Large, calloused hands breezed over his chest, brushing him with the slightest of touches. He shivered at the near miss, and arched upwards hoping to connect with those infuriatingly elusive hands.
"Lie down," A.J. told him.
Sinking back into the pillows, Clay suppressed a groan of disappointment, but was instantly pacified with a kiss on his belly directly above his weeping cock. The kiss became a bite, teeth pinching his sensitive skin, and then it was soothed with long, slow swipes of A.J.'s tongue. He would bear a mark there by morning, a mark of possession. The thought pleased and excited him.
His lover's tongue became adventurous, dipping into Clay's navel. His fingers released their death grip on the sheets, and came up to cradle A.J.'s head, attempting to force the other's mouth down to his eager cock. He was shaken off and abandoned, but only for a moment.
Strong hands grabbed him by the hips, and flipped him over onto his stomach. A.J. kneaded the soft flesh of his buttocks, his fingers making their way to the centre until they parted his cheeks and stroked Clay there. One wet and inquisitive finger circled his anus. He made himself relax and let it enter him. A friend joined it and together they slipped in and out. He bucked up into the intrusion, needing to push them deeper. When they withdrew he writhed with impatience. Then, at last, A.J.'s cock, big and thick and hot, penetrated him, gliding on silk, and burning at the same time. Slow and steady, making him beg for it. Then A.J. started banging into him, pounding him into the mattress, one hand on Clay's back, holding him down. He couldn't reach under his body to grip himself, so he rubbed against the sheets. The harder he was impaled from behind the more feverishly he moved.
A.J. climaxed all at once making Clayton shudder in great gushing spurts, immensely contented, his body suddenly boneless.
Clay jerked awake and raised his head from the pillow to peer blearily at the clock.
3:17 a.m.
Groaning, he started to roll over onto his back, but stopped when the sheets clung to his skin still damp from his spent seed.
"Wonderful," he muttered aloud and got up to strip the bed. After dumping the soiled linen and boxers in the laundry hamper, he used a wet facecloth to wipe his stomach and thighs of the residue. Then he pulled on a fresh pair of shorts, and remade the bed with clean linen. As he tucked and smoothed the cotton, flashes of his dream surfaced in his memory.
This was the third night in a row that he'd experienced an erotic dream about A.J. Chegwidden, and the fourth time altogether. The vivid images even felt real when he was awake. Clay put it down as a form of wish fulfillment.
At least he was no longer dreaming of David steering his car headlong into a tree.
Sliding under the sheets, he tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was wide-awake.
It was now ten days since David's suicide. Clay didn't feel any less alone than he had the night he'd received the news from the highway patrol. The only real peace had come when he finally packed up all reminders of David from the bedroom, removing his clothing from the closet, and every item that had belonged to him. His best friend and lover's presence was still clearly felt all over the rest of the townhouse.
Clay stared up at the ceiling, which was barely visible in the middle-of-the-night darkness. He really ought to go to David's apartment and clean it out, close it up, and let the manager show it to the next tenant.
He ought to, but couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't even go over there. It was a paradox. He needed the peace removing overpowering evidence of David from his life would give him, but he still grieved for him and could not take that step.
And then there was A.J. Chegwidden, who had been wonderfully patient when, on the night of the funeral, Clay had shown up drunk at his house. A.J., to whom Clayton was sexually attracted, and who was so straight he would never accept such a relationship with a man.
The guilt about wanting him while still involved with David nearly consumed Clay. He wondered if David had known that his attention had wandered.
Clay felt something wet running down the side of his face toward his ear. Angrily, he brushed away the tears. What did it matter? David chose to kill himself and leave him alone. They could have talked about it. They were partners. They were supposed to share their lives. David had made what was literally, irrevocably, a life-altering decision for both of them. No talking, no sharing, just the finality of death.
"Rot in hell, David Chase!" he cried out hoarsely.
His words went out into the darkness and were lost.
Clay felt sick. He didn't mean it. He didn't want David to rot in hell. He didn't want David anywhere except here in their bed, in his arms, and that was impossible.
It scared him how much his life had been ripped apart, and how he was losing control of all of it. He wasn't even sure who he was anymore. He had been one half of a couple, yes, but he had always retained his individuality and his independence. People called him a tin man because he did his job without emotion. He often made decisions that had far-reaching consequences, and he had to base them on what was best for the country. Emotion had no part in that. His personal life, however, was now in hopeless disorder. It was the way he kept falling apart that was so frightening. He hadn't cried this much when his father died years ago.
He was supposed to be the strong one.
Those were almost David's final words to him.
Very well.
It was time to start acting like the Clayton Webb everyone expected to see.
Something deep inside him locked down.
"A.J."
"Hello, Tim." A.J. Chegwidden smiled when he recognized the voice of his old friend, Tim Fawkes, on the phone.
"I'm in a bit of a hurry, A.J. Have to catch a plane. Just wanted to ask a favour of you."
"Go ahead, Tim."
"Will you keep an eye on Clayton for me?"
Amusement colouring his voice, A.J. said, "He's a grown man, Tim. He doesn't need a babysitter."
