A Worthwhile Workout
Author: Tulip
Rating: NC-17
Category: Romance
Spoilers: Up through Family Business
Disclaimer: They ain't mine. They belong to CBS, Bellisario, etc.
I'm just borrowing them and not for purposes of profit. Y no tengo
dinero.
Feedback: Sure
Notes: Thanks again to Shannon for keeping this story on her website. I know it's been a while, but I had to plan out this story in light of Need to Know and of course, the end-of-season story arc, but I think I know more or less where I'm taking it. In other words, I'll be continuing beyond this chapter. This particular chapter is for Anne, on her birthday, which is actually tomorrow, and wouldn't have been possible without the beta services by the Lovely and Talented Laurel.
It's been great having Clay around full-time. I'd been really missing him while we were apart, and we were apart a long time. I know we'll have separations, but I sincerely hope there's not one as long as this last time. I need him around. He's the one person I can talk to about everything, who I can be myself with. Then there's the fact that sex with him is out of this world. And I don't want to be without that for a long period of time! Considering how Clay's and my relationship began, I never thought I'd say he was the one normal thing in my life. Plus, he makes me laugh, something that's sorely lacking at JAG. What can I say? I'm totally in love with him. It's sickening, really.
But life's been good lately. Even Harm's been fairly decent, oddly enough. This is particularly unusual, since I've kind of been on his case over the Stiles murder. We both have our issues with this case: him with the potentially fatherless boy, and me with the female victim. Although I'd never admit this to Harm, Mrs. Stiles doesn't have my full sympathy. From what I can tell, she was a miserable drunk, and incredibly unpleasant to be around. But that's what divorce is for. You don't have to resort to murder. That's the beauty of America.
Then there's Bud. Harriet said he's going through a phase where he's feeling sorry for himself. His stupid father still hasn't come to visit. Honestly, I can't understand sometimes why Bud just doesn't cut his ties with Big Bud. I realize it isn't easy. I do. But I'd be sorely tempted, if I were in his position. I think I know why he doesn't, though--because Mikey'd end up punished for it.
Actually, Harm's out seeing Bud now. I think he might've gone to talk to Bud about this case, and I hope that helps with Bud's confidence. Harm actually seems troubled by this case, despite his comments to the contrary. I don't think he believes his client's innocent, which has made my job in trial slightly easier, since Harm's not playing to the jury as much. But, this is a difficult case, and I'm glad we have a recess this afternoon. I'm supposed to be doing paperwork, but instead, I'm thinking, and wondering, what Clay and I are going to do tonight.
He's had it a bit rough since he got back. We can't find Osama, there's still some political fallout from the Khabir Atef incident, and he seems to be getting some flack just because he's the youngest person to be in his position. I'd like to do something nice for him tonight, and I'm surfing the net to see if I can find an easy-looking recipe to cook. Although, honestly, he'd probably be happy with some Toll House Cookie Dough. And nothing else. I could think of some creative ways to serve it, actually. I'm saved from additional impure thoughts by the ringing of my phone.
Speak of the devil. "Hi, Sarah," a very harried-sounding Clay says.
"Hey. I was just thinking about you."
"You were? What about?" He sounds very pleased. Like he's surprised I'd think about him during the day.
"I was contemplating what to make for dinner tonight, and I was thinking that you'd probably be just as happy with chocolate chip cookie dough." He hums. "Then, I was thinking of creative ways to serve the dough." There's silence. "Clay?"
"Sorry. I had a movie going in my head there. You're very creative, Sarah," he says appreciatively. I'm curious about what he was imagining, but if this conversation goes much further, it would be downright unprofessional.
"Just so you know, it has to be freshly made. None of that cold stuff from the refrigerator section."
"Is there any kind but homemade?" I'm jotting down a list of
ingredients to pick up on the way home.
"Have you had a rough day?"
"No rougher than usual," he says, cautiously. His door must be open. "I called to see if you wanted to do a little fencing after work. I need to work off a little steam. We can grab takeout, then maybe do the cookie dough thing."
I can't help but giggle. It amazes me that he makes me feel this way--giddy, a little tingly, and special, because he needs me. We arrange a time to meet, and I force myself to concentrate for the rest of the day. I'm fairly successful, although thoughts of my earlier fantasy are intruding a little. The fact that I love seeing Clay in his fencing clothes only adds fuel to the fire.
