Author: Gail
Fandom: JAG
Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: NC-17 (to be safe)
Summary: Clayton Webb and Clark Palmer spend Christmas eve together.
Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RSA, CKOS, WWOMB. All others, please ask.
Email: gem225@hotmail.com
Web Page: Mareen's Den, at: http://www.fortunecity.de/lindenpark/vogelweide/216/main.htm
Disclaimer: I asked for them for Christmas, but I guess I hadn't been good enough, because I didn't get them. The characters do not belong to me; they belong to CBS and DPB.
Notes: This is a PWP set in my Eclipse universe, where Clayton Webb and Clark Palmer became lovers when Clark blackmailed Clayton into bed. Over time the whole blackmail issue was resolved, and now they're together because they want to be. If anyone wishes to read how they got here, the multi-part Eclipse series is at Mareen's Den as well as other places, locations available upon request. This would take place sometime after part 10.
For Scarlet, Tinnean, and Alex, all of whom wanted to know what these two would give each other for their first Christmas.
"Eclipse10d: Presents
by Gail
*****
"What are you doing for Christmas, Clay?" He puts down his coffee and looks at me.
That's an easy one to answer. "Lunch and presents with my mother." It used to be breakfast, then presents and a late, big lunch, and then back to the books and toys before a light dinner, but I'm an adult now, and mother has her own life and friends. I don't need a big Christmas. No adult does.
He nods. "Sounds nice."
It's only then I realize that he hasn't said anything about him. "What about you?"
"Thought I'd do some cooking. I bought myself a new cookbook, and this one swears anyone can follow the recipes."
He doesn't have any plans. Shit. How much of an idiot can I be? I can't let him be alone all day.
He's talking again. "Maybe you'd want to stop over, if you get hungry after that lunch. Or not. Whatever."
Damn. I hate when he does that, gets all casual, as though none of this matters. I know it matters to him. I should have said something earlier, but the season crept up on me.
"I was hoping you and I could spend Christmas eve together. I want to see you open your present." I do have that, at least. I found what I wanted a few months ago.
His eyes light up. "That would be great. I've got something for you. Something really cool." He's like a little boy now, and it makes me smile. He makes me smile.
"I'll make us some dinner before presents."
"I'll bring dessert. Or make it."
"Get someone else to make the dessert, Clark." We both know he hasn't done too well with baking anything more than complicated than biscuits. "Unless you were thinking brownies." He does fine with those.
"No, I want something fancy. All right, I'll go throw money at someone and get them to do the hard work for me. After all, I've got it."
He sits back in his chair, clearly thinking about what dessert he's going to order, and I smile and drink more of my coffee and start thinking about what I'm going to make for him. Spending Christmas eve with Clark is one of the best ideas I've had in a while.
*****
I end up making something simple, since I'd rather spend my time with Clark than in the kitchen, broiled striped bass, rice, and green beans, but he eats it all and looks happy. It doesn't take that much to make him happy sometimes. He looks good happy.
"That was great," he says and stands up.
"Leave the dishes. I'll take care of them later."
"Come on, Clay," he's already got mine on top of his, "it'll only take a minute. You cooked, I clean. It's fair."
Clark Palmer talking about fairness and loading the dishwasher. I'm sure most of the people who know him would be incredibly surprised. I'm not. I know him better than anyone else, and I'm glad of it.
I get up. "Leave the rest, all right? You can help me later. I promise," I add when he gives me a disbelieving look.
"All right, long as you promise," he says cheerfully and closes the dishwasher.
We go out to the living room for the first time this evening. "You got a tree?" He goes over and touches it. "A real one." He looks down. "It's shedding needles all over the floor."
"They do that." I smile. He's really just like a little boy now, but I hope he'll get older later. There's more than one present I want to give him, and I want an adult Clark Palmer in my bed.
"But they'll get all over the place."
"Two words, Clark. Vacuum cleaner."
"Of course." He sits on the couch. "It smells so good, Clay. I haven't had a tree in years."
I doubt that the DSD encouraged its people to celebrate anything like Christmas. "You didn't get one for your place."
"Nope. Maybe next year."
"Definitely next year," I say firmly and can't stop myself. "We'll buy it together, then trim it and have eggnog."