"Perhaps not," Tim spoke seriously, "but he could use a friend right now."
His light mood vanished. "Is he having trouble getting past David's death?"
There was a short pause. "You know about David?"
"Clay showed up at my house the night of the funeral and told me everything."
"Everything?"
"I know about their relationship."
"I'm surprised that he told you."
A.J. wondered how much to say, and then decided that Tim probably knew Webb better than he did. "He had too much to drink. It wasn't that he told me as much as it slipped out."
"Ah. That makes more sense. Clay doesn't normally talk about his personal life. I've known him since he was a boy, and only found out about that aspect of his life, and about David, when Clay went to the Olympics. They weren't together then as a couple, but they should have been."
Puzzled, A.J. repeated, "The Olympics?"
There was a quiet chuckle on the other end of the line. "Yes, A.J. Ask him about that. So, will you watch out for him? He's been working his tail off the past week, not going home until long after everyone else. I think he's trying to use work as a reason not to get on with his life. He's changed. He's suppressing everything. I'm worried about him, A.J. He needs to relax, do something fun."
"I was thinking about giving him a call soon. He promised to stay in touch, but I haven't seen or heard from him since he left my house."
"You didn't let him drive home drunk that night? No. Of course, you wouldn't do that. Forgive me for even thinking that, A.J."
"He stayed over and went home the next morning."
"He stayed over?" There was an odd note in Tim's voice.
"Yes, he did. Is there something wrong with that?" A.J. was even more puzzled now.
"Not a thing. I just...it's nothing. I was thinking about something else, but it's up to Clay to tell you. Just forget I said anything."
"Does this have something to do with a similar conversation we had in Rome?"
"Please, A.J. Just watch out for Clayton. He's like a son to me. If he breaks under the weight of holding back his feelings...well, I couldn't bear to see that happen."
"Is that what he's doing?"
"I've never seen him so closed off, and I have no idea what's going on in that brilliant mind of his."
"Well, I don't know how I can help. I can barely figure him out at the best of times."
"He can be difficult, all right."
A.J. snorted softly, but did not voice a comment.
Tim picked up on it anyway. "Yes, I know. It's an understatement. Look, I have to run. Will you spend some time with him, A.J.?"
He did not hesitate before answering, "Gladly," but after he said goodbye and hung up, wondered if he was doing the right thing.
The last time he'd been in Webb's company, A.J. had discovered a surprising thing about himself. He realized he was attracted to Clayton Webb.
He'd put off doing it long enough. It was time to go through all of David's things and clean out his apartment. There was no one else to do it. David's ex-wife wanted no part of it, she'd called specifically to say that -- the bitch -- and Clay wouldn't let her or anyone else in here anyway. He was David's family. It was his right.
Webb used his key to enter the apartment. It was the first time he'd been there since about a week before David's death. It had been difficult to stay away, but was more difficult to face coming here. He stood in the living room and looked around, suddenly beset with an urge to turn and walk out. This was no longer his partner's home any more than that cold body in the coffin had been David. Clayton firmly believed that when a person died, the shell they left behind lost all essence of the person who had occupied it. It was the same here. Still, these were David's possessions and it was up to him to deal with them.
Most of the personal items were at the townhouse already packed up. David had, for all intents and purposes lived there full time. This apartment had been kept more as a blind for Clayton's life than his own. David had been out at work and with nearly everyone who knew him. It wasn't quite as simple for Clay. Somehow they had managed to keep their relationship a secret in plain sight.
He worked for a few hours, packing clothes and other things into boxes to give to charity, tossing shampoo, soap, and shaving supplies into the trash, and stripping the bed. He was packing the linen and towels when his cell phone rang.
"Webb."
"How are you, Clayton?" It was A.J. Chegwidden.
"I'm all right."
"Uh huh." The Admiral sounded doubtful, but didn't question him. "Listen, I have some free time today. I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch?"
"Sounds good, but I'm busy today. Another time, maybe?"
There was a pause, then: "Is everything okay? I mean, right now?"
He hesitated before answering. This was a private thing he was doing. He was so focused on getting it done, on having to do it alone. Finally he said, "I'm cleaning out David's apartment."
"Could you use some help?"
Webb cleared his throat before answering. "Actually, yes, I could." He really could. Doing this was even harder than he had imagined it would be. The sooner he finished, the better, and having a friend around to distract him from his thoughts might be a good thing.
"Give me the address."
Clayton told him where the apartment was, and A.J. said, "I'll leave now." He hung up.
Forty minutes later the doorbell rang. Clayton set aside the box he was filling, and went to the door.
A.J. stood there prepared to get grubby, as Clayton was, in jeans and sweatshirt. He held a pile of flattened boxes and two rolls of packaging tape plus a tape roller. "I brought boxes," he announced unnecessarily, with a smile on his face.
"So I see. Where did you find so many on such short notice?"
"I helped a friend move last week. She had these in her garage. I asked her if we could use them since she has no use for them now."
"Thanks for bringing them."
"Tell me where to start and let's get to work."
"The bedroom and bathroom are almost done. That leaves here and the kitchen."
