Told in Silence

Third in the "Equinox" Series

Follows "The security of..." and "But a whimper".

A JAG story by Mareen (syad.nms@gmx.net)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story. Owned by CBS. No infringement intended.

Rated NC-17 for m/m content (Webb/Rabb). Run as fast as you can if that bothers you.

Feedback addy: syad.nms@gmx.net

All my thanks go to MoonShadow and Jori for beta-reading this story and taking care of all that poor, poor grammar... :-)
Oh, special thanks to MoonShadow for making me think a lot about the different kinds of lube and the best ways to use it and to Jori for making me realize there really is a difference between American English and British English. *g*


Told In Silence
by Mareen

He is back.

Harmon Rabb is so much into the helping business he hardly thinks about anything else, like his own safety for example. Whatever I give him he uses it to endanger a lot of people, most of the time himself. So no surprise that he nearly killed himself and everyone around him again. But they all made it back alive. Hell of a surprise here.

Someone from the Agency called me this morning. I didn't even remember giving the order to inform me as soon as he made it back. But I obviously must have done that. Maybe it was in that haze I was in afterwards, after he left my house that day. Ran away. I couldn't really think then. It was all so blurry, unreal. Maybe I gave the order then. Doesn't matter anyway if I did or not. All that counts is that I got the call and someone told me Harmon Rabb is back in town.

I'm thinking now that I shouldn't have given him the information that led him away in the first place. He doesn't know how to use information. Precious little thing it is, you can use it in a lot of ways. Rabb tends to take it and then tries to run head first through a wall with it. You'll only get a nasty bump that way. But he'll never learn that.

Yet thinking about it, there are a lot of things I shouldn't have done when it comes to Harmon Rabb. A lot of stupid things enemies could have used against me. He made me break the rules. He made me endanger so many things I can't count them anymore. He made me his stupid little idiot who would have done anything.

He went away then without calling me or visiting me again. I saw him once at an official banquet a day before he left town. He had a woman at his side, beautiful one, too. But I was hoping in spite of that he would come to talk to me, that he would assure me that I had been wrong, that it had meant something to him. I know he saw me, too, but he pretended he hadn't. Like a frightened little boy he ran away again and I was terrified by how much that hurt me.

It took him a while to come back then and I used that while very well. I pushed it all away. I fought against everything he had made me.

I can look into the mirror again now. I can look into my own eyes again. After that day, when I realized that he was able to hurt me even more than I thought possible, I couldn't do it anymore. It was like he beat me then. He may have sold his body but I had sold my soul. I had cared too much and I couldn't live with that. But I am back now. And I don't intend to ever get lost again. Not because of a man who couldn't care less about me.

And then there is Rabb...

Harmon Rabb always looks at himself with some kind of pride. It was like the world could start tumbling down around him but he couldn't ever be shaken. Because he was untouchable, unbribable, moral Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb.

I don't think he had even realized what he had done, that he had sold himself to me, before he left my house.

In a way, you could say I even feel sorry for him now. Finding out the truth about one's own self at last must have been a terrible shock to him.

I really wasn't waiting for him to visit me again. It's always hard to face your demons. But he does. Maybe I should have known better. He always manages to surprise me.

So I open the door when someone knocks, totally clueless and unprepared, and he just stands there.

"Hey,” he says. It's raining and he is soaked from the water and shivering from the cold. There are dark rings under his eyes and his shoulders are slumped. I don't tell him he looks horrible. I just stare at him.

"What are you doing here?" I finally manage to get out.

He shrugs and just keeps on standing there in front me, looking at me, silently asking for something.

I still can only stare.

At last, he decides to say what he wants. "Can I come in?"

I turn around and move into my kitchen without saying a word. Behind me, I hear him carefully close the door and go into the living room. I get him a towel and he thanks me with a short nod. I watch him start to dry his hair. He's soaked. I can see his skin shining through his old white shirt.

