A Worthwhile Correspondence
Author: Tulip
Rating: NC-17
Category: Romance
Spoilers: I'd say up to, but not including Tribunal,just to be safe.
Disclaimer: They ain't mine. They belong to Bellisario et al. I'm just borrowing them, and not for profit. Y no tengo dinero.
Feedback: Sure
Archive: Tell me where
Notes: Yes, this is NC-17. No, there is no actual consummation yet. You'll see what I mean.
While Harm and I are still on the Seahawk, I remember my promise to Clay about sending him sexy e-mail. I hadn't necessarily planned on getting into that much detail in my mail when I first made the promise, but, frankly, my imagination has been running amok, and I am feeling somewhat ridiculous for my whole "take it slow" plan. I didn't meant to take it this slow, although it's not like we can really help our jobs right now. We are in the middle of a war, after all. I start to sort of draft an e-mail in my head, but I hesitate to type it out because, well, I've never done anything like that before, so I need to work up to actually writing it down. Anyway, I don't know that I want to send it from the ship, in case anyone sees it, and I also don't know how secure Clay's e-mail is. It's not like he can go to a cybercafe in downtown Kabul and read his mail. Actually, the thought of a cybercafe in Kabul makes me laugh, and Harm gives me that look he has. The look that says he thinks I've finally gone off the deep end in a cloud of female hormones. I really hate that look.
"What?"
"I was just picturing Clay going to downtown Kabul, looking for an Internet café to download e-mail. The thought of finding such a place in Kabul amused me."
"So, you were thinking about Clay." Like I was thinking about Harm? Seriously.
"Yes, I was."
"I don't understand what you see in him, Mac." Okay, he's assuming we're dating now, and I haven't told anyone that we are.
"The man I see when I'm with him is the man who risked his neck bribing the Chechans to get your brother out of prison and bring him back to the States. That's what I see in him. He's not only his job, Harm, and he knows that we're not always going to agree about things. But, you know, friends try to understand those things and work through them. Friends don't mind each other's faults." I mentally added, 'If they did, I certainly wouldn't be friends with you.'
"Well, regardless of what he did for Sergei, I still think he's wrong for you."
"You're making assumptions again, Harm." Okay, this time the assumption is correct, but I'm not going to let him know that. "Well, Harm, Bud's wrong for me romantically, but I'm friends with him." We'll see what assumptions he leaps to now.
"You have a crush on Bud?"
I roll my eyes at the predictability that is Harmon Rabb, and say, "I'll see you later. The JAG they're pulling back to the ship from wherever he is in-country should be arriving tomorrow morning. Then we can take off and get back." I think Harm's still operating under the assumption that we'll end up together. Not likely. Clay's and my kissing has been far better than the actual sex that Harm and I had. I shudder a little. It's still a little difficult to believe that he was that bad!!
We're back in the States a few days later, and a few days after that, Clay calls me at work.
"Hey, Sarah. I'm just checking in. I wanted you to know that the people on the ground are much happier about the way things are working now that you and Harm have been on the Seahawk."
"It's good to hear your voice. And that's good to know, thanks. I'll tell the Admiral. So, how are you?"
"Wishing I was with you right now. And very dirty. I'd about kill for a shower."
"That gives me an idea, too," I say absently, thinkingabout the e-mail.
"An idea for what?" Clay asks suggestively.
"How secure is your e-mail? Because I believe I owe you," I say, just as suggestively.
"Secure enough."
"Or I could write you an actual letter, but I don'tknow how long it would take to get there."
"Either way. No, e-mail. It's faster."
"Needing instant gratification, are you?"
"I'm just really curious about what's on your mind." I hear a voice in the background. "All right. I have to go. Can you call Mother and tell her you talked to me?"
"Sure. By the way, have you told her about us?"
"Yeah. I'll spare you her enthusiastic commentary. Have you told anyone?"
