty workout.

But we aren't.

"You look good in green," I say. Victor's skin looks amazing against the wall of verde marble with shiny veins of black and white traveling through it. He looks up at me with flashing eyes through a haze of steam and smiles.

"I know that, sir," is all he says.

"Harm," I mumble.

"I know that, too, Harm."

"Um hmm."

That's all I can fucking say. Jesus, Rabb. Did every iota of intelligence I still possessed go spiraling down the drain when he leaned his ass against the marble? I try to regain some sense of composure as we stare at each other through the spray falling around us. The silence isn't uncomfortable. We've never really had much to say to each other anyway. But someone has to say something. Do something.

"I think you missed a spot," he says, nodding at me. I look down, not noticing anything . . . noticeable. . . spot-wise.

"I did?" I ask, running my hand over my abdomen, and not feeling a spot of anything but me.

"I think you might have missed a little spot," he says, stepping toward me. I feel my cock twitch as he approaches and I will it to obey and stay down just a bit longer. I know this isn't about gender and boys liking boys -- it's just about sex, pure and simple.

"Little?" I ask, as his hand moves across my stomach, making all the muscles quiver. The word 'little' just isn't a comfortable choice right now as I look down between us, comparing and contrasting . . . equipment. He brushes just his thumb against that imaginary spot he noticed and I close my eyes, knowing I can't control my body much longer. His other hand rests against my chest, warm and strong, as he pushes me back against the cool marble. He isn't as tall as I am but that doesn't really seem to matter at this moment. I'm at the end of my control.

"There. I think that took care of it," Victor says, stepping back just a little and looking at his handiwork. I'm starting to get hard but the thing is, so is he. Neither of us has to be in control here. Just two guys in the shower. Two guys taking a shower. That's what we are right now. Sometimes I just hate being out of control.

"You know, I once went undercover as a gunnery sergeant," I say for no reason except to have something to say. He takes a step back and looks up at me, his eyes studying my face seriously.

"I didn't know that, sir," he says, as he sets his jaw just a little more square than usual. Marines do take being Marines rather seriously. Even when they are standing around naked. "I assume you survived the experience."

"I think I made the Corps proud," I say, and he flinches slightly. So there is just a little animosity hidden under there toward all the Squids he has to work with. "I even managed to save a few lives. I went on a graduation exercise with several Recon Marines and everything went to hell fast."

"Is that a fact," he says, his eyes staring straight ahead. Maybe Mac got him a job at JAG not just because of what he looks or sounds like, but so she'd have more of her type around.

"We learn a thing or two about saving our sixes in the Navy, too, you know," I say and his eyes finally meet mine again.

"I'm sure you Squids learn a lot of things about your sixes when you are out on those boats and subs, sir," he says, blinking slowly at me. His eyelashes are dotted with little droplets of water, but he isn't making the move to wipe them off. "Those tours can get awfully long."

"You know what they say about submarines. Eighty sailors go down . . ."

"And forty couples come back up," he says, stealing the punch line to my very old joke. But still, it was mine. At least it makes him smile just a little. I use that little crack in his tough Marine exterior to take the opportunity to step toward him. He doesn't step back. I wouldn't expect him to.

Our bodies are nearly touching, yet he doesn't flinch at all. I reach around him and touch the firm globes of his ass, feeling the well defined muscles under his slick skin. With a quick tug in my direction, we are closer, body to body, and with a little maneuvering on my part, groin to groin.

He lets out a long breath of air and his nostrils flair as our heavy cocks meet for the first time. My hands move up his back as we gyrate against each other, and then my hands are in his hair, brushing the water droplets of his Marine cut. It would probably be dry in a minute if I turned the water off but I don't want to turn it off. The sensation of it flowing between our bodies and running off of us is arousing. I don't have to look down to know he's as hard as I am. I can feel his thickness against me and I'm tempted to look down at it, but neither of us seems to be looking.

"What do you want from me?" I ask as I slide my hands down his back again and pull him even closer. I already know this isn't going to be all foreplay like it was with Tiner or head games like with Webb. This is going to be about sex. Even with the water trying to beat it down, I can smell it in the air. Male sex and nothing else.

