Author: AD
Rating: PG (expletives used with abandon)
Spoilers: Current with Season 9
Disclaimer: Apologies to Paramount & Belisarius Productions for
borrowing Clay and having my nefarious way with him. I guess I
mussed the suit.
Summary: Webb gets spooked
Author's Note: Went for a run and had an idea. Sat down and tapped
it out. Have no idea how short a flash-fic should be, but this
one's really short. This is the first POV fic I've ever written---
please forgive my ineptitude.
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OCTOBER 31, 2003
WEBB TOWNHOUSE
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Looking into the mirror, he concentrated on swiping the razor down his left cheek. Damn, that hurt! Well, what's one more nick in the scheme of things? If only his hand would stop shaking. Shit. Looking out at the bedroom alarm clock, Webb frantically noted the time: ten-past-five. Shit, shit, shit!
Grabbing a damp washcloth, he wiped the remaining foam from his face and smoothed his chin. Not the best close shave in the world, but it would pass. Now for the hair. Shit, just look at the hack job she'd done on it. For the second time in two months he'd let her trim it for him---but, man, what a price to pay! Not even his regular barber was going to be able to even it out this time.
Well, maybe some of the blame belonged to him. Grinning at himself in the foggy mirror, Webb vividly recalled the seductive pleasure of Mac's last haircutting session. He shivered at the memory of her nails lightly scraping his scalp, her fingers constantly sifting through his short locks. At one point she'd stood between his thighs, gnawed on her lip, and carefully snipped away at the cowlick formed by her previous well-intentioned efforts.
Yeah, it was worth it. To have her run those long fingers through his hair, cupping his jaw, her breasts pressing into his chest and shoulders, jumpstarted his libido. Hell, it was well worth the scarecrow jokes he'd received from his colleagues at the Agency. So what, if she gave a lousy haircut; she had other attributes that far outweighed her clumsiness with a pair of scissors.
Running a hand through his damp hair, he studied the uneven spikes. He rummaged through his kit and unearthed the styling gel she'd bought him while he'd been in the hospital. He shrugged and decided to give it a try. Rubbing a little of the product onto the ends and finding it just a bit sticky, Webb resolved to just leave well enough alone. At least it smelled pretty good.
And, hey, he'd have the costume on. Grabbing some cotton briefs from the dresser, Webb yanked the towel from around his waist and tossed it towards the laundry hamper. What was this costume she chosen for him? The shock of her invitation two days earlier had left him speechless. He'd merely nodded his acceptance and wondered what her JAG friends would think. He'd bet his last stock option that Harriet Roberts had never counted on a real spook attending her son's first Halloween Party.
Chuckling at the mental image of Mac on his arm---as his date---Webb glanced at the clock again. Shit, she'd be here in twenty minutes and he still hadn't finished dressing. Sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks, he considered what shoes to wear. Well, hell, it depends on the costume. "You're a freaking idiot, Clay---find the damn costume!"
Man, what was the world coming to when he started talking to himself like this? He rummaged through the walk-in closet, but no damn garment bag. Where the hell was it? It had arrived by courier not two hours ago. He'd hung it up himself, right on the---damn!
Hurrying down the stairs in just briefs and socks, Webb got his balance on the last step and headed for the foyer. Swinging open the door to the hall closet, he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the dark brown garment bag hanging inside. Getting his breath back, he plucked the hangar from the rod, unzipping the bag as he climbed the stairs again.
Holy Hell! Maybe this wasn't what he thought it was. Shit, it was. Slowly, not caring about the time anymore, Webb pulled the costume off the hangar and tossed it to the bed. No. Absolutely not. Not even for Mac.
Webb reluctantly fingered the soft white material and frowned. What had she been thinking? And look at the mask! He'd work up an enormous sweat behind that goofy-looking white latex. What happened to all the Dracula and Frankenstein costumes? Hell, he'd always wanted to try out the Werewolf one. But no, she got him this, this--
-well, she'd gotten him this! What self-respecting man would wear this? Shit!
Webb slowly walked to the dresser and pulled out a soft white t- shirt and shrugged it on. Absently removing his black socks, he tossed them in the vicinity of the hamper and snagged a pair of white ones from his sock drawer. Still trying to figure out why she'd chosen this outfit for him, Webb walked into his closet and reached down for his white running shoes.