"We'll work on the same room and get done twice as fast."
"Aye, sir."
"Don't be a smartass, Webb," A.J. growled, then he ruined it by smiling again.
"Around you, Admiral? Never." Clay felt the pall that had been hanging around him begin to lift.
A.J. went unerringly to a framed photograph that sat on a shelf. He picked it up.
"Is this David with you?"
Clay made himself walk over to look at the picture. Standing beside A.J. he said, "That was taken on his birthday last year."
"He was a good looking young man."
He and David had their arms wrapped around each other's necks, looking towards the camera. David wore a big, happy smile. Clay looked slightly more serious, but his happiness at being with David showed through nevertheless.
"He was beautiful. Although, since I'm the same age, young doesn't quite apply."
A.J. turned to look at him. "It does from where I'm standing."
Clay's heart skipped a beat then resumed its steady way.
It almost sounded like A.J. was flirting with him. No. It was his imagination.
A.J. cleared his throat.
"We should get busy."
"Right."
They worked steadily for a couple of hours. Then A.J. called for a break. Clay would have kept going, but when he straightened, his back protested the strain he had put it through.
"Do you want something to drink? I think there might be beer in the refrigerator."
A.J. stretched the kinks out of his own body, hands on his hips, twisting to the left and then to the right, and Clay stole a moment to watch him. He looked so good.
"Anything is fine with me. Just as long as it's cold and wet, it will do." He continued bending his long frame.
Reluctantly turning away, Clayton walked to the kitchen. Reaching for the refrigerator, his hand closed on the handle before a note on the door caught his eye. A small magnet shaped like a stethoscope held it in place. He might have missed it if his name hadn't jumped out at him.
He lifted the magnet and took the note down.
It read in David's messy scrawl:
"Dearest Clayton,
I'm putting this where you will find it later, after I'm gone.
I know that you're falling for someone else. Who he is, and I'm sure it's a man, I don't want to know. After losing Michael I realized how weak I am. My son is dead and all I want to do is spend my days crying. Having your support to weather this terrible time helps so much, but I sense that I am losing you, too. I can't handle that. I don't even have the strength to fight for you or, rather, I'm not sure I have the right. We never promised each other our undying love. We never promised to stay together for the rest of our lives.
I know you love me. I know that you would stay with me even if you fell out of love with me. That's the kind of man you are. That's why I fell so hard for you in the first place all those years ago. However, the guilt would eat me up if I knew that you were staying with me when you really wanted to be with someone else. It certainly wouldn't be fair to you to be tied to me.
Because I can't cope, because I can't see my way past this overwhelming feeling of losing everyone who matters to me, I'm leaving you before you leave me. It will be my one act of strength. This will free you to pursue the other man, and more importantly, it will free me to be with my son. Michael is, in the end, the most precious thing in my life. It's time to go to him.
I'm sorry.
David
Webb was standing in the kitchen hunched over, clutching the note in his fist, when he heard A.J.'s worried voice calling to him.
"Clayton? You okay?"
A pair of strong hands closed on his shoulders from behind.
Pulling free, Webb whispered, "Excuse me."
He walked to the bathroom. His steps were measured, not giving away his desire to run.
Once he was in the bathroom, he closed the door, and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet bowl seconds before his stomach heaved. It rebelled again and again until all he brought up was bile. When it stopped he pressed down on the handle, flushed, and then slumped against the wall, wiping his streaming eyes and nose with tissue.
So much for control; at least he hadn't embarrassed himself by throwing up in front of A.J.
There was a quiet knock on the door. A.J. opened it and peered in, then entered the bathroom and crouched down in front of him.
He placed a gentle hand on Clayton's outstretched leg.
"Once again you get to see me at my worst," Clay joked without humour.
"I read the note."
Webb's eyes shot to the piece of paper in the other man's hand. He didn't remember dropping it.
"I didn't think he knew. I never wanted to hurt him."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"How could he have known? I did everything in my power to show him how much I loved him."
"Sometimes, when it's least expected, those closest to us can see right through to the truth."
"I would have grown old with him, A.J. Gladly. Without reservation, or thinking about what might have been."
"Sounds like he knew that but didn't want you to sacrifice anything for him."
"It sounds to me like he loved Michael more than he loved me. Kind of ironic, isn't it? He thought I love someone else more than I do him."
"Do you?"
Again, Webb hesitated. In a way it felt good to be able to talk about his feelings, to have someone who wanted to hear it, but it was still new ground for him. Besides, A.J. was the object of his desire, and he intended not to let him find out.
"Clay?" A.J. prompted.
"No. I am interested in another man, but I decided a few weeks ago not to pursue it. I was committed to David. I thought he knew that."
"He was depressed, Clay. He was grieving for his son, and not thinking clearly."
"And because he sensed my attention had wandered, it gave him the impetus to take his life."
"Maybe losing his son is what sent him over the edge."
Suddenly very tired, Clayton shook his head wearily. "Do you mind if we not finish the packing today? I can't stay in this apartment any longer, and the bathroom floor isn't the place for this conversation." He shoved his hair off his face with agitated fingers.