His hands come up between our bodies and he pushes me back just a little. Just enough so we can make eye contact.

"Turn around."

Just with those two words, he sounds very commanding and there's no doubting who's in charge here now. We separate and I slowly turn around, allowing the water to hit me in the face as I go. He doesn't touch me but just knowing he's behind me, watching, sends a quick shiver down my spine.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I can only nod as he pushes me forward until my hands go up to the marble wall, bracing myself. His hand travels down my back and I close my eyes, not knowing what to expect. I know Bud and Tiner. Surprisingly, I even know Webb better than I know this person behind me, touching me, making me harder than I thought possible for a man my age after what I've already done overnight.

Maybe that's what so damn good about this. I *don't* know him that well.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," Victor says, and I look around, wondering where he thinks I'm going. Down the drain would be my only option and I don't want to leave this just yet anyway. He steps out of the spray and fumbles around with something on the other side of the room.

While he's gone all I can do is stare at the pattern in the marble before me, wondering if the Admiral ever has other parties down here that don't include us. Or if women ever get to see this. Then I look up and around, trying to figure out where he might keep his ever-present camera in here.

Victor steps back in the shower and sets some stuff down on the ledge next to us. I take one quick look at him before looking forward and at the marble again. He looks like he's all business. His hands go back to my skin again, massaging me under the hot water. He's not half bad at this.

"Relax, sir," he says and I try to. "You'll like this. I'll see to that. I always make sure that everybody is satisfied."

Fuck. His voice is so low that it is nearly a growl and his fingers have just begun to explore my ass and I think I just want to come right now.

I push back against his hand, urging him to do more. Instead, he draws away from me and fumbles around with a few things. The direction of the water changes, no longer pelting down all around us. He does something else, and the water becomes a warm mist. The Admiral went all out with his little shower, I must say. Then I hear him doing something with the items he brought back into the shower.

Then once again, his hands are all over me and I'm pushing back against him, leaning forward to give him better access. He gently pushes a slick, warm finger into me and I moan at the building pressure. All my muscles begin to relax around him and I want more. I want to feel all of him inside of me and I don't know why. I *don't* know him but that's part of what makes this so damn good. It means nothing but feels just as good.

He's being very careful with me, yet not going slow or being overly cautious. Thank God. I don't want slow right now. Sometimes hard and fast is good. Sometimes it is what the situation calls for. Now is one of those times.

I know what he's preparing me for as his fingers slowly work their way into my body, and I don't care. Whatever in me that thinks I should care doesn't even care. All I care about is how that slow burn has turned into nothing but pure pleasure and if he doesn't enter me soon, I'm going to slide down this wall and have to resort to begging.

Victor withdraws his fingers and I hear an all to familiar crinkling sound behind me of a condom wrapper followed by more slippery fumbling around with what I'm sure is the tube of lube. He has me covered it in and I'm sure he's doing the same to himself. I would turn around and look but that would spoil something. All I can see is the wall in front of me and when I look down, I can see his feet coming closer to mine.

"You'll tell me to stop if you want me to, right?" he asks, his voice filled not with what I would call desire but rather with some sort of carnal need.

"I will . . . but I won't," I say, grinding my ass back towards him. With one hand on my hip and another guiding himself, I feel him nudge his way in, going slowly. He and I both gasp at the same time, the sensations different but the response the same.

"Okay?" he manages to say between deep breaths and I push back at him again.

"More," is all I can manage to say. I bite down on my lip as he edges further in, all the muscles stretching to accommodate his thickness. God, I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I'm so absolutely fucking hard because of this.

All the way in, now both his hands are on my hips and he begins deliberate, rhythmic thrusts into me. Victor pulls me around, adjusting my position so he hits my prostate with every stroke. I feel his tags hitting my back, jingling a little. The one sure thing my mind can think to do is finally pull one of my hands down off the wall so I can wrap it around my cock. My strokes match his and he grunts behind me as his pace picks up. I thrust back against him as hard as I can and one of those grunts becomes a soft whimper and I smile. Nothing like hearing a Marine whimper with pleasure.

"You . . . close?" he says, never missing a stroke. I would have been there and gone had I not already had the pleasure of getting off a few times tonight already. I look over toward the mirror to see if I can watch what's going on, but it is covered in steam. Damn.