"It hasn't really come up, actually, although Harm already thinks we're going out. I don't want him to encourage him to continue jumping to conclusions, even though he's right this time, so I'm waiting. Anyway, I know you have to go. Call me when you can, and look for some mail from me."
"'Kay. Bye, Sarah."
"Bye, Clay. Be careful." He rings off. I give Porter a quick call before I forget, and I get her machine. I'm glad about that, actually, because I actually have a meeting in ten minutes. And I'm very distracted by the e-mail I plan on writing.
Once I'm at home and have changed clothes, I sit down at my laptop and start composing. I'm really not sure how secure his e-mail is, so I decide to leave his name off. If someone else reads this, they'll certainly get an eyeful. I just hope that, if that happens, my e-mail isn't one of those things that ends up circulating the globe, although I'm trying to ensure it won't be traceable back to me by using a different account.
"I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you. And that I really wish I hadn't been so neurotic and shortsighted to suggest that we take this slow. I
wanted to tell you all the things I wish we had done that last night at my apartment.
I wish that, instead of stroking you outside your pants, that I had slipped my hand inside and taken hold of your cock. I would have teased you for a while, I think, but I would have eventually taken pity, and undone your trousers and taken them off. After that, I would have tormented you a little again, ignoring your cock so that I could do a little exploring with my mouth. I would have started back up at your lips, kissing your face, your throat and shoulders, down to your chest, following behind my mouth with my hands. I'd start leaving little marks behind, but I'd make sure to do it only when I was sure they wouldn't be visible to anyone but us. I'd spend some time on your nipples, then lick and suck my way down to your stomach, taking a little detour to your hips and thighs. I'd be stroking you everywhere but where you wanted me to be touching you.
I wish I had done all this so I would, I hope, hear you begging me for relief, saying my name in that low tone you have that makes me wet when you talk to me using it. I'd make you beg more than once, I'm sure, then I'd finally take your cock in my mouth. But instead of getting straight to work, I'd release you quickly, then blow on the tip before I take you in again. Now, I'd stop torturing you, swirling my tongue around your cock over and over, paying special attention to anything that made you moan, so I could do it again. I'd nibble along the underside and around the tip, but very gently, because I wouldn't want to hurt you. I'd eventually move my mouth down to your balls, even though I would have been stroking them with one of my hands while my mouth was busy on your cock. I wouldn't linger there too long.
I would move my mouth back to your cock, and I'd take you in as far as possible, then, using my tongue, suck as hard as I could. I'd move my mouth back up your shaft until I just had the tip on my mouth. After swirling my tongue around, I'd repeat my actions, taking you in all the way again, until you were screaming my name in climax. I'd lick you clean when I was done.
I really wish I had done this. And now I want you even more than I did before. So, I'm going to go relieve the sexual tension I'm feeling now. Just know that I'll be thinking about you when I do.
Love,
S."
I put "Hot and Bothered Marine" in the "re" line, after he teased me before, then I do go and relieve the sexual tension I'm feeling. I spin quite the little fantasy about Clay, although I'm picturing him pleasuring me rather than vice versa. I fall fast asleep, thinking about him, and sleep deeply. I don't have any trouble waking up, for the first time in a long time, but I went to sleep really early. I check my e-mail, although I really doubt that Clay has checked his yet. I was right. There's nothing. Or, maybe he's a little busy after reading my mail, I think, smiling to myself.
I've never done anything like that before, sent an e-mail or letter like that. I feel comfortable enough to do it for Clay, and I also want him to know I'm really not hung up on sex. Although he may have figured that out, because I believe I was the one who instigated us getting naked from the waist up the last time we were together. Okay, I need to stop this train of thought, because I can't be aroused all day at work. I take a deep breath, then leave my apartment.
I would have expected to be checking my e-mail all day long, but Harm and I get involved in dealing with Stuart Dunston and his overwhelming stupidity. By the time we get back from ZNN, I have an opportunity to check my mail, and I find the following message.