"That's a good idea. You should get outside and away from here. Come on, we can go for lunch. That is, if you think you can keep it down."
Nodding, Clayton replied, "I'll be okay now. It was the shock of finding that note."
Standing up, A.J. offered him a hand up. Clay grasped his wrist, but let go as soon as he was on his feet. He didn't want to touch A.J. now. Not that way.
"Do you want this?" A.J. indicated the note.
"No. Tear it up and throw it away."
"All right. C'mon then."
"Just let me clean up first."
Nodding, A.J. left him alone in the bathroom.
When he emerged, they walked in silence to the door. Clayton did not look back.
A.J. decided to try Kokopelli's, a restaurant that served home-style meals, and where they could get in wearing their scruffy clothing. They chose a booth near the back where it was fairly quiet. Up at the front were families with young children. Thankfully, the kids weren't too raucous.
Webb, on the other hand, was too quiet as he pushed a paper napkin around on the table in front of him with one finger. His eyes were downcast, and his mouth was set in a thin, tight line.
"Are you okay?"
A nod was his only response, otherwise nothing changed.
Their server arrived with menus, and then left again. A.J. made his selection and set his menu aside. He watched as Clay gave his a cursory glance and then put it down. The server returned a minute later and took their orders. Clay finally looked across the table at A.J.
"You sure you're okay?" the Admiral asked.
"I'm sorry. I'm lousy company right now."
"It's all right. I'm not complaining, just concerned."
"Life has been...hell lately, and finding that note didn't help. It's funny. I looked for a note around the townhouse. When I couldn't find one I stopped looking. It never occurred to me that he might have left it at his place."
"Or maybe your subconscious didn't want you to find it."
"Maybe. I know I couldn't go over there until this morning."
"Must have been the right time. Any earlier and you wouldn't have been ready to find it."
One corner of his mouth quirking up, Webb said, "You call what happened being ready?"
"You're fine now, aren't you? You just said you are."
"Yeah."
"Well?" A.J. smiled slightly, hoping he was conveying the right amount of support.
"You're right." Clay flicked his gaze up from the napkin. "Is this how you became the JAG, because you understand human behaviour?"
"I don't know about that, but a certain amount of wisdom based on years of experience, and a lot of patience have helped."
"Sounds about right." Clay's expression clouded over again.
A.J. wanted to make it better for him, and was surprised to realize that that thought did not confuse him quite as much as it would have done a short time ago. Ever since Webb had shown up drunk at the house after David's funeral, it was getting easier for A.J. to accept that his feelings for Clayton were complicated. On the one hand, he felt they were becoming good friends rather than combatants on the same side in matters of JAG vs. CIA, or whatever it boiled down to this week. On the other hand, he found himself thinking about Clayton in ways that were foreign to him.
Seeing the other man in just his skivvies when he helped him to bed had brought about all kinds of unsettling thoughts about how attractive a man Clayton Webb was, and how he looked both in and out of his clothes. Not to mention this protective instinct A.J. had developed towards him.
"A.J.? Are you all right?" Webb looked puzzled. "You zoned out on me just now."
Gruffly, to cover the muddle he'd just made of his feelings, A.J. said, "I'm fine. Just caught your mood is all. Must be contagious, and don't you dare apologize again. You will get through this and I'll help you if I can."
Sitting back against the leatherette seat, Clayton said, "You are helping already." He suddenly looked more like the man A.J. was accustomed to seeing, self-assured, self-contained, a trifle mysterious. How did he do that?
"Good. Here comes our food. Eat, relax, and don't think. Deal?"
"Yeah, it's a deal."
A.J. had brought his appetite, and it appeared like Clayton had found his again. They both ate a hearty meal washed down with coffee for A.J. and iced tea for Webb.
As they walked out of the restaurant, A.J. suggested they go for a walk along the nearby pier as they were very close to it. Webb agreed and headed in that direction. A.J. was a step behind him but easily caught up, adjusting his longer stride to stay by Webb's side.
They stopped to gaze out to sea.
Clay had his sunglasses on; they were so dark that A.J. couldn't see the expression in his eyes. Giving up trying, A.J. took out his own shades and donned them. Both men leaned on the wooden railing, a companionable silence between them.
After a few moments had passed, A.J. said, "Maybe you can explain something that Tim told me to ask you about."
"And what would that be?"
"The Olympics."
Clay lowered his sunglasses and looked over the top, his eyes widened in what A.J. realized was amusement, and he replied, "It's a matter of public record. You can look it up anywhere."
"Look what up? Tell me what I'm looking for."
"The 1988 Olympics in Seoul."
"And?"
"That's enough information. You'll figure it out." He pushed the sunglasses back up his nose.
A.J. scowled at him.
"You can be sure that I will do that."
"I know."
A.J. scowled harder. It was having little or no effect on Webb. He turned away, picking out the sailboats in the harbour again.
"Do you also know that I have resources that you don't? You can't keep all your secrets from me." He purposely made his tone stern and forbidding.
Webb laughed.
"Relax, A.J. It won't harm world peace, upset the status quo at JAG, or pollute the environment."
"Then tell me."
"Nope."
