Title: Couch talk
Author: Gail
Pairing: Harmon Rabb/Clayton Webb
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rabb and Webb finally talk...and more.
Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RareSlash, CKOS, WWOMB. All others, please ask.
Email: gem225@hotmail.com
Series: Part 3a of the Eclipse series
Web Page: Mareen's Den, at: http://www.fortunecity.de/lindenpark/vogelweide/216/main.htm
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; CBS and Belisarius Productions do.
This is for Katja, because it's *her* series, and her birthday (10/7), and for Mareen, because she was the first to write Rabb/Webb slash, and she deserves another story. They both betaed, as did Greg. I have great friends. Thank you so much.
By Gail
**********
"He's what?" Rabb is pacing back and forth, restless and angry. I knew this would happen. I'm glad that I'm not close enough for him to hit me. He looks like he's ready to.
"Out of jail. Pardoned. You do know what those words mean?" It's not fair to be that sarcastic to him; he's just had a shock, but I've had a hell of a day myself. And a night before that. Clark Palmer is insatiable. And I found out that I am as well.
The thought of Clark Palmer alone in his room in the Hilton Washington hotel comes into my mind. It wouldn't take much to find out what room. I could call, see if he's interested in having a drink...and turn into someone I do not want to be. I make myself watch Rabb pace. It's a nice view.
Rabb stops finally and stares at me. "Pardoned." His voice is a whisper. "When the fuck did you find out about this?"
At least he's talking to me. I make him wait. That's how to control the conversation. And I do feel this incredible need to be in control. I let my eyes sweep over the room, look at it this time. Nice place. A little bare, but then I'm not going to have to live here. And I already took a look at the bed when I used the bathroom a few minutes ago. It'll do.
Shit. Am I really thinking that? Yes. Damn. That is not going to happen. I'm not going to do what Clark wants.
But what about what I want? And what Harm really wants, but can't tell me...clearly he can't talk to me, any more than I can talk to him. Better to just let it happen, make it happen. I can handle it this time. Make it go the way I want, accept that it would be both because he needs information and because he wants me. He does want me. I have the proof.
"Webb, for god's sake answer me!" His voice is rising, and I decide that I'd better.
"Last night. Too late to call."
"And you forgot how to use a phone since then? No, you called *me* to set up this little meeting. I do remember that much. So why not just tell me then?"
He is getting on my nerves. And they're already shot. "Rabb, I thought it would be better to tell you in person, privately. So that when you blew up, like you just did, you wouldn't embarrass yourself in front of the whole world. Or your commanding officer."
He turns away and leans against the counter, then I hear the sound of him pounding on it with a fist and go over to see about making sure he doesn't hurt himself.
"Rabb," I say calmly, "stop that."
"That bastard is out on the streets, a free man, and I'm supposed to just accept it?" he hisses back at me, but does stop the pounding. Then his eyes narrow. "How did this happen? Who's pulling strings for him?"
He's got a very good grasp of how things work here in Washington, but then he's been here a while now.
"That's something I haven't found out yet." Actually, I have, but telling Harmon Rabb that the Company decided that Clark Palmer could be useful, and controllable, is more than I'm up to tonight, or probably ever. I read the file on him, and they've got plans. Plans that have *me* working with him, dammit, influencing him, changing him.
I think that they're just a little too optimistic. I think that Clark Palmer figured out what they wanted to hear, and fed it to them. And I think that I'm going to have to use every single bit of intelligence and cunning that I have if I'm going to manage to keep on top of him. And that is what the director told me today was my new, main assignment. Making Clark Palmer into a Company agent. Just what I always wanted.
And nothing that I can tell Harmon Rabb.
"I thought you were so damned in on everything, Webb," he bites off, and oh, no, he's right in front of me, his angry eyes boring into mine. "So the great Clayton Webb doesn't know something?" He laughs. "Of course you don't know. Palmer's never played games with your head. You probably just think he's some kind of eccentric! That prison changed him, showed him the error of his ways, that he's ready to fit into society! And what the hell use does society have for someone like Clark Palmer? Do we really need another assassin running loose? He loves killing people. He thinks he's a fucking artiste! Who knows who he's going to go after next? It could be anyone. I don't even want to think about who he'd decide would hurt me most to kill."
He abruptly turns away and sits down on the couch and I can see that his shoulders are shaking. "You don't know what this..."
His voice breaks again and he buries his head in his hands. I hesitate, then sit down by him, making sure that I'm not too close.
"Harm, I've read Palmer's evaluation. Unless he's very, very good at lying to some very intelligent people, he *has* changed." Of course, I don't believe that myself, but it would be much better if he did.
His voice is muffled when he answers. "He's a hell of a liar, Clay." He called me Clay. "You can't believe him."