"Yeah . . ." I mutter, tugging on my cock harder. He reaches around and down, light stroking my balls. That and one more good bang against my prostate and I come all over the place, covering the smooth marble. I can barely stand up and am so damn thankful he's holding me up with . . . whatever.

He slams into me a few more times and I hear the deepest rumble I've ever heard a human being make as he comes into me, his body throbbing against mine. He shudders hard and I clench down all my muscles just to drag out the feeling for both of us.

"Son of a bitch," he says, his fingers digging into my flesh. "I mean, son of a bitch, sir."

"That's okay. Fuck, that was good," I say, panting against the cool wall. He pulls out of me and we both just stand there trying to catch our breath. I finally turn around to look at him and watch as he discards the condom and changes the water so it is flowing again.

He scrubs himself down and I just stand and admire the view.

"So, what happened?" I ask, nodding at the scar on his otherwise perfect ass.

"I got shot, sir," Victor says, as his fingers drag through his hair, wetting it down again.

"I can *see* that. What happened?" I ask, not sure why I'm working on this male bonding now after we just finished with the ultimate in male bonding.

"Let's just say you aren't the only one who's ever taken one in the ass in the line of duty, sir," he says and smiles.

"You aren't good at telling jokes, are you?" I ask and he just shrugs.

"I try. I was a cop for a while. Friendly fire accident, sir," he says. He finally turns the water off and grabs some towels from a cabinet. He comes back to me and actually pats me dry for a few seconds before putting the towel over my shoulders.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to come up with something clever to say.

"Don't be, sir. It got me back into the Corps. Eventually to JAG. I can't complain," he says, as he dries off that perfect skin. I just watch as he finishes up and wraps the towel around his waist and goes to leave the room.

"No, I can't complain either," is all I mutter as he leaves me standing there in the shower.

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

I swear hour after groggy hour must have passed by before anybody else comes to the door. I'm sleeping the sleep of the dead when a firm knock partially rouses me but I'm so far gone it will take more than that. I open one eye and mumble something into the darkness before falling asleep again.

It doesn't last long.

"Commander Rabb, wake up."

It's a voice I've known since childhood. I knew him as Tom long before I knew him by any official title. This can't really be happening. Then again, I just fucked Clayton Webb a few hours ago. Of course this could be happening.

"That sounds so funny to say. Commander Rabb. Doesn't flow off my tongue easily. You now outrank your dad, son. But I suppose you know that," he says and I hear him rustle around the room. I'm hoping that when I open my eyes, this will all be over, but I know it won't be. This is one of the people I didn't want to ever run into here.

"Yes," I confirm, not moving. "Yes, sir. I know that." Thankfully, I'm wrapped up in all the sheets, still able to hide for a few more minutes. I take a strange comfort in that. "What . . . how did you come about being here?"

"Me?" he asks as if there's someone else in the room. "Oh, we put in at Norfolk a few days ago. The Admiral called me up and told me that there was something going on here I might be interested in. He was right."

I open my eyes and blink against the light in the room but don't look around. Instead, I stare at the whiteness of the ceiling. I was always suspicious that Chegwidden had this all planned out . . . who was going to be the party favor whenever he did this. Now I'm sure of it. Why would the CAG be interested in Tiner? He wouldn't. He's here because I'm here.

I listen as he plays around with the CDs, making some noise of interest as he finds the one he wants.

I'm not sure what to say as 'Beyond the Sea' starts to play. I vaguely remember it playing at a party at our house once. The CAG . . . Tom . . . or whatever that name was my dad used to call him . . . was dancing with my mother and they were laughing. I remember my father leaning against the wall, looking on as his best friend danced with his wife.

He sits on the edge of the bed and I can't ignore him any longer. I turn my head to look at him, but he's not even looking in my direction. His eyes are focused on the wall, unmoving. Maybe he's remembering the same thing I am.

"Your father always thought I was in love with your mother and in a way, he was right. Do you know what it's like being in love with your best friend's wife?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," I say, remembering Luke and Annie. "He was killed in a crash. She and I, uh . . ."