Where's his jacket? There are goosebumps on his arms. He has to get warm.

I look away, angry at myself. It's not even five minutes and I'm already falling back into my very private role of Harmon Rabb's personal idiot.

"I see you used the information I gave you well,” I say.

I stand at my desk and pretend to be interested in the papers lying there. My hand is shaking. I make a fist to stop it.

"Yes. I came back alive."

I turn and look at him. He looks tired as he tries an unsure grin. Holding the towel in one hand now, he just stands there in the middle of the room as if he hasn't decided yet what to do now.

How dare he to come to me again?

"Why are you here, Harm?"

I use his name to remind him of the intimacy that we shared once, to remind him of what he must be in his own eyes. His answer is to cast a very short look into my face and then back away, looking out of the window, pretending to be interested in what is out there.

I hurt him to remind myself that I am over Harmon Rabb.

"I don't know,” he answers.

"I see."

I do. Ashamed of what he did, he's now trying to fight his demons by standing face to face to them. And he is obviously failing because he can't face me. That's a good thing. Makes us even.

"Do you want some coffee?"

I can't stop myself from sounding a bit smug. He nods without taking his eyes off the window.

"Yeah. Thanks."

When I come back, he's sitting on my couch with his head back and his eyes closed. For a second I believe he's asleep but his eyes pop open then and he looks at me, looks me up and down standing there and I realize I am standing on the spot where it happened.

I can read Rabb’s eyes when he meets mine. I really hope he can read my eyes, too.

He stares at me while we drink the hot beverage in silence, sitting on opposite sites of my coffee table. I pretend I don't realize his eyes on me.

"I really wonder why you are doing it,” I say after a while.

He looks surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Putting your life in danger over and over again for other people. Because, in the end, you are usually left with nothing. You never get anything out of what you do for other people."

"You’ve done the same thing." He looks at me, dares me with his eyes. I know exactly what he is talking about. "Haven’t you, Webb?"

Not anymore.

"Yes but I did get something in return last time. Something that paid well me for all these times I got nothing in return,” I answer coolly. "Whereas you..." I stop talking, just leaving the words hanging in the air. My eyes are cold on him. There are goosebumps on his arms again.

He swallows hard and, with a loud sound, his cup ends up on my table. He is angry but he doesn't want to be. I watch him trying to calm down with all the strength he has. Finally, the usually so very smooth expression returns to his face.

"Good answer, Webb,” he says, forcing a smile on his face.

I still don't understand what he's doing here. He still hasn't told me. Maybe he doesn't even know himself.

"So why do it?" I try again.

He shrugs. "Pure stupidity?" he offers. We stare into each others eyes for a long while until he finally clears his throat and says: "You want to know why I am here, don't you."

"It would clarify things a lot, yes."

"I don't know myself." Another shrug. "I was coming home this morning and then I was in my apartement and I was just so restless. Just didn't know what do with myself. So I decided to go for a walk."

"It's raining outside, Rabb. And you didn't wear your jacket,” I remind him.

"It wasn't raining when I left. Must have been hours ago."

He stands up and walks around in the room, staring at the expensive paintings on my walls and the old books in the shell.

We are so very different.

"I don't know how I ended up here,” he says. "I was just...standing outside your house suddenly. And when I was already here, I thought I could as good as knock on your door. Sounds pretty stupid when you’re thinking about it, doesn’t it?"

"It does, actually."

He suddenly looks at me and smiles. I wish he wouldn't do that.

"Thanks. I appreciate hearing the truth."

What a strange thing to say to *me*. The one who usually only has half truths for others.

He is still smiling at me but there's something different in his voice now. I really wish he wouldn't smile. Blood is rushing in my ears. I think I need him to go now.

I stand up.

He is just...I don't know. It looks to me as if he is taking a step back but at the same time he seems to challenge me with the expression in his eyes. I don't know what he wants from me.

