Title: Tomorrow

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: JAG/The Maltese Falcon

Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer, Sam Spade/Wilmer Cook

Tomorrow
by Tinnean

Clayton Webb was really trying to get some work done. All he could think of was the man he worked with. Clark Palmer had deliberately picked a quarrel with him, but then had been almost frantic in his refusal to work under another CIA agent. If Clay didn't know better, he would have sworn that had been a ploy for him to notice the former DSD agent.

From the corner of his eye he caught a movement, and he glanced up from the papers on his desk, a frown furrowing his brow. "What is it?"

But there was no one there. He held himself very still, then shook his head and went back to the report, resolutely banishing his partner from his mind.

Minutes passed. And then a quiet voice whispered from behind him, //You want to fuck him. You know you do.//

On his feet so rapidly his chair went spinning, Webb's eyes stabbed each corner of his office, searching for the owner of that elusive voice.

But he was alone.

He swore and strode to the door, flinging it open and glaring up and down the corridor. The *empty* corridor. With a scowl, Webb settled himself back at his desk, determined to get this job finished in this lifetime.

But the string of words on the paper wavered and slid out of focus. He shook his head, trying to get his eyeballs unstuck, but to no avail. A glance at his watch revealed it to be way past the time to clock out for the day, if Langley had a time clock. He wouldn't mind putting in a 40 hour week, but lately it felt as if he was putting in 40 days!

With a sigh, he placed the report in the top drawer of his desk and locked it. It wasn't top secret, but you didn't leave anything lying around unsecured at spook headquarters.

Getting to his feet, Webb locked his hands behind his back and stretched to get the kinks out of his joints. His vertebrae gave a satisfying pop. He picked up his jacket and headed out the door.

The operative was about to step into the elevator, when he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stir. He heard that voice again. //You want him. Take him. He's yours!//

His hand reached for the weapon he would normally wear at his back, but here at Langley it wasn't considered necessary. Here he was unarmed. He snarled and whirled to confront...nothing. More than a little concerned for his mental health, he stepped into the elevator and rode down to the parking garage.

Exhaustion was creeping up on him, and it was a good thing he didn't have far to drive. He got into his car and inserted the key into the ignition. The engine roared hollowly in the empty garage. Webb put it into gear and edged out onto the street.

A light spring mist was sheening the streets, and the green and yellow and red of traffic lights reflected off the wet pavement. The effect was almost mesmerizing, and he blessed the fact that the hour was so late and the streets were so empty. The last thing he wanted to do was cause an accident. Or be in one caused by someone else on the road who was as tired as he.

On automatic, he managed to get home safely. Hmmm. Someone had taken his usual parking spot. He'd take it up with the management tomorrow. Webb parked a few spots down.

He walked into the lobby, his eyelids at half-mast, and looked helplessly for the elevator. Somehow, it had been moved in the twenty-some hours since he had left for work.

No, of course it wasn't moved. It was right where it had always been. Wasn't it? Shaking his head, amused at his befuddlement, he got into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.

Webb got out and swayed as exhaustion swamped him once more. He stared down at the carpet that covered the hallway. Surely the carpet had been a sedate buff, and not this patterned grey? He shrugged. All he really wanted was a drink, a shower, and bed. And he didn't really care about the order in which he got them.

//You want *him* too, don't you, Clay?// That voice, right in his ear this time. He stiffened, knowing that when he turned, he would find himself alone.

Sure enough. Startled back to full wakefulness, he got his key out and swore when it wouldn't open his door. He peered at the numbers stenciled neatly below the peephole. For a moment the numbers appeared to scurry about, and he shook his head.

He must be even more tired than he thought. They weren't running around like ants on a disturbed anthill.

Yes, this was his apartment. So why wasn't the key working?

He rattled the doorknob, as if that would somehow make the key work.

And then the door opened, and Clark Palmer stood before him. Clayton Webb's mouth dropped open, and he found himself with a massive erection. //*Told* you!// came that annoying whisper.

"Did you want something, Webb?"

*You, Clark*! Clayton licked his lips. "What are you doing in my apartment, Palmer?"

The former DSD agent watched his superior with barely disguised hunger. "This is *my* apartment, Clay. What are *you* doing here?"

Webb looked stupidly down at the key in his hand and swayed. Palmer got an arm around him and helped him into his place.

"I thought I was going home!"

//You *are* home!//

"What did you say?"