What's he getting at? I was there. I would have remembered if something happened between my mother and him. Wouldn't I? Sure, I would.

I think.

"It didn't last though, did it?" he says, turning halfway in my direction.

"No, sir."

"But at least you weren't living with the shadow of knowing her husband could be alive somewhere. You knew he was dead. With your mother, Hammer was always there. Hanging over us like a dark cloud. She used me to hold on to him and it just wasn't going to ever work," he says, his eyes meeting mine briefly before turning away. "As much as I loved her, I loved him more."

I sit up in bed and find that I am speechless. What in the hell is he getting at?

"What's the matter, Commander?" he asks, turning around to look at me. "You're not a kid anymore."

I try to think of anything to say. Like why in the hell are you telling me this? But I can't. A funny squeak comes out of my throat and I have forgotten how to speak. Luckily, he doesn't say anything for a while. Until I can get my voice back.

"What do you know about a singer named Jenny Lake?" I finally ask and he looks away from me again. His face clouds over and then becomes more expressionless than usual. I suppose he never imagined I'd know about that. "She was on the Ticonderoga right before . . ."

"I remember it. You don't have to remind me, Commander. She was there with the USO . . . with Bob Hope. She was hurting real bad and your dad took good care of her," he says without elaborating. "His last night on the ship he was with her."

Is that jealousy I hear in his voice? Was he jealous of my mother, too? Maybe he wasn't so much in love with her as he wanted to be her. My brain is about to explode from just plain knowing too much.

"Did you ever tell Mom?" I ask and he looks at me, puzzled. "About Jenny, that is."

"Didn't see the point in it. Her heart was breaking badly enough already. Didn't need to add anymore pain too it," he says. "I wouldn't have stayed in the air like that for anyone else, son. You know that, don't you? I wanted to bring him home to Trisha."

I just shake my head. I can't even figure this triangle out. Discovering your parents are all too human is disturbing at any age, especially like this. Especially while sitting naked in a bed with a man who might have been involved with both of them.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, my voice sounding as hollow as my heart and stomach feel.

"Roll over on to your side," he says and I just stare at him. "Commander, I said roll over."

The look in his eyes is so desperate I do what he says. I can hear him shedding his clothes but I don't turn around. I stare at the far wall while I struggle to swallow what little bit of spit I can generate. And I thought giving Bud a blow job was strange. That was nothing compared to this. This is dreamlike in quality. Absolutely surreal.

The bed sinks down beside me as he crawls under the blanket, careful to keep both of us covered. I feel his body settle next to mine and he rests an arm over top of me, snuggling in tighter. I feel his cock nestle in against my ass and it's beyond a curious sensation.

"We never had much room on those carriers. And me and your old man were never roommates, so that always made it more difficult," he says as his hand moves down and brushes against my nipple. I now find that there isn't a single drop of spit anywhere to be found in my mouth. He's trying to relive what ever it was they had. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'd rather be with Butterfly again.

"Look at me, Hammer," and I find that I can't turn on to my back. My muscles aren't cooperating. "That is your call sign now, isn't it, Commander Rabb? Just like your old man?"

"Yes," I say. I was always sure he followed my career. I just didn't know how closely. He tugs my shoulder until I flop on my back. His cock is getting harder from mere contact and now it's brushing up against my hip. I don't know why I don't wiggle away. Something keeps pulling me into this like a moth to a damn porch light. I need to know more. I need to be this for him.

His hand moves down my stomach and to my cock, stroking me until I begin to respond under his touch. He's gentle and the look in his eyes is nothing but love. I just don't know who it is directed at. Son of a bitch was in love with both my parents and now this?

The CAG begins to rub his own erection up against me and I'm unsure what to do. I'm unsure what he wants me to do. So far, he hasn't asked for much. He just wants to live a life he once had.

Actually, it isn't what he's asked for that's shocking. It's what he's told me. Christ. It all looked so damn innocent through the eyes of a child. Now I'm beginning to wonder about all those dinner parties where 'Uncle Tom' was still there in the morning.

"Does that feel good, Hammer?" he asks and I watch as his face tenses from the stimulation he's getting from just rubbing up against me. I finally give in and take his cock in my hand, wrapping my fingers around its thickness. I brush my thumb across the top and spread the drop of fluid around, moving it under my touch.