I want so much to put my hand on his shoulder, to comfort him. But I know that's idiotic.
"It's going to be all right," I say very gently. "I promise that I'll watch everything he does. I'll find a way, Harm." And I can't resist. I put my hand on his shoulder and, god, he doesn't raise his head and tell me to fuck off. I leave it there. "He won't make a damned move without me knowing about it."
I think that he's laughing, but something about the sound is wrong for that. "Oh, dammit, Clay, I hate that I'm still so fucking scared of him..."
Harm said that? To me?
"He came here, he had me tied up in a chair, he bought roses and champagne and a fucking nightgown for Jordan, just the kind I'd been looking at for her, he drugged her and tried to get me to kill her, he's been in my house so many times and all I could do was give you the damned picture he left and wait while other people saw if he'd left anything else to hurt me, wait to see what you found, I could have killed her, god, Clay, and I didn't kill him when I had the chance..." and he's crying now, I can tell. But I just can't do anything but keep my hand there.
He chokes and lifts his head, eyes wet and dark, and I remove my hand. He doesn't seem to notice as he drags his sleeve across his face in such a little-boy gesture that it makes me want to smile. "Palmer's an assassin, Webb."
So we're back to last names. I can take this.
"He's not going to kill anyone you care about, Rabb." I swallow. I've just made a hell of a promise here. But he's looking at me as though I'd made everything better. All right, I'll find a way to keep an eye on all the people Harmon Rabb loves. I'm pretty sure that Palmer won't do anything that stupid, though, but if it makes Harm happy...back to that again. To being Harmon Rabb's personal idiot.
At least I won't have to worry about myself. I could die and all he'd feel would be relief. But right now I'm helping.
"You can't say that," he says wearily, and he's back to being the stubborn Navy commander. "I appreciate this, but really, I do know better." He swallows. "You'd better go now. I need to start figuring out what to do."
I don't like the sound of this. "There's nothing you need to do, Harm." Shit. Really smart.
He doesn't yell at me. "There has to be something I can do. Maybe if I talked to him..."
Oh, god. "I really don't think that would be a good idea," I say very carefully. I can see that talk turning into one of Palmer's wet dreams. Harmon Rabb coming to him, asking him to spare his friends. Or threatening him. Either way, he wins. "Why don't you let me talk to him? I'm sure I could find a way to put some pressure on him." I see that he's looking at me again, and try a smile. "We are in the same business, after all. It makes for a shared language."
I just said something very, very wrong. His eyes are hard and cold. "You don't talk to me. Why the hell would I think you'd be able to talk to Palmer? God, Webb," he mutters. "It's easier to fuck me than to talk to me?" He actually said that? "Maybe the only way you can communicate is by touch. So what were you trying to tell me when you had your cock up my ass? That I was just another pretty face?" He starts laughing. "And I thought you actually liked me..." He stops, breathing hard.
Liked him. Of course I do. It's not something I have an easy time saying, though. The words stick in my mouth. I want to say them; I just can't.
"But of course you didn't. All you were after was sex." His eyes are hard, cold metal.
"That's not true, Rabb." I will not have him believing that, dammit. That is not who I am, someone who wants only sex from a person. I want more, even if I know better than to think that I can get it.
"Really? You're lying to me, Webb." He glares at me. "If you gave a fuck about anything but sex, you would have taken a minute and talked to me. But you didn't, not in a whole year, and I know dammed well that I tried to talk to you. You just fucking turned away every single time. I even went over to your office to talk, and you told me that you didn't have the goddamned time to spare!"
He slams his hand down on the couch, and I stare at him. I remember that now. It was three weeks after I'd fucked him. I couldn't even stand looking at him. I threw him out so fast people asked me what the hell I had against the JAG corps this time. People noticed. Bad for my career. And I made damned sure to stay away from him from then on. Until I had to, until I could control myself. And then he started with those looks I couldn't read. He drove me crazy. And now he's trying to drive me crazy again. That has to be it.
"So maybe you can understand that I don't see any need to talk now." He takes a deep breath. "Why bother? I'm willing to say that I want you, and I'm pretty damned sure that you want me. Come on, Webb." His voice is husky. "I'm tired of playing games."
He's staring at me. "You have got to be kidding," I say very harshly. I'm the one who's supposed to be in charge of this. I have to be in charge of this. "You want me? Is that what you're saying?" The realization that that's what he *did* say is getting me hard.
"I've said all that I'm going to say to you, Webb." He laughs when I don't answer. "Do I always have to make the first move? Are you that goddamned fucked up about liking guys that you can't even come on to one? All right, fine. I know what you like." His hand is suddenly on my crotch, cupping it with a definite authority. God, that feels so good. "And I'll give it to you."