"I..."

I want you to go. I want to say it but I can't get it out.

"I always like hearing the truth." He says is strangely soft. "Can accept it, too."

"The truth? What part of it?" I answer.

"Whatever part you have for me."

Whatever part.

"You are ashamed,” I spit at him, angry now about myself and that damn smile on his face.

"I was, yes. At first." He nods.

"You believe you aren't anymore?" I nearly laugh. I want to. I need to do anything to stop him. Have to make him angry enough to stop that smile.

"I don't know. Maybe I am. I am not sure of anything anymore,” he says.

Oh don’t! This is getting ridiculous. This is me, Clayton Webb. Not just any idiot he can twist around his little finger with that smile and that sorry, hurt expression on his face. I won't fall for it. I can't do this anymore.

“Cut the crap, Rabb!"

"What do you mean?" he hisses back at me. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing at all! I only want you to leave,” I answer. "Just leave me alone. You don’t even know why you are here anyway."

He tries to tell me something with his eyes. That look. How he looks me up and down. Daring me. Daring me to do what?

I turn around to leave the room when I realize. "This is absurd!"

"Please."

I feel like a dog, a good doggie who stops dead when he's told. Doesn't even need the right word.

I close my eyes.

I can hear him approaching me. I can hear his breathing and the soft sound his shoes make on the carpet. He stops right behind me and I still can't move.

His fingers are on my shoulder. Softly, hardly even touching. But I can feel them burning on my skin.

"You can't be serious," I whisper.

He can't want that from me. That's not who he is. Just not who he is.

I don't move so he steps in front of me, looking at me with an expression so very strange, so unexpected.

"Please don't do this,” the voice in my head whispers, "Please don't do this again."

But when he looks at me and whispers "Please..." again, I push away the pleading voice in my head and I invite him with the look in my eyes.

He is so much taller than I am and he looks so calm when he bends down to me. I can't get one word out of my head. Why.

His lips touch my neck through my shirt. The feeling is damp somehow because he's breathing while touching me. It's just touching, hardly a kiss, but powerful in spite of that. This has nothing at all to do with what he did to me the last time because that was pretending, it was nothing. This is real and it won't stop where we stopped the last time. I won't stop. He won't get away this time. Not after what he started.

His fingers are on my shirt. He pulls the collar down, just a little bit, and his lips are touching skin now. Kissing me this time.

His lips and the tongue are traveling over my skin. There's heat. His lips are wandering down to my chest kissing me through the fabric of my shirt... kissing me... kissing me again. I just close my eyes and let him. He can do anything to me that he wants. Anything.

The feeling of the warm, moist breath coming through the fabric and touching my skin breaks through my security net. Breaks right through and I can't do anything to stop him.

When I was a boy, I once got into a fight with Danny, the son of one of my father's friends. He was a nasty little boy just like I was and we hated each other at first sight while our fathers thought us to be best friends. When we fought, we never used our fists. People of our social standard don't do things like that and our fathers wouldn't have appreciate it. So we fought with words instead.

We hissed a lot of angry, mean words at each other and then, one day, when he was out of words, he said the last thing he could come up with: "At least people like me."

I remember how I took a step back and how I answered, with a very unsure voice, "People like me, too."

"Why should they?" he said before running away from me.

I haven't thought of that in 25 years. I don't know why I do now while Harmon Rabb slowly puts his hands flat on my stomach and lets them roam over it. I shake my head to get rid of that stupid memory.

His hands are wandering over me, pulling my shirt out of my pants. Then they are under the shirt and on my skin. There is an expression of extreme wonder and concentration on his face while his fingertips touch me. I shouldn't be able to feel them as much as I do. Butterfly touches they are, hardly there at all. But they are like fire. For years, I haven't felt anything as hot and stinging as his fingers on my chest.

