Title: Start to drown

Author: Gail

Fandom: JAG

Pairing: Clayton Webb/Harmon Rabb

Rating: NC-17

Summary: After Mac and Mic's engagement party, Rabb goes to Webb for comfort of a kind.

Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RSA, CKOS, WWOMB. All others, please ask.

Email: gem225@hotmail.com

Web Page: The Unholy Trinity, at:
http://www.strangeplaces.net/trinity/main.htm and http://www.freespeech.org/gem/work/main.html

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS, not me.

Spoilers: People v. Rabb, Lifeline, and general ones for the show.

Alexandra beta'd it beautifully and speedily, Tinnean told me it was hot and beta'd, too, and Allaire sent bunches of smiles when I told her I was writing her favorite JAG pairing again.

Start to drown
By Gail
*****

And I guess that's how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown
"Ghost", Indigo Girls, Rites of Passage CD
*****

I ring the bell over and over until I can get myself to stop, then fidget at the door. Renee was pissed that I didn't ask her to come home with me, but I told her I was too tired and needed to think, then I kissed her until she shut up and just glowed at me. That won't last. Tomorrow morning she'll be pissed again, and she'll be right to be. I'll make it up to her, get her some
flowers. Women love flowers. I wonder what kind Mac likes. Bet it's roses.

No. I don't want to think about her. That's why I'm here.

The door opens, and he stares at me. I wait while he makes up his mind. It's always this way. It's up to him. I don't have any say in it. Maybe that's why I come here.

"Come in." No name, but then that doesn't matter. He's not shutting the door in my face. He would if he felt like it. He's done that before, although only once. I never tried to get an explanation. Webb does what he likes. That's what I like about him. I can't fuck with him like I do everyone else.

I walk through the door and hear it shut behind me. Finality. He won't let me go until he's done with me. I know that. I count on that.

We stand there and look at each other until I drop my eyes. I know he's smiling, but if I looked, he wouldn't be. Clayton Webb gives me nothing except what I need.

He turns and walks out of the room. I follow and remember how it started.

I came over one night, pissed as hell at him for his goddamned cold spook decisions that could have gotten someone killed, like me. It was after I was acquitted for Konaplanik's murder. After he'd given me a gun to help me break out of prison and then lied about it having a bug and was going to take me and Colonel Parlovsky into custody or get us killed. They were shooting, for god's sake. We got away, and it turned out all right, but I was ready to break his neck, even after he testified for me at my trial. For me? A joke. Clayton Webb did what he did for the sake
of the CIA and his own career. I was sure of that, and I let him know with the most cruel and cutting words I had. I'm a lawyer and a damned good one, and I used all my skill. I wanted to get to him, wanted to make him feel as badly as I did.

He stood there and listened, then nodded when I fell silent for more than a few breaths. "I know you have to feel that way, but you don't understand."

I waited, but of course he didn't try to explain. Clayton Webb never explains himself. We both stood there. My anger wasn't gone, but it was a hell of a lot less than it had been.

"Did you have anything else to say, Harm?"

That had to be what did it: him saying my name. I'll never understand why I did what I did next, but I'm glad I did it.

I walked over to him and just stood there. "Make it stop," I whispered, and he stared up at me. "Make it stop, Clay. I keep doing these things, and I can't stop."

"Make you stop, you mean." He was so calm, and I nodded. That was what I meant. I should have talked to him before making the deal with Konaplonik. He would have found a safe way to do it, or at least a way that meant I wasn't doing it alone. "I can't make you stop unless you want to."

He was right, and I didn't know if I wanted to stop for real. If I'd want to once I got some sleep and had another link to my father to chase, or one to Palmer, or something else. I swallowed, then looked at him some more. He was so patient, just standing there. I don't know what he saw in my face, but it was enough to keep him with me.

I realized that he hadn't asked if I wanted to stop. Probably already knew that I didn't. How the hell did Clayton Webb know me this well? I opened my mouth to ask him, but I never did, because I looked in his eyes, and what was there was enough to make me forget everything else. There was heat and passion and desire, and I wanted to lose myself in it. And that's when I realized what I needed.

"You want me?" I reached out to touch his hand. "You can have me. I want you to. Just make me stop thinking, Clay. Make it go away."

He took a long time to answer, or maybe it just felt that way. His eyes flickered over me, and I know he saw that I was getting hard. I shifted in place. "You want me?" he echoed.

"I want you." So much.

That's when he reached out and pulled my head down to his and kissed me like he wanted to make me come that way, and I kissed him back just as hard. That first time we didn't even make it out of his living room, and I'll always remember staring at his baby grand piano while he sucked me off. Staring at that when I wasn't staring at him. And then changing places and the taste of Clayton Webb's cock in my mouth, warm flesh and precome coating my mouth and something that had to be all his own and that I couldn't get enough of. Right then, if he'd told me he wasn't going to let me leave, I would have agreed. He had me, all of me, and everything made sense, and everything was solved, and I was at peace.

But when we finished, he didn't say anything that gave me a reason to stay, didn't say anything at all. I knew I had to go, and I did.

I stayed away from him for a while, but the next time I felt like I needed it all to stop, I came back, and he let me in, and when he did, he took me right to his bedroom.