He's smiling now as I sit down next to him. "Wish you'd said something earlier. How come I didn't get invited to trim this one?"
"I wanted to surprise you," I say gently. And I did. I look at the tree. It's got small white lights that don't blink too much, and a few ornaments. It needs more.
"Next year, I want to help you." We're talking future, but I can't imagine any reason why we wouldn't be together a year from now. I want him in my life.
"You will." I reach into my pants pocket and take out his present. "Merry Christmas, Clark."
He doesn't take it. "Let me get mine for you. It's out in the car." He gets up and heads for the front door.
"Hurry up!" I call after him and smile. Of course he had to keep it hidden until the last minute. That's so like him.
He comes back with a large flat box. I look at it curiously.
"Come on, take it," he urges, and I do. "Now give me mine." I hand the small box to him, and he sits down again. "You first, Clay."
"You first."
We stare at each other for a moment, then he shrugs. "All right. It is your house." His fingers start working on the thick paper, and I lean back and watch him. I hope he likes it. "Wow," he breathes and takes it out of the case. "It's a gorgeous watch, Clay. Thank you."
"It's got an inscription," I can't help saying. Damn. I was going to let him find that on his own. But he's turning it inside-out and holding it up to the light.
"'For your new life,'" he reads. "'With the hope that it's everything you want.' That's wonderful, Clay." He tears off his old watch and stuffs it in his pocket like so much trash, then slides the new one on. The gold looks as good against his skin as I thought it would. "Thank you. I'll always be on time now."
He's always on time anyway, and that's not why I got it. I wanted him to have something I picked out that he could wear every day. I don't want to say that to him. "I didn't think it would be smart to put on my initials," I say awkwardly, wishing now that I had, but he's shaking his head.
"I don't need your initials to know who it's from. I'm not going to forget that." He wets his lips, then leans over and kisses me. It goes from just a touch to deep and hot, and it only stops when the box on my lap slides to the floor. "Hey, your present." He grins and lets his tongue trace his lips. "We can make out later." He reaches down and picks up the box, then puts it gently on my lap. "Open it."
I get off the wrapping paper, then break the tape around the sides and get the top off. The smell of leather rises from the tissue paper, and I unfold it to find a brown leather jacket.
"I thought you'd look good in that," he says in a low voice. "Put it on and let me see if I'm right."
I'm still staring at it. I've never even thought of myself in a leather jacket. That's what Harm wears, what Clark wears. What spies in novels wear, for god's sake. Not me. I wear a trench coat, or a light jacket in the right weather. But Clark's eyes are shining, and I don't want that to stop, and who knows? Maybe I will like it.
I take it out of the box, carefully, and put it on over my shirt. Clark's eyes darken. "I was right," he breathes, then he's down off the couch and on his knees in front of me. "Please, Clay."
I wonder what fantasies he's had about me in leather. I can see that they have me in charge. And somehow, having the jacket on, smelling the rich scent, feeling the soft weight of it, makes me want to tell him what to do. I spread my legs and stare at him as my hand strokes over my crotch.
He's panting. "Yes, of course," he murmurs and undoes my pants. I'm not hard, but I'm getting there, and his fingers stroking my cock feel damned good.
But I want more. "Your mouth now."
He doesn't hesitate, just leans forward and takes my shaft into his mouth in a long, smooth motion and starts sucking on it. His tongue somehow dances on the head while he keeps his lips tight around the rest, and god, he's so good. I moan and end up holding his head in my hands. He just keeps sucking and playing and I feel myself get closer in that hot wetness, then his fingers cup my balls and I'm gone. I don't know why I got off so fast, but I know that the leather had something to do with it. I think I'm going to enjoy this jacket.
He's back on his heels now, his face flushed as he licks his lips. "Don't wear that out of the house," he breathes.
"Why not, Clark? You don't want anyone else knowing how good I look?" It's fun to tease him.
"That's right." His voice has a growl in it, contrasting to the gentleness of his fingers as they tuck my limp cock back into my pants and do them back up. "I don't want to have to kill anyone who gets down on his knees for you."
"You think just guys would like this?"
"I wouldn't kill the women," he says patiently. "I'd just tell them you're taken. But the men, them I'd have to kill. They wouldn't give up."
"You have a high opinion of me." I like that he does.