"Sure does, Tong," I say, remembering his old call sign before he became the CAG. He narrows his eyes at me and then he is most certainly lost between then and now.

This goes on for a few minutes and neither of us says another word to each other. The only sound in the room consists of our shallow breathing and sticky hands moving against cocks.

He takes his hand off of my hard-on and sets it on my chest after tossing the blankets aside. "Fuck me, Hammer," he says, his eyes more earnest than I've ever seen them. "Please fuck me."

Boone rolls over on his back and I look around anxiously, trying to figure this out. So far, I've never been in control. Webb was in control of the mechanics of what we were doing no matter how I'd like to view that. And Victor most certainly was in complete control.

"Get a condom, Hammer. And some lube," he orders and I realize that he's more together than I thought. I get the tube left on the nightstand and grab a lubricated condom, opening the foil package and sliding it over my erection before slathering myself with the lubrication.

Then I smear it all over my fingers and look at the man in bed with me. This is so unreal. So fucking unreal. He lifts up his knees, giving me access to his ass and I spread the lube all over his anus, trying to have as much patience as Victor had with me. His muscles loosen under my touch and he opens up as I slide some fingers in, moving carefully.

"Fuck!" he shouts as I move in farther, preparing him more. "Oh, fuck. Just do it, Hammer."

He pulls his knees up closer to his chest and I maneuver in between his thighs, my fingers still keeping his muscles loosened. Then I take my cock in my hand and push the head against his anus, sliding a little in slowly, always watching his response.

"Just do it. Do it now," he says, pushing against me. I slide in all the way, feeling his tightness envelope me. Shit. The tightness feels just as good this time as it did with Webb and I can barely control myself. I want to slam in all the way and feel it wrapped all around my cock.

But instead, I move slowly, allowing his body to accommodate me at his pace, not mine. When I'm in as far as I can go, I wait for him to give me permission to move.

"What in the hell are you waiting for?" he asks. His face is now covered with sweat and his brow is furrowed from the strain of my cock up his ass. I know how it feels but I'm not sure if I know how to make it feel good for someone else.

"Nothing, sir," I say as I begin to pump in and out of his body. He tightens his muscles around my hard-on and the sensation is enough to bring me close to the edge. If I hadn't already come so many times in the last day, it would have been all I needed.

Instead, I support myself with my arms and he gets his legs over my shoulders. He's so fucking in shape for his age I can hardly believe it. Probably from chewing out the asses of so many pilots. Now I wonder how many asses he chewed literally.

Why am I doing this? Why am I fucking this man after he came in here and told me these stories? this is so screwed up and I can't even figure it out myself. Do I need to please him by giving him something he lost. Oh, fuck. I just don't know.

I thrust into him, over and over and he pumps his own cock in time to my motions, pulling harder as I go faster. I angle up in a different direction and he comes all over the place, the thick fluid covering both of us.

"Fucking son of a bitch!" he shouts as he comes, never blinking his eyes. Not once. I continue to slam into his ass faster and faster, needing to find release myself now.

And then the release comes. Like a blinding light, I'm coming again, enjoying the tightness of his ass all around me. Unlike him, I can't keep my eyes open and I stifle any cry I want to make. But fucking son of a bitch is right.

I hold on to the end of the condom and fall down beside him on the bed. He sits up a little and looks over at me, that familiar smirk crossing his face. "Jesus. You look the same as your old man when you come."

I pull a pillow over my head and muffle the noise that now escapes my throat. I'm just not sure what kind of a noise it is, but it's certainly pitiful. He climbs off the bed, leaving me somewhere between laughing . . . and crying.

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

I'm buried underneath all the warm blankets when I hear the door open again. I'm not really sure how how much time has passed. Hours? Forever? I remember when the CAG left and that's the last time I moved. I've been dead ever since. That's all I know.

"Is there a problem, Commander?" Chegwidden asks and I don't really know what to tell him. I'm sure he doesn't want to hear all about my time here. It's bad enough he will probably review it in all its technicolor glory on video later.

"No, sir," I mumble from under the pillow I have over my head.