Where we are now.

He's staring at me with that passion again, and I lick my lips. It's going to be all right again. He'll help me.

"Mac," he says after a moment, and I just look at him. "Her engagement party. That's why you're here."

"Please don't." I really don't want to talk about it. I want him to make me forget. To make me see only him. He can do that. No one else can.

"You keep coming to me," he says, and there's something strange in his voice. But maybe it's just that he wants this, too. "Say it, Harm. I want you to say it."

This part I know. The first times he had to ask me directly, but not any more. "I want you." It's easy to say here in his bedroom.

He smiles. "Good." I come closer to him, but he shakes his head. "Get out of that suit. I want you naked."

I watch him take off his clothes as I get out of mine. He's always got one more thing on than me, and it almost makes me smile, but I don't want to smile. I want to forget. Want to know only him. Clayton Webb's the only person who can get me out of myself.

Finally we're both naked. I lick my lips and walk over to him. He sits down on the bed.

"What do you want?" My voice is too shaky and rough. I need this so much. I shouldn't have waited so long to come here. It's too hard if I wait, but sometimes he's not around to come to. I've learned to check after I came over, rang, and waited, and no one answered. I got drunk that night. A few days later there was an envelope waiting for me on my desk with his card and a number in neat black pen on the back. After that, I always called that number before coming over. It's a recording, and all it's ever had is 'here' or 'gone'. I wonder who else has that number. His mother, maybe, some people at the CIA who need to know. Doesn't matter. He gave the number to me.

He's smiling now as he spreads his legs. His cock points right at me. "You know what I want. Do it."

Yes. He's in charge. I don't have to think, and I don't. I sink to my knees and reach for his cock. The first taste of it and I'm gone. This is all there is, all there can be, and if I had a mind to think with, I'd be glad, but I don't. I just feel, just do.

When he stops me, it's a surprise. He hasn't come. I look up at him. That passion in his eyes mesmerizes me. "What?"

"Get on the bed."

He's going to fuck me. He doesn't do that often, but I love it. I scramble up, but before I can get on my hands and knees, he's got his hands on me, and I end up lying down with him straddling me. His fingers linger on my nipples, teasing them to hardness, and I'm moaning. He hasn't even touched my cock, and I can't shut up. I don't want to. So good, so right. I need more tonight, and he has to know that.

Then he moves, and his cock brushes mine, and I can't keep quiet. His mouth finds one nipple while he pinches the other, and he's lying on top of me, his hips thrusting. This might be even better than fucking. I get my hands on him and feel that smooth skin, try to give him pleasure that way. I'm so close to coming from this.

He pulls away, and I see his face again. Clayton Webb never looks like this with me anywhere else, and it's always a revelation. I hardly recognize him. Flushed, animated, involved. Real. That's it. Clayton Webb is real here, not hiding behind some mask. But then don't we all hide? I know all about that.

"You want me to fuck you?" I nod. Hell, yes. He smiles. "Then ask me for it."

"Please fuck me, Clay. I want you to fuck me." It doesn't matter what I say here; he'll never tell anyone else. I don't know how I know it, but I do. He never shows anything of what we do when I see him at JAG or anywhere else. That mask of his, and that mask of mine. We both need them.

His eyes are glittering, and his lips are parted. I did this to him, me. I matter here. I matter to him. I need to matter. Need it so damned much.

"I'll fuck you, then."

He needs this too, I realize suddenly. I give him something. Should have gotten that before. Why else would he do this? I breathe and let that wash through me. Clayton Webb needs me.

He pulls me against him and kisses me just as fiercely as the first time, and I still think I could come from that alone, but I won't. I asked him to fuck me; he said he would; and he will. That's worth waiting for.

He moves me on to my hands and knees, and I wait. The first touch of the cool gel makes me shiver, then the first probe by his finger into me makes me shiver even more. Too long, much too long, that's what's going through my head, along with please and now, but I don't say them. I don't know why, but it wouldn't be right.

He takes his time preparing me, and I'm glad that he does. I want it now, but I want it good, and Clay always makes it good for me. When his cock pushes into me, I cry out, but not with pain, with pleasure, and he must know that, because he doesn't stop. He keeps pushing into me, and then he's fucking me, and I am going to come soon; I know that I am. I breathe in that scent that only he has, and I brace myself as best I can, and then I am coming, that rush taking me over and carrying me into another, simpler peace.

I hear him moan and know he's coming, too. He pulls out, and we both end up lying down. I know we'll end up sleeping, at least I will, but that's all right. Everything is all right now.

*****

When I wake up, I know it's time to go, and I get dressed as quickly as I can. I never stay the night. It's not that he's ever told me I couldn't, but it's obvious, right? Right.

"Harm." He's awake, of course, looking at me, seeing me. "It's late."

I nod. Yes, it is. It's always late when we finish, and the nap made it even later.

"You don't have to go."

Quiet and diffident, not in control any more, but it doesn't matter. I don't have to go. Maybe that translates into 'I want you here'. It might.

I sit back down on the bed, take my shoes off again, and see his smile. I'll stay. I don't have to say it. I should be worried about what will happen in the morning, what I've gotten myself into, but I'm not. I want to find out.

The End