"Re: Now I'm Hot and Bothered
S.-
You are incredible. I had a serious problem containing my, um, self while I was reading your mail, and thinking about you doing what you were doing after you wrote it. I downloaded it onto my PDA so I can re-read it later, in private. Although I wish you had done everything you said, I wouldn't want you to regret it later or feel bad about it. I'll reciprocate, don't worry, but I'm sharing this laptop with others, so I'll have to write it on my PDA. If it lacks detail and has a lot of typos, it's because of that. And you need to let me know what tone of voice it is that you like, so I can always talk that way when I talk to you.
Can I tell you how much it sucks that I can't see you? I miss talking with you, just hanging out, teaching you how to fence, letting you beat me when we spar. All those little things.
I'm being summoned. I have to go, I'll try to make the next one longer.
Love,
C."
I smile, but I don't have time to reply. I don't hear from Clay for a few days, and, by that time, we at JAG, well, and the President, have managed to piss off the Fourth Estate. But Dunston has been acting so arrogant, he's even giving Harm a run for his money. Clay finally calls.
"Hey, Sarah. I'm sorry, but this is going to have to be kind of short. I'm probably going to be out of touch for a while."
"Define a 'while.' You owe me some correspondence, I believe, and you do not let me win when we spare, I beat you fair and square," I say, trying to keep my tone light even though I'm getting worried.
"I don't know how long. And you'll get what I owe you. Don't worry. I can't even explain the effect your e-mail had on me."
"I'll just use my imagination."
"You do that. Listen, I can't stay on, but good luck with the Stuart Dunston thing. These reporters need to know that they can't do shit like that. He really screwed things up."
"Do you know for sure that his communication to his newsroom caused the ambush?" Maybe he knows something we can use in our case.
"Not that I can prove, Sarah, but something about it doesn't smell right." I hear him say, 'All right, all right, just a second' to someone in the background. "Sorry. I really have to go."
"Be careful, Clay."
"Okay. Bye." He hangs up right away. This really sucks.
Dunston's assistant was really arrogant, assuming that no one around would figure out what she was up to when she took that phone call so blatantly in the hallway. It was truly a pleasure to bust her on the witness stand like that. To make my day even brighter, I get a letter delivered to me via Fedex from our consulate in Islamabad, Pakistan. It's from Clay, and I get flushed when I start reading it, so I put it away until I can read it at home, in private. I start getting really antsy to leave, and I practically run out the door precisely at 1700, which is unusual for me.
I take the time to change out of my uniform when I get home, and into some comfortable clothes, then I take the letter back out of the envelope. It's handwritten, and says,
"Sarah,
I can't tell you how hard I was when I finished reading your e-mail. I wasn't in a position to do anything about it just then, but I couldn't stand up either. I know I promised you a return e-mail, but it's really difficult to write on a PDA, and then we didn't have access to e-mail anyway, so I found some paper and a pen and someone headed to where this can be mailed.
I wish you had done the things you said, but it's certainly okay that we didn't. I don't want you to think that the fact that we didn't is a problem for me, because it's not. But if you had done those things, I certainly would have returned the favor.
When I got my breath back, I would have started my own exploration of your body, but I think I probably would start at your feet, kissing my way up your right leg. And, after I kissed it, I'd ask you about that scar that I noticed a long time ago but never asked about. While you were telling me, I'd kiss my way up your other leg, switching to the inside of your leg at your knee. Once I'd reached the juncture of your thighs, though, I'd veer off course--a little payback for the torture you inflicted on me earlier--and kiss my way
from my hips up to your mouth. I'd spend some time on your belly and a lot of time on your breasts, sucking on your nipples, nibbling on them, swirling my tongue around, making sure that they get equal treatment with my mouth, although I'd make sure my hand was playing with the one my mouth wasn't on. I hope when I was done you'd be writhing around underneath me. I'd kiss my way up to your shoulders, to your neck, pausing to feel your pulse underneath my mouth and my tongue.