"Good. That's what I like to hear," he says. All I can hear is him moving around the room, perhaps straightening things up. I can't really tell. I finally pull the pillow off of my face and look at him. He's scowling at something lying on the floor but I don't know what. Maybe that's where part of my dress whites ended up? "Am I to assume you didn't have a pleasant time here?"

"Why would you ask, sir?" I ask, sitting up and watching him move around the room. He's got his hands behind his back and his expression still hasn't changed.

"Hell, Rabb, you look like someone ran over your puppy," he says. He finally stops moving when he's at the foot of the bed and then just stares at me. A determined stare. Does he really care what went on here since I arrived? The Admiral has always been concerned about the welfare of his people, but does he really want to know that Webb has a secret obsession that concerns his mother and Puccini? Or that his gunnery sergeant fucked me in such a way that I wish I could have those minutes back?

Shit, I don't even want to know those things. Or think about them.

"Well, sir, tonight has been . . . educational," I say, wrapping my arms around my bent knees. My whole body is starting to get stiff and I'm not sure how much more I can take.

"I see you didn't try out any of the toys," he says, nodding his head at the dresser that housed them.

"No, sir. But the shower is quite nice," I say and he just nods in general agreement. "No one suggested using any toys."

"Not even the sling chair? That's always a favorite of mine," he says, looking from me to it and then back again.

"No, sir," I say timidly. I don't really want to be on that thing while someone fucks me. I prefer a bed to being slung from the ceiling. He walks over to the contraption and gives it a gentle push, letting it swing around on the chains suspending it from the rafters.

"Rabb, do you know how many times you've been a pain in my ass?" Chegwidden asks, looking at me again. He's got his arms crossed over his chest and he's not smiling. He really wants an answer to that question?

"A few times, sir?" I ask with a nervous smile. Questions like that could only be leading to one thing. I'm just not sure my body is ready for it.

"I must be a damn glutton for punishment," he says with a half smile. He focuses on something just over my head and he gets a far away look in his eyes. He shakes his head a little before going continuing on. "I've been waiting a long time for this, Commander."

"You have, sir?" I ask cautiously.

"You might view me as a cold and impersonal hard ass . . ."

"No, sir. I don't."

"Not even when I've chewed your ass out in the past?"

"Maybe a little, sir. But you were just doing your job."

"Hmm," he says, looking introspective about whatever has transpired between us in the past. "This isn't really part of my job, you know."

He looks at me again and waits for me to say something. "I never assumed this was a program established by the Navy," I say and he turns to look at the lava lamp.

"Isn't that the ugliest thing in the world? That was a Christmas present from the Roberts family. What in the hell was I supposed to do with a lava lamp, for chrissake?" he asks, watching the purple goo bubble up and down.

"I'm not sure, sir," I say and we both focus on it.

"You want it?" he asks, giving me a sideways glance.

"No, sir. Harriet got me one as a gift, too. Only mine is red."

He snorts out a partial laugh and just shakes his head. "Like I said, I've really been looking forward to this."

"Yes, you said that, sir," I say, wishing he would just do something and not stand there chatting me up. It isn't like he has to figure out where to take me for the weekend.

"I think under the circumstances, you can call me AJ," he says, looking me over. I have the blanket over my lap still, but it's obvious I have my naked six planted on his sheets. I wonder what he's most curious about?

"Yes, AJ," I say, shoving all the blankets aside. He doesn't divert his eyes but rather focuses on the now exposed parts of my body. "And you can call me Harm."

"I can call you what ever I damn well please, sailor," he snaps at me and I flinch. I don't really want more lessons about my place in life while I'm down here. Especially from someone who's already done that out in the 'real' world.

"What would you like to do?" I ask, leaning back against the headboard with my arms behind my head. He eyes me up and down curiously but doesn't say anything yet. He walks back to his sling chair and pushes it around. I guess I can go for that. It can't be anymore unusual than having my cock up Webb's ass or having Bud's in my mouth, for that matter.

"I haven't decided what I want to do with you yet, Rabb," he says rather smugly. He sounds like he does when I do something horribly wrong. Maybe he just always sounds like that. The only time he doesn't is when he is worried about his family.