I jerk back. "Stop this, Rabb. You don't know what the fuck you're doing."
"Oh, I know damned well what I'm doing. I'm getting Clayton Webb into my bed. Oh, wait. No. I don't want you in *my* bed. After all, you didn't think I was worth taking into yours. This couch will do just fine."
I stand and stare down at him. "You have lost your mind." And I really think he has. Harmon Rabb, commander in the United States Navy, does not talk that way. He's possessed.
"No, Webb. I'm getting what I want. I did what you wanted in your house. You do what I want here. Or did you want to run away again? Do it, then. I'm sick of you. Sick of thinking about you. You and Palmer are driving me crazy. Even the admiral's asked what's wrong with me. Oh, that was a fun conversation, let me tell you. I had to tell him that I couldn't tell him because then he'd have to take action! He's been giving me looks ever since. And Mac's not even talking to me, I've told her so many times to leave me alone."
He stops talking and just glares. "Bastard," he mutters after a moment. "How could I let you do this to me? How? I do not understand."
He's angry. I keep him in my view while I think. And why does a person get angry about something? Because it matters to him.
He wanted to talk to me. He wanted to know what I was thinking. I shut him out. He wasn't the one who was avoiding me; I was avoiding him.
"Rabb," I say very quietly. "I'll do what you want," his eyes flicker with something I can't read, "but first I need to say that I was wrong."
There's a part of me that wants to shut up, strip right now, take him. I don't need to play the information game with him. He's said enough to make me very sure that it's me he wants. That tape was genuine. But there's another part of me that sees a chance that will be lost if I go for sex now. It may already be lost and gone but I have to try.
"Wrong?" He's not ready to talk. He wants to attack. "Oh, boy. The great Clayton Webb says he's wrong, and all of us stupid people are supposed to think that's something. Yes, Clayton, you were really wrong, if you're talking about how you treated me." I nod. "So what action are you regretting now?"
"That I thought you were trying to use me."
"Use you?" He's honestly puzzled. "When the hell did I do anything to make you think that? Wait, you said that before. But I didn't. I'm not that kind of person, Webb. I thought you knew that."
I swallow and sit back down. "Is it all right if I keep my clothes on a little longer?" I hope he'll take that as the joke it is, and sure enough, he does let out a short smile after a moment.
"Sure. Hell, you're talking now."
I do not believe that we're having this conversation. "I thought that you used sex with me to get that information." He doesn't say anything, but his breathing is harsh. "Then when you came back and we..."
"Fucked, Webb. That is the term for it. You're not going to try and tell me that was your idea of making love, I hope."
The hardness in his voice makes me swallow and tell myself I deserve this. We didn't make love. I fucked him. I can get through this. I have to.
"No, I'm not. When we fucked, I thought that you were just trying to find a way to make it so that you could walk away and feel better about having sold yourself."
"You thought that I thought I'd sold myself." He's really staring at me now. "I can't follow your logic, Webb, but I did not sell myself. I came over to talk with you, but you wouldn't, and I forgot about talking after a while. I wanted to have sex with you. I want to have sex with you tonight. God," he mutters again. "I hope no one's bugging my place." He laughs shortly. "Don't tell me you knew and forgot to tell me."
"You're fine." I hesitate. "I had a team in here this afternoon. No bugs."
He just closes his eyes. "Of course. The ubiquitous CIA. No avoiding them. I suppose I should thank you."
"I'm not expecting it." There's no way I can play any kind of game with him, I realize. He's too important to me. And for the first time all day, I don't care about what Clark Palmer thinks. I don't have any room for that. All I have room for is Harmon Rabb. "I was wrong about that. I know that now."
He doesn't say anything for a long while, and I decide that it's time for me to go. I start to stand but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
"What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
He shakes his head. "You said you'd do what I wanted. Now do it."
"Is this revenge?" I have to know.
"No. Not revenge. But I'll be damned if I'll jerk off another night thinking of you when I can have you instead." He still has his fingers wrapped around my wrist, and their warmth is making my cock stir. "You going to tell me you don't want me, Clay? I know that's a lie. I've been watching you for the last year, and you get hard when I walk into the room. Tell me I'm wrong."
He's breathing harshly, and so am I. "I won't do that, Harm."
He nods. "Then take off your clothes."
He lets go of me and tugs out his shirt. I start on my jacket, but my hands just won't move as fast as I want them to and he makes an impatient sound and pulls it off of me. He's already got his shirt off and his jeans undone and he watches as I work on my vest, then my shirt. Having him watch me actually helps. I know this time that we want each other. Even though it started in anger and there might be anger again when we're done, right now we're both doing what we want. I'll take that.
I get my shirt off and lean over to take off my shoes and socks. He's already kicked his off, and there's a faint smile on his face when I glance over at him.