I do leave a little early, so I can stop by the store. In addition to dry ingredients for the cookies, which I suspect may not get made tonight, I stop at a bath and body store to get some massage oil. I haven't fenced in a while, because my skill's nowhere near what Clay needs for a really good workout. I also haven't had time to go when I can work out with people who are more at my skill level, because of the times of those classes. So I know I'm going to be sore. I'm thinking he'll be okay with a little quid pro quo in the massage department. He usually is.
I'm exactly on time, and Clay's waiting for me, already dressed. "Hey," I say, walking up to him. He surprises me by
pulling me into a crushing hug.
"I'm so happy to see you."
"Wow," I say, kissing him hard. "I love you," I whisper. He seems to need to hear it.
"Thank you, Sarah. You know just what to say. I know I probably don't say it often enough, but I love you, too," he says softly. We kiss again, more tenderly this time. It's kind of an odd time and place to be having this kind of interlude, at the fencing club. But he's obviously had a rougher day than he let on earlier.
"Let's pick this up later, okay?" I ask, as seductively as possible. "Give me five minutes to get changed." He nods, kissing my hand.
I do, in fact, get changed in five minutes, although, as usual, I need assistance getting the top part of the uniform completely attached in the all the right places. Clay helps me get situated, and we start off slow. He's pretty easy on me at first, letting me get my "legs" so to speak, but after about fifteen minutes, I get a little aggressive. We like to do sports together, but I'm also under no illusion as to my fencing skills. And I know one of the reasons that he asked me tonight is so he can win. Because he will. That's fine, though, he's let me win before. He doesn't know I know this, and I'd never tell him, but I know that he needs to fence with me so he can have control over at least something in his life, considering how work's been for him lately.
As we parry and thrust, I begin to get what he loves about it--it's a great workout, that I know--but this sport is also kind of an art. And, for us tonight, kind of like a mating dance. We work out for about an hour, and, towards the end, we end up hooked together, and in more close-quarters combat. I'm kind of finding the whole thing arousing, as we struggle with each other, bodies fairly close together. We finally stop, and, without giving me time to take my mask off, he grabs my hand and pulls me towards the women's locker room.
"See if anyone's inside," he says in a low voice, grabbing my epee. I know now that he knows how aroused I am, how aroused he is, and that the cookie dough thing is going to wait. I rip off my mask as I open the door and do a quick but thorough search. I haven't seen any other women around, although I'm not surprised. We outlasted the other people who were working out. I run back to the door, and yank him in. His mask and our swords are on the floor outside the door.
This club is actually fairly elegant, and the bathroom stalls have floor-to-ceiling doors. Clay makes a beeline for the handicapped stall, and I'm hot on his heels. I kick the door shut, then immediately find myself pressed up against it, Clay's tongue invading my mouth. I can tell he's fumbling for the lock, and I hear it click.
"God, I need you, I can't tell you how much," he whispers. I'll have to get the story of his day when we're done. We kiss for several minutes, bodies pressed together, until we start fumbling with each other's clothes. I can't even get into this thing on my own, and, with my brain all fuzzy from the kissing and endorphins from the exercise, my mind's not wrapping around these buckles, or even working enough to get the top open to unzip it. His aren't either, apparently, because we end up laughing hysterically. Of course, at that moment, we hear two voices coming in, and, what's even worse, it's two girls. We slap our hands over our mouths, and are shaking with laughter. Clay doubles over, facing away from me, and I get his top unhooked from the pants.
I move my hand between his legs and caress his balls, even though I'm still trying to control myself. He makes a very slight noise, and I let go and turn around so my face is in the corner where the door hinges are. My shoulders are shaking with repressed laughter. These girls seem to be hanging out by the mirror and primping, and they're talking about homecoming. At least they're teenagers. They're still talking as we manage to calm ourselves. I feel Clay's touch on my arm, and he gets me undone as my back is to him. We get it unhooked and the zipper pulled quietly down. Clay runs his hands
over my bare stomach and up to my breasts, pulling me hard against him.
I grind my against his erection, and he kisses the back of my neck. I move my hands to his legs, as he pushes my sports bra up and starts playing with my nipples. I have to force myself not to moan, and we can still hear the two girls chattering, although their voices are definitely in the background to what we're doing. I can't imagine why they're still in the bathroom--it's been several minutes. I finally pull my bra off, then turn around and run my hands up Clay's shirt, pushing him back into the wall, so I can kiss him.