When I finally reach your lips, I'd run one of my hands slowly down your body to your mound. As you opened your mouth to me, and I could taste myself on you, I'd discover how wet you were when I slipped a finger inside. At that point, the temptation to taste you would overwhelm the need I'd had before to tease you, so I'd move down your body. You'd have your legs parted for me already, and I'd get lost for a second when I notice your sex glistening just for me. I'd lean forward then and taste you, moving my tongue inside you as I used my thumbs to part your lips to get access to your clit. I'd move my mouth then and lick my way up to your clit as I slipped my fingers inside you. I want my cock inside you, but I'd like to see how many times I can make you come, so I wait.
As I flick my tongue against you, you start grinding your hips uncontrollably, and I can't believe I made you lose control. I move my hand faster and bit down gently on you, then suck your clit into my mouth and flick my tongue over it. I'll do that as many times as I have to until you're screaming my name and I can feel you pulsing around my fingers. When you seem to be coming down, I'd bite down on your clit once more to see if you'll come again. When you finally come to, I hope I hear you begging me to be inside you.
I need to stop here, for any number of reasons, not the least of which is that I don't have that much time before I need to leave here, and the person's who will be mailing this needs to go as well. Plus, now I have to go engage in yet another round of self-gratification based on our little correspondence. As much as I'm enjoying it, I can't wait to have the real thing. I'm trying to wrap this up as quickly as I can, but it's not working out the way I want it to. I'll call when I can.
Love,
Clay"
I swear, this letter is giving me enough fantasy material to last probably until I see Clay again. I imagine him doing all the things he described, and
when I finally go to bed later, I'm satiated, for the moment.
A few days after I get the letter, and after I've had lunch with Porter, instigated when I told her I got a letter from him, Clay calls me at work. I tell him to hold on and shut my door.
"Hey, I got your letter. Can I tell you how badly I want to rip your clothes off you right now?"
"Good, it had the intended effect. By the way, congratulations on the Stuart Dunston thing. I'm told you figured it out."
"Thanks. It was a pleasure to bust her. How are you?"
"Frustrated. In more ways than one."
"I'm sorry. I wish I could relieve at least some of that frustration for you. Self-gratification can only work so far."
"So, you have..."
"Yes, Clay," I say in a low voice. "I've never admitted that to anyone before." I'm sure my face is red, but I've got no reason not to be honest with him.
"Will you show me sometime?"
"Only if you do. And after we've done the things described, and other things as well."
"I only hope I can last when we do those things. It's been a long time."
"Probably about the same for both of us?"
"Maybe a little longer for me. I'd sworn off women, then I started falling for you."
"Clay, I'm so glad you stopped to talk to me that day outside the office when I was crying in self-pity."
"I'm glad I stopped, too." We're silent for about a minute. "I really miss you, Sarah."
"I miss you too." Singer starts knocking on my door. "Singer's here. I have to go. We have court."
"I can't wait to hear about it."
"Be careful. Bye."
"Bye, Sarah."
When I get off the phone, I'm feeling very sexually frustrated. It had been a long time for me at the time Harm and I got called to the Seahawk, and I had thought I'd be spending that weekend in bed with Clay, but that never happened. In addition, I have to deal with Singer on this Port Chicago mutiny case. Which is even more frustrating, since I don't agree with what she's doing. At all.
That day, I go home and run until I can't run anymore, then take a long, hot bubble bath. When I'm done, I'm feeling a lot more relaxed. I call for Chinese food and sit down at my computer.
"I enjoyed our conversation today, but I wish you could call from a secure line. The Admiral assigned me to work with Singer on a case involving an
explosion at Port Chicago. The defendant, a friend of Sturgis Turner's father, is accused of mutiny for refusing to go to work after the incident, which occurred in WWII. Singer has brought new charges, and she's trying to string this guy up by his toenails. It's very irritating, but I have to go along with her strategy, because I'm sitting second chair.