"You want me to work for it, is that it?"
Lifting one shoulder, Webb said, "It's up to you if you want to find out. It's no big secret. You're the one who's making more of it than it really is."
"Then tell me, dammit!"
Grinning outright, Clay said, "No."
A.J. gave up. He'd go home and do a search on the Internet. It was time he learned how to use it as a tool anyway. At least that particular Web wouldn't talk back to him, or give him a headache, unlike this Webb standing beside him.
Glancing over at Clayton, he caught him staring with a big smile still on his face.
He thought about how good it was to see him looking happier, even if it was at A.J.'s own expense.
They spent a pleasant few hours getting better acquainted. They found out that they shared a love of opera, had similar tastes in books, as both liked biographies and history, and that Clay wasn't averse to fishing. That one surprised A.J., and he said as much.
"My father used to take me fishing sometimes when I was a kid," Webb explained, a soft smile illuminating his face. "He wanted us to fish in as many lakes as was humanly possible."
"A noble goal. I've often wished I could do the same thing. Do you do much fishing these days?"
"Hardly ever. I don't really have my father's passion for the sport. I would rather ride my horse."
Nodding to himself, A.J. smiled.
"What?" Webb was watching him closely.
"I was just trying to picture you as a young boy. Can't do it."
"Well, I was one," Clay replied, a trifle defensively.
"I don't doubt that," A.J. shot back, still amused. "It's just hard to see you that way." He reached out and slung an arm around Webb's shoulders, pulling steadily until Clay leaned into the embrace, and then A.J. released him. He was definitely enjoying getting to know Clayton Webb. The more he learned about him, the better he liked him. He refused to think about the other part of the equation right now. This was about friendship. Nothing more.
Later they drove back to David's apartment so Clay could pick up his car.
"Come out to my place for dinner, Clayton."
An expression that A.J. couldn't identify briefly crossed Webb's face, then it cleared and he said, "I'd like that. There's something I need to do first, though."
"All right. Come out when you're ready. I'll be home...doing research."
Clay smiled and went inside the apartment building.
A.J. drove away, his mind on several things.
More than an hour later, Clayton arrived. He'd changed out of his dusty clothing into a dark blue shirt that he had left unbuttoned at the throat, and black jeans. Low boots and the leather jacket he'd worn the last time he was at the house completed the look. And a very sexy look it was. A.J. hurriedly chased away that thought. Clay held a six-pack carton from beer containing five bottles of an expensive import. In his other hand he carried a bottle of wine.
"Are we having a party?" Chegwidden asked mildly, raising one eyebrow.
"The beer is for you, from David's place. It would be a shame for it to go to waste. I won't drink it. The wine is for dinner."
Accepting the wine, A.J. noticed it was a fine Cabernet. "Very nice. A little too nice for what we're eating."
Shrugging, Clay said, "Doesn't matter. We can still enjoy it."
Taking the beer and the wine into the kitchen, A.J. called, "Make yourself at home. I'll get the meal started. Won't be much, though, kind of a potluck with leftovers."
"That's fine."
Clay prowled around the living room, pausing to study books on the shelves, compact discs next to the stereo, and a few other things. He didn't touch anything.
The food was soon ready. They ate and talked and afterwards retired to the living room to unwind. Sitting on either end of the couch, they sat for a while, sipping the wine Clay had brought. The silence was something they did quite well A.J. was pleased to note. Neither felt the need to rush to fill the empty spaces with sound. Clay leaned back against the arm on his end, looking quite at home. A.J. was glad of it. It looked like he was relaxing properly at last.
Deciding now was as good a time as any, A.J. said, "1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul, South Korea. Clayton Webb won a silver medal in the Modern Pentathlon for the United States of America. Damn, Clay, that's something you should be extremely proud of."
"Thank you. I am."
"A world class athlete," A.J. marvelled.
"It was a long time ago."
"Are you still athletic?"
"I ride and sometimes swim. I'd like to take up running again if I can find the time."
"You look pretty fit." Then he wished he could take that back, because it lead him straight to the night he'd seen Clay in nothing but his briefs. Just the thought of him like that caused a stirring in A.J.'s groin. He'd been nearly half hard most of the day being in Clay's company. This conversation emphasized his state of semi-arousal. He shifted slightly, bringing his right leg up to put his ankle on the opposite knee. Casually draping his arm on his right knee shielded his crotch from view in case Clay happened to glance that way. He felt his face heat up slightly. Hell.
Clay's eyes drifted over A.J.'s face and A.J. knew that he noticed his discomfiture, but he didn't say a word, and A.J. relaxed a bit.
Watching A.J. through lowered eyelashes, Clay asked, "So, where did you look for the information?"
"About you at Seoul?" A.J. strove to make his voice sound normal while it wanted to drop half an octave. "I found a site on the Internet. It wasn't easy given the lack of details you gave me. Do you have to make everything so damned difficult? Finding out things about you is like pulling teeth."
Regarding the glass in his hand, Clay replied, "I've never really understood that analogy. Dentists today don't have that much trouble extracting teeth."