Finally, we hear the annoyed voice of what appears to be one of the girl's fathers asking what's taking so long. He then asks if one of them left her things outside the bathroom. Clay chuckles into my mouth, and, as soon as we hear the door close, he whispers, "Thank God."
I momentarily consider locking the door to the bathroom, but things are heating up where we are. I work a hand into his pants, as he pulls mine down. I toe off my shoes so I can kick off the pants, all the while caressing his cock. "Take off your shirt," I whisper, and Clay gets it unzipped, and it joins the growing pile on the floor, along with his undershirt.
Clay pushes his pants down to his knees then moves into me, pressing me against the wall. I immediately wrap a leg around his waist, and, using my free hand, pull his hips to mine. I tease myself with his cock, running it up and down my folds, and over my clit, as he kisses me, hands on my breasts. I don't think either of us can wait anymore, and I pull my mouth from his and breathe, "Ready?" He sucks my lower lip into his mouth as he nods. I guide him to my core, then move both hands to his hips. He pushes up as I draw my other leg up around his waist. I clamp him between my thighs.
"Mmmm, Sarah," he says. "I..." he kisses me, "don't know," he kisses me again, "how long..."
"S'okay." He's got to keep a hold of me so that we don't fall over, so I move my hand between us to play with my clit.
"God, you're hot," he whispers, before kissing me again. Eventually, we can't breathe, and we're cheek-to-cheek, mouths
open. Clay shifts slightly, and suddenly hits just the perfect spot inside of me, and between me pressing on my clit and him rubbing against my G-spot, I bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. He buries his face in my neck with a muffled cry. I'm still coming down when I feel his hands on my legs. I'm sure I'm almost crushing his hips, and I relax my legs, putting one, then the other, on the floor.
He gives me a chaste kiss. "Thank you," he says, pulling me into a long, tender hug. It amazes me that we can go from hot, wanton sex to this kind of tenderness so quickly, but it's one of my favorite things about our relationship.
"My pleasure," I giggle. He lets go of me finally, then gives me one of his killer smiles, before reaching for the toilet paper. He cleans me up, then himself. He gets dressed, then helps me. I sneak out first and check the hallway. The coast is clear and I follow him out the door. He gathers up the equipment from outside the door, and I wait for him, so we can leave together.
"How do you feel about takeout?" he asks as he walks up.
"I'm fine with it. How about Thai? The place near you."
"Your usual?" I nod, and he makes the call as we walk to our cars.
He kisses me before we part ways for our respective cars. While we're on the way home, I call him on his cell.
"Sarah?" he asks, puzzled.
"Tell me about your day," I say simply. "You can get it out, and we can spend our time at home in more pleasant pursuits."
I hear his low chuckle. "It's no worse than any other day lately, but, for some reason, I just couldn't take it! Usually, the politics don't bother me, but the DCI's being a complete prick about just about everything. I think he's getting a lot of pressure about Osama, but you can't undo years of bad choices in a few months."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, this is no secret, but after the Gulf War, we should've been recruiting assets over in the Middle East that we could tap, who could've infiltrated these different groups and fed us information. The Israelis have plenty of assets among the Palestinians. That's how they've been able to stop most of the suicide bombers. But Americans have never taken human intelligence that seriously, and now I'm the one getting heat for it. It's unpleasant, it seems immoral, it's distasteful, but it's also necessary. And, just because someone has infiltrated a radical group, doesn't meant he or she is actually indoctrinated to the cause. That seems to be one of the prevailing opinions as to why we weren't doing what we should've, as if Muslims are more susceptible to brainwashing, which is ludicrous. It's just frustrating, and people keep pointing fingers to lay blame, instead of moving on. Relying on deciphering the 'chatter' is just not that effective, although sometimes it feels like it's all we've got." He pauses, then says, as if to reassure himself as well as me, "It's not. All we've got, that is."
"I know. The DCI sounds like a very irritating man."
"Sometimes, he is. It's like the thing with Khabir. I mean, he's gone, we didn't get to share in the glory, but we're not supposed to. This is supposed to be clandestine stuff. Anyway, the DCI showed his power by toppling the old SecNav, I don't know what more he wants. I'm sorry, Sarah, I don't mean to dump all of this on you."
