"Am I boring you, Commander?"

Rabb's mind snapped to attention at the irritation in the Admiral's voice, pulling him back from a daydream involving showers and Clayton Webb's hot mouth around his cock. Harm could almost feel the wet lips and strong tongue on him now, working him, milking him, the suction pulling his essence right out of him. He shifted slightly on the chair, trying to ease the sudden restriction of his pants around his crotch. He moved the file he held so that it covered the slight bulge down there, while keeping eye contact with Chegwidden.

And he was blushing.

"Harm, are you all right?"

He turned his eyes to the left to glance at Mac to find out where she was looking. Good, she was focussed on his face.

"Just...is it hot in here?" He was sweating. He was sure he was sweating.

His voice softening with concern, Chegwidden said, "If you're not feeling well, Commander, perhaps we should continue this tomorrow."

"I'd rather finish it now, sir. I'm fine. Really." There was no way on earth he was going to stand up in front of the Admiral and Mac until his libido settled down. The thought of Mac seeing him aroused was enough to scare his cock into going limp. He nearly sighed with relief at having room to move again. He loved Mac; he was genuinely, eternally attracted to her, but was terrified that she would think she had a chance at a relationship with him. He could not and would not commit to anything more than friendship with Sarah MacKenzie. Now that he had outed himself to Webb, begun some kind of thing with him, was with a man for the first time in years, he could not conceive of being with Mac. He could not get away with not committing to her. She would expect more, and it would ultimately destroy their friendship. He could not go through life without her as a part of it any more than he could pretend last night's incredible sex with Clay had not happened.

"Dismissed."

Harm blinked at the Admiral. He had missed something, perhaps a lot of something. He stood along with Mac and followed her out of the office.

"Say, Mac?"

"Yes, Harm?"

"I kinda spaced there at the end. What did I miss?"

Giving him a measuring look, she said, "Just that we are to continue our investigation of Second Lieutenant Wilkins, and if we turn up anything pertinent we should report to the Admiral. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired is all."

"Aren't you sleeping well?"

He shrugged. "Been having some trouble but I think it's getting better."

"Okay. Well, if you want to talk or anything you know where to find me."

"I do know that. Thank you, Mac."

She headed for her office and he went to his. Almost the moment he stepped through the door the phone on the desk rang.

"Rabb."

"Good morning, Commander."

Harm smiled. "Clay. Good timing. I just got here. Where are you anyway?"

There was a subtle change in Clay's voice and Harm somehow knew he was smiling. "I'm not outside your door at JAG if that's what you're thinking."

"I was," Harm admitted.

"Told you I'd call today."

"You said you'd call tonight. It's barely noon."

"Yeah, I know." There was another change in tone.

"You can't make it tonight," Harm guessed, feeling all of the light fall out of his day.

"I don't know yet. I just wanted to warn you in case I can't call later."

"What's going on, Clay? Are you leaving town?"

"Possibly."

"Well, that clears that up."

"Don't get cranky, Commander. You know these things happen."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

There was a long pause, and then Clayton said quietly, "Me either."

It was Harm's turn to fall silent. This was all very new. The reason for them getting together in the first place was because they were both suffering Post Traumatic Shock Disorder from the events in Colombia two weeks ago. They were drawn together by mutual need and attraction, they had sex, and they could have stopped it there, but both of them wanted to continue despite the risks. Harm wasn't sure what Clay was feeling right this minute, but he knew he wasn't going to be satisfied with the memory of one night until they could get together again. Clay was often out of the country for weeks at a time. Who knew when they could see each other again? Harm gave a silent snort. Who knew he was going to wind up the blushing virgin wondering when his lover would warm his bed again after the deflowering? Although technically, none of that was true. He hadn't been deflowered yet. Dammit.

"Harm, do you know what time it is? I seem to have misplaced my watch."

He knew exactly where that watch was, and was fairly certain that Clay knew it, too. He allowed himself a tiny smile. "It's eleven-thirty-six hours."

"I'd better get back to work. If I can call I will."

"Okay." Harm was reluctant to end the conversation, but couldn't think of anything to say that would prolong it.

"Harm, I want," he didn't finish the thought but Harm hoped he knew what it was that Clay wanted.

He took a chance. "I know. Me too."

"Good." The word came out in a sigh. "Look, I have to go."

"Right."

"Bye."

"See you, Clay."