"I think it originated back in the old west when they used pliers. Dammit, Webb, there you go again!" A.J. was getting exasperated, and then he noticed the light in Clay's eye. He was being teased.
"Very funny. You are really good at distracting people from the subject at hand, aren't you?"
"Comes with the job."
"Yeah, I can see how it would be a useful trait for a spook to cultivate. What was it Mac called you? James Bond?"
Glancing down, Webb said, "It's not all glamour."
"I suppose not. It's a dangerous profession you're in, though."
"I can take care of myself. I'm good at what I do."
"Never doubted it for a minute."
The look that remark inspired informed him that Webb didn't believe him, but it was allowed to pass.
"I don't go out in the field as much as I used to. Many days the biggest danger is getting a paper cut, or losing my temper with junior agents who can't seem to do the simplest things correctly."
"So you have a lot of responsibility?"
"In our game it's called power."
"You don't strike me as the kind of man who uses power just because he can."
"I try to use it as needed."
"That's what I thought. You're a good man, Clayton Webb."
Leaning back against the cushions again, Clay drawled, "Yup, me and my dog, Snoopy, against the Red Baron."
It took A.J. a couple of seconds to figure out what he was talking about. Charlie Brown. You're a good man, Charlie Brown.
He tried scowling at his friend again, but like before Webb wasn't affected in the slightest. He just smiled.
A.J. stared. He liked Clayton Webb's smile. A lot. It did pleasant things to his insides.
And to his outsides.
A.J. stood quickly, keeping his body turned away to hide the fact that his arousal was becoming prominent. "Excuse me a minute. Have some more wine." Then he strode from the room.
In the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face, and concentrated on the dour countenance and disapproving voice of the Secretary of the Navy. After a minute, his erection wilted. He leaned heavily on the counter, and simply breathed to calm his racing pulse. When he felt it was safe enough he returned to the living room.
"You're not drinking." He noticed that both wineglasses were still empty.
Webb stood up. "I should go. I still have to finish at David's."
"Are you going back there tonight?"
"First thing in the morning."
"I'll meet you there."
"You don't have to do that." Clay looked up at Chegwidden, and their eyes locked.
"I want to."
Clayton jerked his gaze away. Nodding once, he said, "All right. I can use the help."
They walked towards the front door and out onto the driveway. Dusk had fallen. The night was peaceful, stars shining through the treetops.
Clay walked to his car, opened the door and looked at A.J., an unreadable expression on his face.
"Thanks for today. I had a good time."
"So did I, Clay."
Webb dropped his gaze. For the first time an awkwardness hung between them. A.J. didn't understand why now.
"Good night."
"'Night, Clay." Then A.J. noticed something. "Wait!"
He went around to the passenger side of the little Mercedes. "You have a flat."
Webb joined him there to look at the tire. "I didn't replace the spare from the last time."
"That wasn't very organized of you," A.J. teased.
"I forgot." He crouched down and ran his hand along the deflated rubber. "Must have picked up a nail today."
"It's too late to do anything about it tonight." A.J. made a decision. "Stay the night. In the morning I'll drive you to the nearest garage where you can either get the tire repaired or pick up a new one. There's a place in McLean that'll be open."
Clay looked up. "All right, I will. Thank you." He rose gracefully out of his crouch, and followed A.J. back inside the house.
"It's getting so that every time I come out here, I end up staying overnight. Well, twice..."
"You're welcome any time, Clay. It's not a problem." They stood in the living room. Making an effort to behave as though he didn't want Clay to fall on his knees and suck him off, A.J. said, "We could have some more of that excellent wine, since you're not driving tonight."
"Why not?" Clay removed his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair.
They got settled on the couch again, and A.J. poured more wine for them both.
Accepting his now full glass, Clay commented, "This is the first time I've had alcohol since I was here last."
"Is that because..." A.J. began.
Clay interrupted him with a smile. "Loose lips, A.J."
"You didn't sink any ships as far as I'm concerned. I believe that your disclosures that night helped us to become better friends."
"I'm glad to hear that. It could have ended up just being awkward."
"Water under the bridge."
"What's past is past."
"Right." A.J. raised his glass to his lips.
"Any other clichés we can use?"
"Webb..." he growled at the agent. "Were you born annoying or do you work at it?"
"It was my major at Harvard. I have a Masters in it. I would have gone for the Doctorate, but decided to pursue another line of work."
Studying the other man over the rim of his glass as he took a sip, A.J. thought this must be a side of him that he didn't often show. No sarcasm displayed, just playfulness. It was endearing. Then A.J. snorted out loud, spraying wine through his nose.
Clayton asked, "Are you okay?"
Grabbing a tissue from a box on the end table, A.J. wiped off his chin and mouth.
"That was elegant," he muttered. Endearing? Webb? Hell, yes. Endearing spelled with a capital T for Trouble. "Sorry. I just had an unsettling thought. Nothing serious, though."
"You are all right?" There was a faint line of worry running across Webb's brow.