"Clay, don't be ridiculous. You need to vent, you can vent to me. That's one of my roles in your life," I say, laughing.
"It is, huh?" He's starting to lighten up a little. "I thought it was to be my love slave."
"Well, that too. Speaking of which, I got some massage oil for later. After that, I mean those, workouts you gave me, I'm going to need one."
"Yeah? Shit. I just passed the restaurant. I should probably hang up before your distracting observations and promises for later cause me to have an accident."
"I like the effect I seem to have on you, but I don't want you to get hurt. And I want my dinner; I'll see you at home."
"Bye," he laughs, ringing off.
I'm putting away the groceries I picked up when he comes in. I'm beginning to think it's time we talked about moving in together, we seem to be spending most nights here, anyway. I think we're both thinking this thing between us is for good. I know I've never felt more settled in my life. I've always been careful to maintain my own space in past relationships, but I want to share everything with Clay. I suspect that he's been waiting for me to be ready for this step.
Clay kisses the back of my neck. "I can't wait for these cookies. Some other day."
"Yeah, fencing took a little longer than usual," I say, turning around and running my fingers through his hair. "I'm starving."
"I am too," he informs me, taking my hand and leading me to the table.
We devour dinner, and, without even saying anything, I grab the massage oil off the counter, showing him what it is. I walk up the stairs and he follows. "Shower or bath?" he asks, when we're upstairs.
"Shower." Clay undresses me, then lets me undress him. We take our time in the shower, washing each other, kissing, but not letting things get too intense.
As we're finishing up, Clay puts his hands in my hair and pulls me in for a kiss. "I'm so relaxed, I think we need to flip a coin to see who gets to go first for the massage."
"If you do, you're going to fall asleep, I can tell," I tease.
"I don't know about that, you know how I look forward to your massages. And the effect they have on me." He moves a hand up to my breast and starts tracing it really lightly. I slowly lean forward and turn off the water, assuring he doesn't break contact with me.
"I guess the question is how badly do you want a massage, because I need one. My legs feel like noodles."
"We can't have that," Clay says suggestively.
"I thought that might be your reaction." Holding onto his hip, I step out of the shower then gently tug on his arm. He follows me, and I get us both dried off, then he takes charge and leads me to the bed.
I get situated on my stomach. He rubs some oil into his hands and starts at my neck. He's got me completely relaxed in no time, and as soon as he senses that, he moves down to my legs, and works his way up from my feet. When he starts rubbing my feet, I begin to perk up. He's working my feet and ankles in a way that's starting to arouse me, and, when I sense he's finishing with my hamstrings, I say, "Hold up, let me turn over."
"I'm not going to actually get a massage tonight, am I?" Clay asks, smirking.
"Well, that kind of depends on you," I smile coyly at him. He shakes his head, and works his hands up on my legs and starts massaging my quadriceps and inner thighs. He's running his hands way farther up than is strictly necessary, which is making the entire process way more fun for me. I reach over to the bedside table, grab the bottle, and squeeze a small amount into my hands.
"I wasn't done yet, Sarah," Clay scolds, taking the bottle from my hands.
"Oh, I know," I say, making him laugh.
"You're awfully sure of yourself." He finishes with my legs and squirts more oil into his hands as he scoots up my body. I help by grabbing onto his hips, and I massage his chest up to his shoulders and back down, as he does the same to me. We move very slowly, unlike earlier today.
By the time Clay enters me, I'm so close to climax I can barely stand it. He keeps our rhythm really slow at first, then keeps bringing me to the edge, before backing off again, until I'm practically begging him for release.
"I can't say no to you, Sarah," he tells me, kissing me, before sitting back and pulling my hips up. This gives him the perfect angle, and I'm coming after just a few thrusts. "Jesus, Sarah," he shouts, climaxing as soon as he feels my internal muscles clamp around him.
"Come here," I say, holding out my arms. He slides down on top of me.
"You're the best," he tells me. I can tell he means it, and I kiss him, trying to put everything I feel for him into it. "Mmmm, wow," is his reaction.
"I think you're the best, too," I tell him. He kisses me back, and we kiss for a long time, until sleep starts to overtake us. Clay rolls off me, and rolls me so that we can spoon together. "I like those kind of workouts," I tell him, falling asleep to the sound of his laughter.