"Of course I do. I belong to you," he says quietly, and I remember the first time he said that to me. He lifts his left arm and shows me the watch I just gave him. "This proves it."
I'm trying to figure out his logic, but that might take all night, and I don't want to do that. My cock's already stirring again. "Come back up here and let me get you off." He's up beside me almost before I finish the sentence, and I smile. "Eager, aren't you?"
"I know how to follow orders, Mr. Webb," he says, and now he's teasing. He knows I don't really like him to call me that at work, but it's all right here. We don't have to worry about anything here.
"Do you really?" I get him unzipped and wrap my fingers around him. He moans. "Do you like taking orders, Clark?"
"From you, yeah." His voice is rough, and he's thrusting up into my grip. He's too close. I squeeze the base, and he groans. "Please, Clay."
"So you're back to calling me by my name?" I go back to sliding my hand up and down, watching his face. There's so much passion there, and it looks so good on him. He's damned good-looking. I should worry about women throwing themselves at him, men, too, but I've seen him around people, even seen him deal with passes, which he ignores until they stop. I'm sure that he'd take action if someone got too aggressive, but that hasn't happened, at least not when I've been around him.
"Can't help it," he gasps. "You're Clay, my Clay." That's something I like hearing. "Oh, dammit, Clay, please." He's so tense, so close again. "Please, I need to come, now."
"Then come," I say and lean over to take him in my mouth, my hand still working him. He's shooting as soon as I get him in, and I swallow over and over. He tastes so good.
When he's through, I suck one more time, making him gasp, then pull my mouth away and get his pants done up again. "Merry Christmas, Clark."
His eyes open at that. "You sending me home?"
"No." Did I sound like I was dismissing him? "Of course not. I was hoping you'd make your French toast in the morning. I think I got everything you'd need."
He stretches. "You might be able to persuade me. If you work at it."
"If I work at it? You're the one who was begging me to tell him what to do."
"That's in bed. The kitchen is an entirely different story. You'd better be the one begging me."
I can't help laughing. "All right. I'm begging. Tell me what you want in exchange for your excellent French toast, and I'll do it."
"Good. First, you can suck me off in every room of this house. Then you can give me a massage..."
I interrupt him. "For one breakfast? You have to be kidding."
"All right," he says cheerfully. "Fuck me, then. When you've recovered. That'll do it."
I look at him and see that he's smiling now, saying nothing, watching me as well. I'm so different with him, so different now that I have the comfort of him in my life. "You could fuck me, if you'd like," I offer, and see his face light up even more. I thought he'd like that. I don't offer that often.
"Hmm, that is a great offer. I accept. You're incredible." His voice is a growl again. "So goddamn sexy, and good at everything."
"So are you, Clark." He really is. I look at him and I can't believe that I once thought that Harmon Rabb would make me happy. Clark and I share so many interests, and he fits into my life and adds to it.
"Dessert," he says after a minute and stands. "It'll give us both some more energy. I'll make some decaf to go with it."
"What did you get?"
"Hey, you didn't tell me what you were cooking. You can wait a few minutes. I hope it's at room temperature now," I hear him mutter as he goes toward the kitchen, and I smile. I know very well what it is, since he left the box in my kitchen, but I'd never let him know that.
I relax on the couch. I know he'll bring out two plates and two cups of coffee, and that he wants to do this himself, so I let him. He's perfectly capable of making coffee and serving chocolate mousse cake.
I know something he doesn't, which is that he's not going home tomorrow at all. I called mother and asked if I could bring a guest, a colleague from the Company who had nowhere else to go, and she was delighted. I know that Clark will be charming and probably end up finding out things from mother that I'd never want him to know, and that mother will more than likely figure out that he and I are lovers, but I'm ready for her to know. She shouldn't have to worry about me being alone, and I know that she has. I'll tell Clark about lunch later tonight, or maybe in the morning over breakfast. There's no rush. I know he's not going to leave tonight.
"Wake up, or I'll eat it myself," I hear his teasing voice, and open my eyes. "Hope you're in the mood for chocolate."
"I'm sure I can manage. It looks great." Not as great as he looks with that smile on his face, but I'll tell him that later. Right now I just want to enjoy my Christmas eve with this man who's so important to me. And I will.
The End