Anyway, while I was in the bath earlier, I thought a little about your homecoming, whether we'd be able to even make it out of the airport without screwing each other's brains out. I fully intend to come and get you, so try to come at a time when I can change into civilian clothes and not have to go back to work or anything. If you do, I can wear a dress. I won't put on any underwear, and then when we find a handicapped bathroom, I'll pull you inside and undo your pants. You can just push my dress up and take me right there
against the wall. I don't care how long it lasts as long as I feel you moving inside me. Making love can wait until later. I'm sure we'll have to go straight to meet your mother, because she'll want to see you too. I'm sure I'll be wet for you all night, but we'll have to be polite and spend some time with her before I can take you home. And if you come back on a Friday, we can spend the entire weekend in your bed.
Love,
S."
I'm running a little behind the next morning, and I go straight to court without turning my computer on. I'm not at all disappointed when we lose the case, although it's late in the afternoon when I finally have time to check my voice mail and e-mail. There's a message for Clay.
"Jesus, woman! I don't know what will happen if I end up with a choice between coming home at a time that's inconvenient to your plan, or waiting an extra period of time to come home so that it can be implemented. It's an excellent plan, by the way. Things are looking a little better, and, of course, I'm highly motivated to move things along so I can come back. I miss my bed, I miss good wine, I miss steak, but most of all I miss you.
Love,
C."
I smile and print the message, walking immediately to the printer. I just beat Harm there, and I grab my paper off as he reaches for it.
"That's mine, Harm."
"What is it, something personal?"
"Yes. Personal and none of your business." There's nothing in the message that he couldn't read, but it certainly hints at a lot, and I am not about to answer such questions from Harm.
"Who's it from?" he asks, with a jealous tone in his voice.
"My office," I say, walking away. When he walks in, I shut the door. "It's an e-mail from Clay, but, as I said it's not your business. Why do you persist in trying to interfere with the 'none of your business' portion of my personal life?"
"What exactly is the 'none of my business' portion of your personal life, Mac?"
"The boyfriend and relationship parts. You've interfered too much, or tried to, in the past, and I don't want to hear your snide remarks this time. I won't. I want it to work this time, and I'm not going to let you stand in the way."
"So you are involved with Clayton Webb."
"Yes, I am. Wait, you were the one who assumed we were dating this whole time. And we haven't been, this whole time."
"Since when, then?"
"Christmas. And, you know, it's been difficult for me to be separated from him pretty much since then. I can't talk to you about it, though. You haven't been rational where my relationship with him is concerned."
"Because he's all wrong for you."
"No. You think he's all wrong for me. He's not. I could probably bore you for a half hour with all the reasons why he's right for me, but I'm not going to. But, seriously, you need to lay off. Nothing you say is going to change my mind, and no amount of flirtation from you is going to work. We've been down that road, Harm, and I'm not going there again. I know you don't want me, romantically anyway. Not really. You just don't want me to be available to anyone else. I want you in my life, but, like I told you before, I don't want a romantic relationship with you. Either you deal with this, or we keep our relationship purely professional. I don't want that, Harm, I value your friendship."
"I'll try, but I don't trust him."
"You don't have to. I do, and you have to trust that I know him a hell of a lot better than you do."
"I bet you do."
"Quit it! Listen, we need to work together, and you need to get over this and be able to work with me. I'll tell you one thing, I will not transfer, but if you keep on like this, taking jabs at me based on the choices I make in my personal life, I'll go to the Admiral about it. I'm not going to listen to it any more." I go over and open my door, motioning for him to leave.
About a week later, the Admiral gets the word that Mustafa Atef, aka Mohandese, has been apprehended, and our office is to handle his military tribunal. Before we leave for the Seahawk, Harm invites me to dinner so we can carpool. I agree, and, although we have a brief disagreement over who's first chair, he's really making an effort. And with him, that's a lot. I'm
actually really excited about this tribunal, about being part of history, and I private resolve to do some research on my own about the legality of the whole thing, because, frankly, I'm not so sure the President's NOT on thin ice with this. But the Admiral may decide not to press it. Although he should.