The connection was severed and Harm pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and then hung up. It was no secret between them that he had strong feelings for the spy. Perhaps it was only an infatuation, but the feelings were there and he had to live with them. He just wasn't sure exactly what Clay felt towards him. Was he simply convenient? An outlet for his sexual needs? No. He knew that wasn't true, but how much more was he than that?

It was too soon to tell.

#

Clay didn't call that night or the next or the three after that. Harm slept badly all week. He was distracted, irritable and forgetful. After snapping at Mac, Harriet and Admiral Chegwidden, and getting told off by all three of them in their own fashions, he became more mindful of his behaviour. It was as if now that his fantasy of having Clayton Webb as a lover had come true, mentally and emotionally Harm had moved full speed ahead into a committed relationship with the other man. He did not want to believe he'd fallen in love. That just wasn't a good idea to get in that deep. Yet here he was once again in the castle tower pining away for his knight. God. He needed a reality check.

He sat in his apartment with the lights out. It was a Friday night. He should be out on a date. He was tempted to change out of his ratty grey sweats and t-shirt and go out to a bar or a club, any place lively. That thought passed as quickly as it had arrived. He didn't want to go out. Besides, it was raining and had been all day. So he cooked a simple dinner, ate while staring out at the dark, wet night, and then turned on a single lamp by which to read for a while.

The phone rang just when he was thinking about going to bed. Not in any mood to talk to anyone, and convinced that he would not hear from Clay for another week at least, he kept walking towards the bedroom, intending to let the answering machine pick up the message. It rang again and he stopped, turning back to answer it anyway. Suddenly he needed to talk to someone tonight, to hear another human voice, even if it was just a wrong number, but didn't want to call Mac. Not when he was in this state of mind.

The machine cut in before he reached the phone.

"Harm? Are you there? Pick up. It's me."

Clay!

Lengthening his stride, he made a long-armed grab for the receiver.

"Hey, I'm here."

"About time you answered," said a most welcome voice in his ear.

"I was headed to bed."

"Yeah? What are you wearing?"

Grinning at the lasciviousness in Clay's voice, Harm fibbed, "I've got my uniform on."

"Dress whites?" Clay asked in what could only be described as a hopeful tone.

Harm laughed. "You got a thing for uniforms?"

"That's classified."

"You're in a good mood tonight. Where are you and when are you coming back?"

Clay turned serious. "I'm not coming back, Harm."

"What?" Dismayed, Harm stammered, "B-but why not? What's happened?"

"I'm not coming back because..."

"Because why?"

"Because..."

*knock* *knock*

Harm glared at the door to his apartment. "Not now!" He shouted. "Clay, talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"Maybe you should answer your door."

"How the hell do you know someone's at my door?"

He stopped.

Oh.

A wide grin splitting his face he strode to the door of the loft and dragged it open.

Clayton Webb leaned against the wall next to the opening. He peeled himself away from it and looked curiously at Harm. "As I was saying, I'm not coming back because I'm already here. That's not your uniform."

"Get in here." Harm reached out and grabbed him by the arm, getting a wet hand for his efforts. "You're soaked."

"It's raining outside." Clayton flipped his cell phone shut, placed it on the counter near the door and began to take off his dripping trench coat. Harm took it from him and hung it up where it could drip dry, and then wiped his hands on his sweats.

"I thought you'd be more careful about what you say on a cell phone. It's not a secure line." He laughed. "Listen to me. I'm sounding like you."

He looked back and saw Clay had also removed his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair, but had left his vest on. He ran his hands through his hair, hopelessly dishevelling it. There were circles under his eyes and pallor in his cheeks. The spy stifled a yawn. Bending to untie his shoes, he tugged on the stubborn wet laces and finally put heel to toe and kicked the shoes off.

Harm frowned. "You look worse than you did at the beginning of the week. Are you all right? Have you been sleeping?" He walked into the bathroom and returned with a fluffy green towel and handed it to Clay.

"I have a mother, thanks anyway." The towel muffled the words as he rubbed it over his head and face to dry off. His hair stuck up all over now.

"Did you call her and let her know you're okay?"

Nodding slowly, Clay replied, "As a matter of fact I was just about to."

"Well, go ahead." Harm was inordinately pleased that Clay had come to him before contacting his mother. "Are you hungry? I've got leftovers."