"Yes, AJ," I say and he smirks at the sound of his name.

He thinks for a while before he takes his hands off of the swing and leans against the dresser. "Stand up and come here."

I do as I'm told, finding the floor cold under my feet now that I've been warm in the bed for so long. I stop immediately in front of him and he stands straighter, inspecting me.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to kiss you or anything?" he asks with a chuckle as his eyes stop below my waistline.

"No, sir . . . AJ. I wouldn't expect that."

"Good."

Instead, he reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder, not moving me. Not doing anything really. It's the look in my eyes that stirs something in me. They have a look that tells me that this is going to quite possibly be the best fuck of my life, with or without kissing.

He moves his hand off of me and unbuttons his shirt, casually leaving it on the dresser. That is followed by his shoes, socks and pants and my eyes follow everything he does until he's left wearing only a pair of white boxers. I'm not sure whether he wants me to take them off or not. Instead of doing that, I reach out and stroke his cock through the smooth material, my eyes opening wide at the length of what's under there.

I have so many questions I'd love to ask him. Why does he do this? What does he do with the tapes? Did he know it was going to be me ahead of time? But all I do is feel his cock grow hard under my touch as he watches me with a curious eye.

"You've always been such a cocky son of a bitch," he says with a growl. I gently tug his boxers down and take a good, long look at his erection jutting out toward me.

"And you aren't, sir?" I ask, barely able to find my voice. Now his hand is on my cock, his fist wrapping around me and stroking me to hardness. I continue to work on his, using the tiny drop of pre-come that appears as a lubricant on the dry tissues.

"Do you know what you are doing now, Rabb?" he asks as he begins to maneuver us to the chair. "Do you know how to make it feel good?"

Is he trying to tell me that he lets everybody else have a turn with the 'chosen' one first so he gets a well trained partner by the end of our time here?

"I can try, sir."

"I need you to do more than try. Anyone can try. I need you do to it, Commander. Do I make myself clear?" he barks at me, never letting go of my cock the whole time. I'm sure under normal circumstances, it would have shrunk back into itself by now, but I think it's too scared to.

We let go of each other's cocks as he climbs up in the chair, glowering at me the whole time.

"Aye, aye, sir," I say, snapping too. That just makes him scowl all the more.

"Don't be a smart ass, Rabb. No one likes a smart ass. Not even when you try to pull that shit," he says, holding on to the chains supporting the chair.

"Sorry, AJ," I say, coming back to an at ease posture. I'm sure even that looks ridiculous considering my cock is angling its way towards him.

"Get a condom and some lube, Rabb, and let's see what you've learned here. Maybe you'll be of some use after all," he says, leaning back onto the sling and preparing for me to fuck him. Somehow, I always imagined it would be the other way around. In my wildest fantasies, I never saw me fucking the Admiral.

I fumble around, trying to decide what kind of condom the Admiral would like best. Flavored? No, that makes no sense. Ribbed? Ultra-sensitive with extra lubrication?

"For chrissakes, what is taking you so long, Rabb? I didn't ask you to go out and lube my car. Grab something and get the hell back here!" he shouts at me and I find myself grabbing whatever is on top. Ebony Magic with studs for pleasure. Great. My cock will look like it's rotting off. I take a tube of Astroglide back with me and find that I can barely get my fingers to cooperate and open the condom wrapper. "Jesus, do I have to do everything?"

Chegwidden takes the foil package out of my hand and rips it open, squirting a drop of lube on the inside before rolling it down over my erection. He shakes his head and I'm sure that is directed at my color choice.

"Thank you, um . . . sir," I say as he leans back again, spreading his legs in front of me. I try to remember what everybody else has done tonight. I mean, I only got to penetrate Butterfly, and he took care of all of this. I cover my fingers with the lube and then smear it all over the outside of the condom, covering everything I think might come in contact with his ass. I move in behind him on the chair and he puts his legs up on my shoulders, giving me better access to my intended target.

I move two wet fingers around his anus, feeling the muscles tighten and then relax against my touch. I watch his eyes as I slide them in, preparing him for what's to come in just a few seconds. He doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. Just looks at me like he's still waiting for it to get good.