"I never thought I'd be waiting for a guy to get undressed," he jokes. "Guess you didn't come here for sex."
Oh, but I did, Harm. I know now that I was going to try and play Palmer's game, and I'm glad that I never found the right opening. Or maybe I just missed it, because I really didn't want to. Whatever. He's starting to take off those jeans and I don't want to miss seeing that.
I push my socks into my shoes and straighten, then reach for my belt. He's frankly staring now, heat in his eyes.
"Hurry up," he growls, and shoves off his jeans. He's not wearing anything under them, and his gorgeous cock springs up.
"I'm not an officer under your command," I growl back, and he laughs.
"Oh, that's not the kind of image I want in my head right now..." and his voice dies away as I shove off my pants while still sitting, slip to the floor, and take him right into my mouth. I wanted to do this last night and now I can. I lick him, suck, use all that I know to get him moaning, make my mouth into a fucking vacuum when I realize he likes that best, just to please him. To please me. My cheek muscles hurt after a while but I ignore them. When will I ever get this chance again? I don't know and I have to get all of him I can. So salty, so damned right, I could do this until he came, but I hear his moans get louder and realize that I don't want to be so damned selfless. I want something, too. And I remember him admitting that he'd been jerking off and thinking about me. That gets me even harder and I take my mouth away.
"God, Clay," he breathes, his hips moving in an insistent rhythm. "I'm going to come if you keep that up."
I know that is what he wants me to do, but I'm not going to. I get back up on the couch, take my cock in hand, offer it to him. "Distract yourself." My voice is husky and I can't breathe. I want to feel his mouth on me. "Find something else to do." I want to demand he go down on me, but I want to be fair, too. He might not be ready for that. His hands would work for me. They have before. And the thought of him even touching me again is enough to get me to let out a small moan.
He swallows and I know he got what I was hinting at, then as I'm about to say something like 'don't worry about it,' he's down on the floor and his mouth is closing, carefully and gently, around the head of my cock. I groan and try to thrust more in, but he won't let me and in another minute I don't care. Wet, soft heat, his tongue taking careful licks, not knowing what the fuck he's doing, I can tell, and it doesn't matter, as long as he keeps doing anything.
I wrap my hand around my shaft and stroke it, and he keeps licking, even takes another half-inch into his mouth and swirls his tongue around my crown like he's taking the melting ice cream off the top of the cone, and I know that I'm not going to last that long. I think about pulling out, but I want this so much, I've been waiting so long, and it's like last night with Palmer never even happened as Harmon Rabb's lips are wrapped around my cock and his tongue keeps licking me. I stroke faster and his tongue gets more assured, flicking over my head, then going to hard, flat, quick strokes. Oh, god, I'm going to come, and then I'm growling and trying to fuck his mouth and coming. He jerks his mouth off as soon as I start bucking but gets his hand up with mine to grab my cock. I cry out and finish coming. I wish that I was still buried in that incredible heat of his mouth, but it's a little much to expect him to want to swallow for his first time.
He's panting. "Please, Clay," he whispers, and I remember that was all he could say the other times. I reach over and wrap my fingers around him and he's coming in a few strokes, loud and oh, it's so good to hear him again. I've had dreams about his cries.
He sags back against the cushions and I do, too. We say nothing.
After a while I realize that I'm getting cold and there's come on my stomach and hands. I stand. His eyes track me with an obvious effort.
"I'll get some tissues," I murmur. It's not that easy to talk, or to move, but he's not going to be any help. I grab a handful and scrub myself off, then another for him.
When I get back, his eyes are closed, so I decide to wipe him off myself.
His eyes open as soon as I touch him with the tissues. "Have to talk more," he mutters and gets his hand around my wrist. "Don't go."
I don't know where this is coming from but I don't care. "I won't go, Harm." I manage to get most of the mess off him.
I wonder if he means to talk now, but he just sits there, eyelids drooping, until I think about trying to get him up and guide him to his bed. He asked me to stay, so I will. I can always sleep on the couch. I don't want him to think that I'm trying to get into his bed. I can still hear his scornful words about not wanting me there. Suddenly he stands, keeping hold of me, and heads toward his bed on autopilot, at least that's how it looks to me. He shuts off lights as we pass them.
He gets there and tugs me down onto the bed. "Leave without a word and I'll kill you," he says drowsily and works himself under the covers, burying his face in a pillow. He's out in a minute.
I manage to get some covers for myself and a pillow, and settle down to sleep.
I have no idea what's going to happen in the morning. But I get the feeling this isn't going to be the only time Harmon Rabb and I end up in bed together. It's just a stupid feeling, but it's a strong one.
I close my eyes and decide that it's been a good day after all.
THE END