My breath is coming harshly now. I can hear it, how it mixes up with the rushing of blood in my ears. And I can feel the sweat, running down my back and wetting my armpits. It isn't even warm in here - it's comfortable, just like always because that's how I like it, that's how I always have it but I'm sweating and I feel so warm that all I want to do is taking off the rest of my clothes.

I can't anymore. Can't wait.

I grab Rabb’s hands and take them off my body, force him to meet my eyes to make him realize that this is real, not some sort of a child's game. We are suddenly face to face, both of us breathing harshly, both sweating. I want to force him to understand the reality of this but I can't bring myself to say a word. We are just staring at each other and Rabb looks at me as if he is waiting for something. Before I know what has changed, his fingers are on my shoulders and in my hair and this is such an intimate gesture that I shouldn't allow it.

Intimacy can destroy you. Danny taught me that. I let him break through that wall I had built around me, too. Let him not only touch me outside my body but inside, too, for the first time in my life. We were so near to each other. At least that what I thought when we ended up in bed as teenagers. But when he broke up, he did it with those same words. "At least people like me."

I should know so much better about what intimacy does to you. But I don't stop Rabb. Part of me always was as stupid as that.

I feel myself smile when I accept his invitation and put my hand on his neck and pull his face down to mine. My lips touch his mouth very carefully and to my total surprise he opens his mouth under the contact. I do not have to force his lips open with my tongue like I had to the last time.

Kissing him feels like drowning. It’s warm somehow and slightly confusing because you can't say anymore which way is up or down. You start feeling sleepy somehow but you can't stop and suddenly you decide it's easiest just to stop fighting, just to give in to it because there's no way you could ever win this fight.

I feel his hand tighten in my hair. Rabb is devouring me, kissing me for all that he's worth. Pushing his tongue into my mouth, playing with me, licking my lips, letting his tongue roam over the inside of my mouth.

And suddenly I am wondering if I am ever going to recover from this moment if I don't manage to fight the feelings before they destroy me. I want myself to be hard, I want to be unmoved, I want to be the one having power over Rabb, not vice versa.

It's like coming up for air when I break the kiss and push him away from me. His face is flushed, hot, his lips wet from the kiss. His eyes are daring me again.

"Turn around,” I whisper and I am somehow surprised by how hoarse my voice sounds.

Rabb swallows hard and then turns around to stand against the back of my couch.

His back is strong just like the rest of him. More than ever before I realize that we have nothing at all in common and I have this sentence in my head again, Danny's teenager voice again, telling me "Why should anyone like you?"

I put my hand on Rabb’s back, on his spine, and let it glide down his body. When I pull my hand away, I hear him sigh.

The voice vanishes out of my mind.

"Take off your shirt."

I watch him as he immediately obeys, grabs his old shirt and pulls it off his body with a fluid motion. It falls to the ground. I can see that his hands are trembling.

I am surprised.

My hands are trembling, too.

Since that day on my floor, I have been fascinated by Rabb's skin. Darker than my own and so very soft, like a woman’s. Carefully, I stretch out the fingers of my right hand and let them linger over Rabb’s back. The muscles move under my hand when Rabb leans into my touch. I bend forward and kiss him between the shoulder blades. It’s only a light kiss, as if kissing a friend on the cheek, but I can feel Rabb groan under it nonetheless.

We are breaking his rules and the military’s rules but he doesn't seem to care. I smile.

I let my fingers wander over his lower back and then my fingers vanish under the waistband of his pants. I can feel the beginning of Rabb’s buttocks under my fingertips and how Rabb is bending forward to bring his body in more contact with my fingers on his skin.

Taking a breath is so incredibly hard sometimes.

Rabb is talking to me. I try to concentrate on the voice instead of on the skin and how it feels like.

"Take them off,” Rabb's voice is saying. "Take them off."

I need the second of shaking my head to get rid of the dizziness before I realize that Rabb is talking about his pants. I swallow, then feel a predatory smile appear on my face. He is mine now. He’s gone too far to stop. And I am in control just like I wanted to be.