"I'm fine. Really. Just embarrassed as hell." A gentle touch on his arm brought his attention away from his loss of composure. Looking down, he saw the long fingers of Clay's right hand resting on his forearm. He followed them to the wrist, and then up the arm until he was looking into those hazel eyes. They were presently the colour of the sea. They blinked at him. He stared back, and then pulled his gaze back far enough to see that Clay looked as anxious as he felt. Then Clay blinked again and the expression vanished, replaced by the patented Webb look of iron control. A.J. slammed down his own version of it. Clay removed his hand from A.J.'s arm and the moment was gone, leaving A.J. vastly confused about what had just happened, or almost happened.
He cleared his throat.
"I think that I'll go to bed, if you don't mind. I like to get up early for a run."
"Oh. Sure. I'm feeling...tired, too. I might take a shower before bed."
"Go ahead. Make yourself at home."
"Thanks, A.J."
They bid each other goodnight and went to their separate rooms.
He lay awake, uncomfortable in his own bed. The throbbing heat of his erection was too much to ignore. His hand crept down there and began pulling at it, as he closed his eyes and imagined Clay's mouth engulfing his cock. He no longer fought the images that sprang to mind. He wanted to have sex with Clayton Webb, but it wouldn't happen. Even though Clayton was gay, or bisexual or whatever the hell he was, and open to having sex with another man, he had just lost his partner of many years. There was no way A.J. was going to approach him now. There was no way he would approach him at all. The risk to his career in the Navy was too great, not to mention what might happen to Clay's career in the Company. He wasn't sure whether he was out at work or not. No point in either of them taking any chances. The fact that he had never had sex with another man briefly crossed his thoughts. It didn't matter. A.J. prided himself on having an open mind. If it were something he wanted to pursue, he'd figure it out as he went along.
Clay's tongue lapping at the pre-cum seeping from his slit
A low groan rose in his throat as he thrust up into the fist clamped around his cock.
lips wrapping around the head
He arched again, hips rising off the bed.
fingers stroking his balls
His breathing was becoming laboured.
Clay swallowing greedily as he poured his essence down his throat
His heels dug into the mattress as he thrust again and again, finally pulsing semen onto his chest. He hadn't lasted long, but his only goal had been to relieve the insistent ache as quickly as possible.
He sighed in disgust at the empty feeling the act left behind, and then got out of bed and went to his bathroom to clean up.
The fingers of one hand splayed against the wall of the shower in the guest bathroom, Clay bowed his head letting the spray from the showerhead beat down on his back. His other hand was wrapped around the shaft of his cock. He stopped pumping, and hot seed hit the wall, and spilled out over his hand.
He let the water rinse it away. Stepping out of the stall, he towelled off and returned to the bedroom.
His erection had become too painful to ignore. He was surprised A.J. hadn't seen it when they were in the living room. Not wanting to jerk off in bed, in A.J.'s home, he went straight to the shower. Now he felt uneasy having done it at all. Not to mention being unsatisfied.
He put his t-shirt and boxers back on, and got between the sheets.
He wasn't going to dream about A.J. this night simply because he wasn't going to sleep. He was still keyed up.
A.J. turned over onto his other side, and punched his pillow into submission. Again.
The sheets rasped against his skin, making the ache within more physical than psychological.
He couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to get up and do something. Clay flung the sheets back, and began pacing the room.
It did nothing to douse the fire within him.
Though he wasn't really hungry, A.J. poked around in the refrigerator, searching for something to eat. He couldn't sleep, so he might as well eat. Nothing looked good, though.
Finally, he pulled an apple out and shut the door. When he turned around, he saw Clayton standing in the doorway, watching him. A.J. stared back. Like him, Clay wore only his t-shirt and boxers. The unexpectedness of seeing him freed A.J. to let his gaze travel over his friend's body, stopping when he saw Clay's shorts were tented in front. Searing heat rushed through him, causing his own cock to jolt awake.
Clay's arms were folded across his body, but dropped to his sides when he took a step forward, and then another one. Then he was standing very close to A.J., close enough that A.J. could feel the waves of energy coming off his body, his head tilted slightly to one side as he looked up at him.
Clay reached out to sweep the tips of his fingers across A.J.'s chest. The electrifying touch through the thin cotton of the shirt hardened his nipples, and made his cock stand up straighter.
"I couldn't stay away any longer, A.J." Clay said hoarsely.
"Don't do anything you'll regret."
"I'll only regret this if it destroys our friendship, but I think you want this as much as I do. At least, that's what your body is telling me." He glanced downwards and then back up.
"You're still upset about David," A.J. tried.
Clay slowly shook his head. "This has nothing to do with David. Not anymore. What he did was the same as if he'd packed his bags and moved out."
"You're angry. Wait until you can think clearly."
Clay took one more step closer. "I am thinking clearly."
"Then what about the other man you're interested in? What if you decide to pursue a relationship with him?" A.J. grew irritated with himself. Why was he trying so hard to sabotage this when he was finally going to get what he wanted? And, astoundingly, Clayton wanted him, too.
Clay's eyes had changed colour again. Even in the indirect light from over the stove, it was apparent. They were now dark as jade, and they were wide open, baring Clay's soul.
His next words stunned A.J. to the depths of his being.
"You *are* the other man."