The doorbell rang while he was tying off the laces, but he didn't care. Was he being set up by Mac? Did she really think he was that big of a fool? Hearing his visitor switch from the doorbell to the knocker shook Webb out of his stupor. Anger, hurt, and disbelief swirled through his chest as he trudged down the steps once again. Was she trying to teach him some kind of lesson? Was this a test? He was so damn tired of tests lately.
Opening the door, all thoughts of possible treachery melted away. Paranoia and insecurity were forgotten as Webb gazed at the vision in red before him. Even under the short blond wig and loosely hooded fleece jumpsuit, her generous curves were fully visible. Her wide eyes and sweet smile grew as she eyed him from head to toe. Looking down at himself, Webb groaned. Shit---nothing left to the imagination and nowhere to hide.
"Why aren't you dressed? Didn't it fit? It's an extra-tall." Webb heard the words but was still fascinated by Mac's lightly tinted pink lips. The pinch to his right side actually hurt.
"Ouch! Watch it, Sarah. C'mon in before I freeze to death." And please deliver me from the humiliation of answering the door in my underwear---double shit!
"Clay?" Damn, she was getting that sympathetic look on her face. He hated that look. It meant she was going to ask about his health or some such nonsense.
"Clay, are you having difficulty, uh, you know, getting ready? I don't mind helping. The buttons must be pretty difficult when those tremors start acting up."
The hug he was getting more than made up for the chill he experienced at the door. Damn, if this red fleece thing she was wearing didn't feel good. Looking over her shoulder and down at her ass as he returned the hug, he revise his opinion of the costume. It was hot, definitely hot. The small buttons at the corner of the jumper's "trap door" drew his hands like magnets.
Playfully swatting his hands from her ass, Mac giggled. "Nuh-uh, none of that. What's gotten into you? Obviously, you have nerve, but not from those tremors. So, why the lack of modesty? Not that I don't appreciate the look, but we are attending a *children's* Halloween party. Where's the costume I sent over?"
Damn, she was serious about this thing. "Upstairs."
"Well, come on. Let's get to it or we're going to be late." Although the hand on his back felt good, it was also pushing him in the direction of that dreaded white outfit.
"Sarah, I don't want to wear it." There, that was honest enough.
"Clay, I'll admit that the fleece can get a bit warm, but it's not that bad. In fact, it's like wearing "footie" jammies. I decided to just wear my bra and panties underneath. They're really pretty comfy." Dear God, that kind of information could give him a heart attack. Sarah pretty much in the flesh under those floppy red PJs--- hot damn! Maybe these costumes weren't that bad.
His suddenly dry mouth caused him to clear his throat. "Sarah, what in this world were you thinking when you chose that costume for me? I'm a grown man. This outfit is, well, it's---."
"�the match to my own. Don't you remember the comic books? They were best friends, despite their different backgrounds: them against everybody else. They stuck together despite all the warnings from their friends and family. They were the good guys. I thought it fit us, somehow. Don't you?"
Aw, hell---the sad, I'm-disappointed-in-you-look. No one could do that one better than Mac. "Of course I do. I just didn't look at it that way. I, well, I thought you might be playing me, Sarah."
Oh, shit: there comes the hurt look.
"Clay---."
"Look, I realize that I read it all wrong. I admit it. I did. And I'm sorrier than you can ever know. But do you really see me wearing this kind of thing?" Hell, he was going to wear it---there was no other outcome after her explanation. Shit, shit, shit!
By now they'd reached his bedroom and Mac picked up the white fleece, rubbing it against her cheek. Spying the latex mask on the bed, she measured its thickness and frowned.
"Actually, I do. I can't think of anyone else who could play it so well---and little AJ will be thrilled. But this mask does leave a lot to be desired." Uh-oh, that mask was the only thing that would hide his identity.
"Um, I kinda like the mask, Sarah. Yes, now that I look at it, I can't see it working without the mask." Lord, if you're listening, please let me keep the mask. Please, please, please!
"I know! I've got some moisturizer in my bag. I'll smooth that onto your face then apply some baby powder. It'll give you that pale, otherworldly look. Some charcoal eye shadow will finish it off just right. Yeah, Clay---this`ll work. We can ditch the mask and just go natural."
Resigned to his fate, Webb merely led the way to the bathroom, put both lids down, sat on the toilet stool, and waited. A smart man knew when he was licked, and boy, was he whipped. "Okay, just tell me when it's over. I'm yours. Do with me what you will." Because I'm so whipped and you're going to do it anyway. Shit, this must be love.