I push in a little more and he shakes his head at me. "Okay, enough of the bullshit, Rabb. I want to get fucked. I suggest you do something about that and do it now."

"Yes, sir," I say, easing my fingers out of his tight rectum and pushing my cock up against his anus instead. The muscles struggle to accommodate my cock, but once they start to open up, I find I can slide in with ease. He's not as tight as Webb, but the feeling is still incredible as I push all the way into him.

I move slower, wanting this to last. It went by too fast with Webb because he had control of the situation. As much as I hate to admit that, he did. This time, I'm in control. Of the Admiral no less. A little bubble of laughter rises to my throat, but I suppress it.

"Rabb, do you have any idea where to find a man's prostate?" Chedgwidden asks, sounding bored. He has his own fist wrapped around his cock as he works to get himself off.

"Yes, sir," I say, angling up and slamming into the body part in question. Now his eyes shut as I continue to bang my cock up against his prostate. Something close to a snarl escapes from his mouth... or maybe it was his nose? Whatever. It must feel good. Fuck. It feels good to me. I have my arms wrapped around his legs as I support him, pulling him closer so I can sink in farther.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarls between clenched teeth as I thrust into him again and again. I'm sure he's done this before. I don't think I have to treat him like he's got a virgin ass. Not like Victor treated me. "Don't you fucking dare quit moving now."

"No, sir," I say.

Both of us are covered in a heavy layer of sweat now and the room once again fills with that man-sex smell. Sweet testosterone induced lust. It assaults my nostrils and I breathe it in deep. Every time I pound into him, the chair swings back and brings his body forward to mine. I think I like this thing. Maybe next time, I'll be on the receiving end.

His eyes are no longer closed and they have drifted off somewhere . . . I think to Harriet's lava lamp. Yet, his hand still keeps working on his cock and my cock drives into his ass.

I don't think either of us can take this much longer and I hike his muscular legs up a little higher and thrust in far one last time. I must hit the right spot because he shouts something as come spurts out of cock and all over his hand and abdomen.

"Holy fucking bastard!" he wails as his body still keeps pumping semen out and I keep pumping into him. I'm not that far behind him and all he has to do is contract all his muscles around my cock. Everything in the room goes white as I come in his ass, him holding on to me tight. Jesus. I didn't know I could come so fucking much in one weekend.

When I finally slide out of him, he lets his legs swing down and just stares at me. "Get me a towel, would you?"

I toss him a towel and wipe myself off on one, too, dropping the condom in a trash can. He cleans the sticky semen off his stomach the best he can before he sits up and watches me.

"Fuck. I knew getting you off that carrier and back to JAG was worth it. And your promotion. Of course, you're going to have to work a little to make up for that promotion. You're pretty good. I think it's time," he mutters and my eyes open wide. He slides himself of his seat and wraps the towel around his waist.

"Time? Make up for my promotion, sir?" I choke out, wondering what in the hell he's talking about. I don't have to wonder for long. He opens the door and motions for someone to come in.

"Mr. Secretary, it's your turn."

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

Mac knocks on my office door before entering. She looks incredibly refreshed from the weekend, no matter how much paperwork she had to work through. She's got a file in her arms and she must have questions.

"You look like crap, Harm. What did you do this weekend? Renee not let you sleep?" she asks as she stands over my desk. I just look up at her and narrow my eyes. I shift in my seat and try not to wince but I can't help it. "You didn't get in an accident, did you?"

"No, I didn't. I just think I'm coming down with something," I say, touching my forehead quickly before I go back to looking at the work on my desk.

"I'm sorry. I called all weekend about this one case, but no one answered. No one answered at the Admiral's house either so I just pushed it off until today. You might want to take a look at it," she says, tossing the file onto my desk. "Seems some base commander is accused of allegedly trading promotions for sexual favors. I think it's worth looking into further."

I carefully lean back in my chair and touch the file without opening it. Is she trying to tell me something? I'm fucked if she knows.

"Speaking of promotions, how did you manage to get yours, Lt. Col. MacKenzie?" I ask with a smile.

"I worked for it, Commander Rabb. How did you get yours?"

"Oh, I worked for it, too."



THE END