"Leftover what?" Clay asked suspiciously.

"I'll surprise you and you'll like it."

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay, let's not get carried away with that or you'll be sleeping alone tonight." Harm shuddered at images he'd rather not see. "You are staying, right?"

The hazel eyes changed to green even as they turned to look at him. "I can stay."

That look produced a shiver deep inside Harm. "Good. Call your...call Mrs. Webb and I'll get your dinner ready."

Harm busied himself heating up the food, sneaking looks at the man pacing in sock feet over on the other side of the loft. Clay kept thrusting his fingers through his hair as he spoke in a low, reassuring voice with Porter Webb. Finally he stopped and ended the connection. He stood for a moment deep in thought, his head down. The hand holding the phone hung at his side and his other hand rested on his hip. Harm noticed that Clay was wearing a different watch on his left wrist. It was not as elegant as the Rolex he'd left in the apartment, but looked almost as expensive.

"Clay?" Harm asked softly.

Looking up, Clay made a visible effort to brighten up and he walked over to the island counter.

"Everything okay with your mother?"

"Yeah. She's fine."

"Then where did you go just now? You looked a little lost."

Attempting to smile and failing, Clay sat heavily on one of the chairs next to the counter. He leaned his elbows on the top and propped his chin on his hands.

"I'm just tired, Harm. Really tired."

"Well, eat and we can go to bed." Harm knew better than to ask about Clay's most recent mission. If he could talk about it he would, but odds were that wasn't going to happen. Harm placed a warmed plate of rice and vegetables and a glass of wine in front of his friend and sat back to watch him eat. Clay picked at the food at first, but once he got a couple of forkfuls into his mouth he ate with more enthusiasm. He continued to eat without speaking until there were only a few grains of rice left on the plate. He shoved it away with his thumb and rested his head in his hands, palms covering his eyes.

Harm couldn't help himself. He reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the dark head. The hair was soft from the rain and he smoothed the cowlicks.

"Does it always get wavy when it's wet?"

Lifting his head, Clay blinked sleepily. "Huh?"

"Your hair. It's wavy."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess."

"You are so out of it."

Clay drank down the wine and stood up. "You got a toothbrush I can use?"

"What'd you use last time?"

"Mouthwash."

"There's a new toothbrush in the cabinet over the sink. It's yours."

"Thanks." He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. "I'm sorry, Harm. Let me help you clean up."

Harm waved him away. "It's okay. Go get ready for bed. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thanks for the meal. It was good." Clay stood where he had stopped, and for a moment he swayed slightly, his eyes trying to close. Then he headed for the bathroom, his steps slow and his shoulders hunched. Harm watched him, wanting to go and hold him up or just hold him. He rinsed the plate and the glass and left them in the sink. Then he turned off the lights in the living room and walked to the bedroom. Clay came out of the bathroom just then and sat on the edge of the bed. He struggled with the knot in his tie, and then gave it up. His hands fell to his sides and he leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees.

Harm looked at him. He stepped forward and urged Clay to sit up, and then he worked the tie loose pulling it and the vest off. With economic movements he got his guest undressed down to his undershirt and boxers.

"You want pyjamas or sweats to sleep in? It's a bit chilly in here tonight."

"No." The word dragged out of Clay as if it was too much effort to speak. "Just you."

It took Harm a few seconds to figure out what that meant. Then he realized that Clay wanted him in bed to keep him warm, and a smile blossomed on his lips. Clay wanted him.

"Get under the covers." He held the sheet and the light blanket back until Clay was lying down, and then covered him up. He went to the closet and found a comforter and spread that over the bed, tucking the other man in up to his chin. Then he went to the bathroom and took care of his bedtime routine. When he came out Clay was curled up in the middle of the bed with his head on Harm's pillow and his backside and feet mostly on the other side. The Rolex was right where Clay had left it on the bedside table five nights ago.

"Move over."

His bedmate grumbled a protest but complied. Harm pulled off his sweats, leaving his shorts on and got into the bed. As soon as Harm wriggled down under the covers, Clay plastered himself to his side with one arm flung over Harm's stomach and the other scrunched up between their bodies. His head rested on Harm's shoulder and within seconds his breathing evened out.

Harm lay awake for a while listening to the soft snores, gently stroking the arm over his stomach. This was not what he had hoped for when he wished Clay were back in his bed. This was better.

~ end ~