I reach around and open his pants, then get on my knees behind him and pull the pants over his hips after helping him out of his shoes and socks. He is naked now and there are sounds and words coming from his mouth that sound like "Oh god”. They could mean anything. I don't know because I am too occupied looking at his body. Of course I know his body. I know it well. I remembered every part of it from that day when I had him on his back on the floor of my living room. Strange that we are back at where we started. In my house. In this room.

I drink him in in spite of that. Just in case. Beautiful, beautiful body that I have to touch before I become crazy.

My fingers develop an life of their own then and they are wandering over his skin, touching. My lips follow my fingers and it is like heaven and hell together at last. I embed myself in Rabb's skin and taste and smell, kissing and sucking and Rabb is groaning and screaming, when I enter him at last with my fingers and with my tongue, moving it in and out of his body in a slow and agonizing rhythm.

I hear him moan above me. There's another sound that sounds like growling. Strange sound. It takes a long time before I realize that it is me, that these are the sounds I make. And only then I realize that I am still wearing my clothes while Rabb is totally naked and my cock is pressing against my pants, demanding release. But I'm so lost in burying myself in Rabb and listening to the sounds he makes that I can't seem to find the time to take off my clothes.

One of my hands goes around him and touches him and he's so hard that for a brief moment I wonder if he hurts. The other hand starts fumbling on my fly, opens it at last and pulls it down without a break in touching him. On some days I surprise myself.

Shudders go through him suddenly and his orgasm kind of surprises me. I was too wrapped up in my own world to realize he was that near.

He moans when he comes and I stroke him through his orgasm before I get up to stand behind him. My pants tangle themselves around my ankles and I'm sure I look incredibly sexy right now. But he doesn't seem to care because he’s still trying to catch his breath when I start using his come to prepare him in earnest now. I am not even sure he knows what's really going on at first when I spread his legs.

"Oh god."

He whispers it very slightly, nearly inaudible. Then he bends down further over the coach and I don't care anymore if I look ridiculous or not because finally I have what I need and push inside his body.

He gets rigid. He is panting harsh and loud and sweat is trickling down his back and I wonder if anyone has ever done this to him before. I don't think so. I push in further, trying to soothe his pain by massaging his hips with my hands on my way deep inside his body. He must be in pain. I still remember the pain I was in the first time someone did this to me very well and back then we had all the right aids. In spite of all this, he doesn't say a word. He must be too proud to tell me. And I won't ask him if he's okay. I just won't.

It feels like an eternity before I'm inside him. A slight laugh goes through my body. I let my hands roam over his back and his sides and his flanks and I kiss his neck but I'm still not moving. I just let him get used to the feeling of another man inside of him.

After a while his breath seems to slow down and he whispers "Yes".

So I move. Very slowly to make it last, to make him feel me, but I move. In and out, I have to concentrate to not just let go and make it end much too soon. I want this to last.

And I suddenly remember what my mother told me that day which seems to be so far away right now: "You realize that you can never have him?" Well, I do, Mother. I do have him now. And I repress again the stifled laughter that tries to come out of my mouth when I realize what a psychiatrist would tell me about thinking about my mother while I'm fucking another man.

Then Rabb contracts around me and the half-laugh turns into a loud groan.

I bend down onto his back and caress his shoulder.

"Did you do that on purpose?" I whisper hoarsely.

"Yes, " he hisses back.

Hell of a fast learner.

"Good, " I grin and go on moving inside his body. Right now, I am feeling like I am becoming crazy.

He gives a startled laugh between groans.

I'm glad I never really believed in miracles. Miracles are for dreamers and I've never been one of those. If I did believe in miracles, I’d certainly believe this is one. Too much of a miracle, Rabb letting me do this to him. Where's the catch? Where’s the hitch?