"Don't sound so helpless Clay. If you really want to wear the mask�." Like he was going to disappoint her now? At this stage of their relationship? Hell, no!
"No. You're right. I'd die in that mask tonight. We'll go the make-up route. I trust you to do it up right." Well, finally---a smile from Sarah. And honestly, he really did trust her to do a good job. Besides, this is almost as good as the haircut. Her hands on his face, small puffs of her breath warming his cheeks and lips, gazing into her melting brown eyes while she concentrates on applying the eye shadow. Damn, he yanked a towel from the rack and draped it over his growing excitement.
With a final pat of the powder puff to Webb's forehead, Mac stood back, quite please with her work. "Perfect, if I do say so myself."
"Yes, you are!" Making her blush was an added bonus. Way to go, Clay, old man!
"Oh, but look at your tee---I got powder all over it. Do you really think you're going to need it with all this fleece covering your head and neck anyway? I don't know about you, but I'm already burning up in mine." Wishing she'd feel free to take it off, Webb tried to blink the powder off of his eyelashes. Smiling sweetly in spite of his lascivious thoughts, he leaned up and bussed her on the cheek.
"Thanks, Sarah. And I think you're right. If you'll get the fleece thing, I'll toss the tee."
Careful not to smudge the powder, Webb eased the shirt over his head and hurled it towards the hamper. When Mac returned, she'd unbuttoned the jumper so that Webb could quickly step into it.
"You're going to try to wear those running shoes with it?" Humph, no shoes�no go�gotta draw the line somewhere. Fixing Mac with a hard look, he stretched the material over each foot and literally climbed into the suit. It was heaven to feel her smooth the fleece over his broad shoulders and pat his ass in appreciation.
"Well! Thank you very much. Want to pat down the front, too?" Please, do it! Shit: no go. Well, it was worth a shot.
"Maybe later, Clay." Was that a promise? That sounded like a promise. Damn, that was a promise.
Smiling in anticipation, Webb picked up his wallet and keys, storing them in the hidden pockets of the costume. Hell, it really was a comfortable outfit. "Okay, Sarah, let's hit the road and meet up with the other goblins."
"Now, you're talking!" Mac grabbed his arm, squeezing it close for a moment, then led him down the stairs and out the front door. Their excited laughter could be heard in the night air as Mac guided the low-slung Corvette down the driveway.
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TWENTY MINUTES LATER
OCTOBER 31, 2003
ROBERTS HOUSE
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA
The doorbell rang, not for the first time, at the Roberts' house.
Wading through the sea of five-year-olds, Bud finally reached the door. Brushing his hands down the gold material of his dated Starfleet uniform shirt, Bud picked up the basket of candy, ready to greet the new trick-or-treaters.
Expecting children, his eyes focused on the fleece-covered feet of the newcomers. Slowly raising his gaze up to their faces, it was obvious their costumes and closeness were a bit too much for Bud to take in all at once.
"Sir? I mean, Mr. Webb? Ma'am?" This was rich---Roberts was at a loss for words. Sarah should have told him I was coming.
"Roberts. Mind if we come in?" Uh-oh, she's squeezing my arm again. What did I say? How could I have screwed this up so soon? But Sarah was looking beyond Bud. She was staring into the eyes of a beautiful tow-headed boy. Man, he was cute. Looked like a perfect blend of both Bud and Harriet. Oh, shit, now he's looking at me---and his eyes are getting wider. Please, Lord, don't let him cry. I don't look *that* scary. Must've squeezed Sarah's hand too hard, because she kisses my ear and gestures towards young AJ.
"Sir, I can't thank you enough. Truly I can't. This is going to make the party for him---you're his absolute favorite." Bud must be babbling because not a word of this is making sense.
"I am?"
"Every morning on the Cartoon Network! How did you find it? I didn't even know they made them?
"Sarah found it---them---the costumes." The little boy was now in front of us, grinning from ear to ear. Of one accord, Sarah and I bend down. I'm totally shocked to find small chubby arms clinging to my neck. Sarah gets her hug, too. A guy could get addicted to this kind of welcome. But it's not Clay and Sarah this young imagination sees.
"Casper! Wendy! You made it! Daddy, it's Casper and Wendy!" Yep, that's us: Casper the Friendly Spook and Wendy the Best Little Witch. I think this relationship is going to work out just fine.
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