Palmer gave him a concerned look. "I didn't say anything, Clay. Are you all right? You're looking a little grey!"

"I think I'm losing my mind, Clark!"

Palmer knew something was seriously wrong. Clayton Webb would never admit to something like that. Especially not to someone like him. He still didn't trust him.

Well, not that he had given him any reason to believe he wouldn't fuck him over at the first opportunity. They had been long-standing adversaries.

And why did the image of fucking Clay suddenly refuse to be banished? Clark kept his hips angled away from the man he worked under. Was he out of his fucking mind? If Clay knew his thoughts were running in that direction... Clark had seen how Clay got when he disapproved of something. If he was lucky, a chill response was the least of what he'd get.

It was all the fault of that goddamned dream! If he hadn't dreamed of Sam Spade tormenting him, and then Clayton Webb bursting into his apartment and ordering him to strip so he could fuck him... Clark licked his lips and got Clay into his overstuffed easy chair.

Clay mumbled something. "What, Clay?" Clark leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

The next thing he knew, his superior had an arm around his neck and was pulling him down to eye level. "Screw it!" And Webb's lips were all over Palmer's face, tracing the line of his jaw, his teeth nibbling on his ear, his tongue testing the seam of his lips.

Off balance, Clark fell against the man he worked under. Webb moved enough to make room for the former DSD agent to share the seat with him. And then he seemed to swarm onto Palmer, his weight pressing Clark into the soft cushions.

Palmer spread his legs wider and he felt Webb's cock creating a pleasant friction against his. *Pleasant*, hell. Who was he trying to kid? If he couldn't get more of that friction, he'd go out of his fucking mind!

He groaned, trying to encourage Clay to move faster, harder. Wanting to be naked under him. Wanting him naked on top of him.

The other man froze. "Shit. Shit, Palmer. I'm sorry!" He tried to scramble off the taller man.

//Fuck!//

"What?" Wild-eyed, Clay whirled around, once more searching for that voice.

"Oh no!" Palmer refused to let the other man go. He finally had him where he had spent the past night dreaming of him. He was not about to let him go. His fingers around Clayton's tie, he dragged
him down for a voracious kiss.

//That's the way to pay the bills!//

But this time Webb was too involved in the kiss to pay any attention to that ethereal voice. He was feeding off Palmer's mouth as if he hadn't seen a decent meal in ages.

Palmer's fingers were busy with the buttons on Clay's shirt. He got it off him with a minimum of fuss and threw it carelessly aside. Then he went to work on his partner's trousers. But not before stroking the hardened bulge beneath the zipper.

"You're really hot for me, Clay!"

"Shut up, Clark, and get your pants off. I need to be in you right now!"

"And if I say no?"

For a disorienting minute, Palmer thought he heard a groan.

But he must have been mistaken. He was staring at Clay's mouth, and his lips were pressed tightly together. He couldn't have made a sound.

"You have no choice, Clark. I'm going to have you. Say yes, and we'll make love. Say no, and we'll fuck. Either way, I'm going to be so deep inside you that when I come, you won't know whether it was your ass or your mouth that I fucked!"

A soft sigh seemed to flutter in the quiet of the room.

Both men ignored it. And the indignant yelp that followed it.

//Hey!//

//Wait in the hall, Cookie!//

//Ah, Sam! I want to watch!//

//Out!//

The two men were on the floor, Clark kneeling while Clay crouched over him, rolling on a condom and lubricating his cock and the snug channel it would soon invade.

Grinning with satisfaction, Sam Spade faded out of the room, leaving the two men to finally consummate their passion.

Out in the hall, his own partner was sulking. //I told you I would handle it, Cookie.//

//You were taking too long, Sam! If I waited for you, they *never* would have gotten together! And all I did was confuse Webb enough so that he thought he was driving to his apartment instead of to Palmer's!//

//You're a troublemaker, you know that, Cookie? Now you'd better get your ass home.//

//Or...?// the younger shade responded aggressively.

//Or I won't wait until we get home; I'll fuck it right here in Clark Palmer's hall!//

The younger man rocked back and forth on his heels. //Well, when you make me an offer like that...!// He vanished into the elevator, which remained open, his laughter floating back.

//Cheeky devil!// Spade grinned. He paused only long enough to make sure the moans coming from the apartment were filled with satisfaction, and then followed his lover into the elevator.

Quietly, the door slid shut.

~End~