I move deeper and harder and he suddenly shouts. Must have hit his prostate. I do it again and his breath is coming in short gasps now. And that's when I go still inside him. His panting surrounds us, the only sound in the room which makes it sound even louder.

"Say my name,” I demand.

His breathing is harsh, near to hyperventilating. "Please,” I can hear him whisper.

"I will stop," I answer.

Of course that's a lie. For all that's worth, I couldn't stop now. I have to move, have to have him. But I have to know if he is aware. Have to know he's not pretending about me being someone else.

"My name."

"Webb,” he groans. "Clayton. Webb."

I slip out of him and thrust back inside his body with all my strength. He screams and I can't say if from pain or from lust. Maybe both. Shudders run through my body. I have never felt anything like this before.

"Never been this good..." My voice.

I am so near now and I can't hold back anymore and I stop thinking. I only move. Allow myself to feel only.

And I get lost in him. Again.

For one moment, our groans even sound like one while we reach completion together.

When I pull out of him later, I do it in silence. I don't kiss him or touch him. I just pull out and try to take a step back when I realize that my pants are still tangled around my feet. I bend down and pull them up. Close the zipper and the button, although I feel sticky as hell. My breathing is still coming harsh. Sweat is running down my back. My shirt is clinging to my body.

I step back away from him.

Can't really believe what happened. It's only been a few minutes and to me it already feels so unreal. As if it only happened in my mind and the only, but very real, proof that it did happen is Harmon Rabb’s naked and limp body still bent over my couch.

He starts pulling himself together but keeps staring on the floor, never meeting my gaze.

As if I couldn't have guessed this would happen.

"You aren't much of a cuddler, are you?" he says while he slips his clothes back on.

I nearly start laughing hysterically.

"They don't teach cuddling in Langley, Rabb, " I answer.

"Obviously."

He looks at me with a strange look in his eyes. I am wonder what it means. I could swear it's anger. But that can't be because it would imply all of this it meant something to him. That just can't be the case. Miracles don't happen to me. I wait for him to clarify.

I still don't know what he wants from me. Now he stares at me and I still need him to say something. Anything. Please.

"I think I have to go now,” he suddenly says and turns away, avoiding my eyes again.

I look outside my window. It's still raining only now it’s coming down even harder than before. But I don't try to hold him back. I just nod at him. I think I am a bit angry myself for falling for it all again.

He walks out of the room after looking at me one last time, out of the corner of his eyes. Then he's out in the hallway while I’m still standing in the living room.

"You can't run from it,” I suddenly call after him.

"Neither can you,” he answers from the hall. He really sounds angry. Strange.

I can hear the door opening. He goes out and the door closes behind him. Loudly.

I suppose he is angry because he hadn't wanted to get fucked. Probably wasn't part of the plan when he came here. Which makes me wonder about what his plan was in the first place.

And that's when I realize. I realize at last. And I want to throw up suddenly. He got me and he used me. He beat me. In his own memory he has just replaced the vision of someone who sold his body to another man for information with the memory of someone who had sex with another man because he has chosen to. He can call this a relationship that broke up now. It's not a transaction anymore.

In his own eyes he must be free from me now.

And me...

I am back to where I was. Back to that place. He doesn't even need to tell me these things. I know them by myself.

Harmon Rabb beat me. And the worst thing is, I admire him for being a master in this game. I wish I could be one too. I would sell what’s left of my soul for that gift.

Through the window I watch him leave.

It is utterly silent except of the rain thumping against the widow.


END

Note: The things occurring in this story and its two earlier parts are told from the point of view of Clayton Webb only, this is just how he interprets them. I don't know if the way he sees Harmon Rabb actually is the truth. Actually, thinking about it, Clayton Webb could be totally wrong about what Rabb feels and he doesn't even realize it in his haze to not care and his deep believe that no-one cares about him anyway. But all I can do is following the path Webb shows me. Never try arguing with your characters. You can't win.