Then he slid one hand around the back of A.J.'s head, and leaned forward.
The contact of Clay's lips on his shocked A.J.; he had never kissed another man for sexual pleasure. Then Clay pushed his tongue into his mouth, and A.J.'s brain shut down. He gathered him into his arms, trapping him against his chest, and kissed him back. It was astonishing, and strange, and unbelievably erotic.
Clay's free hand stole under A.J.'s t-shirt, lightly grazing his ribs. A shiver raced through the older man as fingers walked around to his back, tracing his spine before sliding down under the waistband of A.J's shorts. Clay cupped the buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh even while he continued to probe A.J.'s mouth with his tongue.
Instinctively, A.J. pushed his hips forward crowding his arousal against the hardness pressing against him. It felt good.
Clayton made a small sound in his throat, kissing A.J. with all of his considerable passion. It was as if he couldn't get close enough, holding him tightly, running his hands over as much skin as he could reach.
Then some miserably honest part of A.J.'s conscience kicked him in the rear.
This was wrong.
He abruptly drew away from Clay's tempting mouth.
"No."
"What?" Webb's eyes were slightly unfocussed.
"No. We can't do this." He stepped back so that they were no longer touching.
Clay snapped back to reality. "What do you mean? We were doing fine."
"You need to think about this some more."
"I've been thinking about it for months." There was an edge to Clay's voice that A.J. had never heard before, tight and angry.
"Listen to me. It's too soon. You made a troubling discovery today about your relationship with the man you'd spent half your life with. Now is not the time to jump into bed with anyone else, especially not with me. There's a lot riding on this for you and me...together. Our careers could end up on the line. Mine for certain. I don't know how the Company conducts business, but the Navy frowns on same sex relationships."
"The Navy is still in the Dark Ages," Clay said in a low voice, but at least he was listening.
"That may be, but that is still the policy. I'm not saying I would put my career above my happiness, but I've spent the last 30 years of my life working to advance as far as I possibly can without compromising my principles."
"So fucking me would compromise those principles?"
A.J. stared at him for several seconds before answering in a level tone, "I didn't say that."
Clay lifted one eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes." How to explain his personal philosophy when both of them were victims of rampaging hormones?
"How do you know I want anything more than just a one-time fuck?"
Clay deliberately being crude confirmed that he was really angry.
"Do you?"
"Up until a minute ago all I wanted was to get you into bed. Beyond that, I don't know."
"Which shows that you are not considering all of the possible consequences. If we have sex will we be able to leave it here after tonight?"
"How about we do that and then find out?" he said derisively.
"Clayton."
"What about you? What do you want from this?" His eyes were flashing and no longer green at all, but dark and furious.
A.J. reined in his own temper. It wouldn't do them any good if they got into a shouting match, and he wanted Clay to understand why he had stopped the seduction.
"I've never done this," he waved his hand uselessly, trying to convey what had happened, what had almost happened. Wasn't he supposed to be a top-notch lawyer with superb oratory skills?
"If you're afraid," Clay began.
"I am not afraid. I only meant that it was new and exciting and intriguing, and I would like for it to continue, but it was unexpected and I handled it badly."
"It felt pretty good to me."
"How do I explain this to you?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Clay said, "It's okay. I do see your point of view. I don't agree with it, but I guess that doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters." A.J. made a move to touch him on the shoulder, but Clay pulled away. "You matter."
Clay's hands were curled loosely on his hips as he paced away a few steps. He looked tired when he turned around again.
"You're right."
"About what?" A.J. asked warily.
"I need to think about this some more. I'm going back to bed. Good night." And he turned and walked to the bedroom. A moment later A.J. heard the door shut quietly.
He leaned on the kitchen counter, covering his eyes with both hands.
"That went well," he said aloud.
He was still aroused. It was time for another session of solitary sex.
The next morning they spoke only when they had to over breakfast, instead eating in mostly strained silence. A.J. was certain Clayton was terribly angry, his face was set in stone, and his body language was closed off. As soon as possible, Clay phoned the garage in McLean and requested a tow truck. Then he went outside to wait for it. A.J. let him be only joining him out front when he heard the truck from the garage pull up. They watched as the sports car was hooked up.
Looking at him directly for the first time that morning, Clayton said, "Thank you for last night."
He sounded sincerely grateful. A.J. stared in surprise.
"I don't understand."
"I was feeling frustrated. I acted out of that. You kept your head on straight. You have a fine sense of honour and for doing what's right. I just wish you'd work on your timing."
Managing a quiet chuckle, A.J. replied, "I'm still not sure how I did that considering how," he paused, hesitating to admit it out loud, "turned on I was."
Clay ducked his head, smiling. When he looked up again, his eyes told A.J. that everything was going to be okay between them. Eventually.
He leaned in close and said in a low, husky voice, "I still want you, and I will have you." Then he strode over to the tow truck, and got in.
A.J. stared after him as the truck pulled the little red Mercedes after it down the driveway. He saw Clayton turn his head slightly and look back at him through the rear window of the tow truck. There was a knowing look in his eyes.
Suddenly A.J.'s jeans were too tight in the crotch.
"Damn."