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Title: Where Have You Been, Willie Boy?  

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean  

Fandom: JAG  

Pairing: OMCs, Michael Shaw/William Matheson  

Rating: R  

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Bellisario, but these characters are mine  

Status: new/complete  

Date: 1/04  

Series/Sequel: Sixth in the Soundbyte Series, it follows This Simple Phrase.  

Summary: What drove Michael Shaw to cross Clark Palmer.  

Warnings: m/m, implied m/f, OMC  

Notes: This started life as a drabble. The title is taken from the song, Oh, Where Have You Been, Billy Boy. Blue and gold are actually the colors of Sigma Chi. Thanks to Trackrat for the 'lick me, suck me, fuck me jeans', which will have their own story. And many thanks, as always, to Gail, who is the world's best beta.


Where Have You Been, Willie Boy?

By Tinnean


I loved two men in my life. One of them was my father.  

But Dad was too busy making a killing on Wall Street. Even after he bought a house for us in Cambridge , he was only with Mom and me on the weekends.  

The other was my best friend. My only friend.  

It was the fault of those jeans he wore, those lick me, suck me, fuck me jeans with the button fly and the straight leg. The denim material molded to his ass and thighs and cupped his dick and balls so lovingly that if I was the irrational type, I'd have been jealous.  

And William Matheson, when I told him I loved him, hugged me and said, "I love you too, Michael!" My heart leaped, and my dick grew hard, and then he qualified it. "You're my best friend!"  

So I played it cool, but dropping hints, salacious remarks, flirtatious glances, lingering touches, everything went right over his head. Damn it.  

That was one of the things I loved about him. He was so charmingly clueless. He saw my father as a good man, because his own father was a good man.  

He saw me as a decent person, because to him that was how I'd always been, from the time we met in sixth grade.  

Others saw the real me, the manipulative, amoral, lying bastard that I was. But Willie Boy… god, how he hated when I called him that! And I kept doing it just to make him nuts.  

Wills always saw me as his friend.  

That didn't stop me from wanting him. And that night, when he wore those jeans, that was when I decided I was going to have him.  

I took him to a keg party at the Gamma Gamma Gamma house across campus and got him drunk. Every time I noticed the plastic cup that held his beer was empty, or half-empty, or a quarter-empty, I'd hand him another.  

The other frat boys thought it was a laugh riot that he would sip alternately from one, then the other.  

I'd known Wills long enough to know when he'd reached his limit he started singing. He had a good voice, but the only time he sang was in the shower or when he was hammered.  

He was dancing with a stuffed monkey, singing a schmaltzy fraternity song. "'…The blue of her eyes and the gold of her hair are a blend of the western sky…'"  

"C'mon, Willie Boy. I think y've had a bit too mush. Le's get you home." I had to be sneaky about it, letting him think I was as drunk as he was. I gave the monkey to one of the Tri Gams and we left.  

Only I'd been so intent on getting my friend drunk that I hadn't been paying attention to the amount of beer I'd consumed. I no sooner got his button fly undone then I passed out myself.  

He must have turned over at some point because when he rolled back onto his back, I guess a couple of hours later, I was wakened by the action and by an erection that was growing under my cheek.  

Wills was still sleeping. There were marks on his cheek from the chenille bedspread, his lips were slightly parted, and he had a bad case of bed hair.  

I could smell the musk of his arousal, though. I turned my face and ran my tongue over the material of his shorts, then lowered them, freeing his dick. He wasn't leaking pre come yet, but he would be soon.  

The judicious application of alcohol or drugs had always been an aid in getting whoever I wanted into my bed; I didn't intend for this to be the only chance I'd get with him, but I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass me by.  

I licked and nibbled his dick, got my lips around the flared head of his cut cock, and sucked him off. I was going to give him a blow-job that he'd remember for the rest of his life.  

He was noisy, though. There was no time to tell him why he had to be quite. I covered his mouth with my hand.  

I'd screwed up the summer after my freshman year; I'd needed some cash, and my father was being a pain in the ass about giving me the money, so I appropriated the answers to all the summer school finals and sold them to jocks who didn't have two brain cells to rub together.  

One of them, who had failed in spite of the answers, ratted me out, but I'd managed to talk my way out of that mess, and I'd learned from it. I'd never been caught out in my schemes again, but it had taken hard work to be accepted back into the graces of my frat brothers.  

If one of the guys on this floor heard him and came running to check… As much as I loved Wills, I wasn't going to be labeled gay for him.  

When Wills came, I had enough warning to pull off. I didn't have to, but I did. His dick slid from my mouth, and he shot his wad all over those jeans.  

The next thing I knew, he slid down the length of my body, dragged my jeans down off my hips, and worked my dick with lips and tongue. It felt good.  

It felt too fucking good; it looked like I was going to be the one who remembered this blow-job for the rest of my life.  

I didn't warn him. I came, he swallowed, and then he wiped my come from the corner of his mouth and fell asleep.  

I petted his hip, thinking he was mine, and fell back to sleep as well.  

The sun starting to come up woke me. That and the Anvil Chorus banging away in my head.  

There was a weight on my arm, and I smiled. I'd finally had sex with my best friend.  

With my best friend.  

I panicked. Okay, I wasn't thinking too clearly, but I'd never fucked anyone I really cared about. Suppose he thought I was gay and didn't want to be my friend any more? For a second I was utterly miserable, until I realized it wouldn't be too hard to make him believe I'd jumped his bones because I'd had too much to drink.  

"I was pretty fucking drunk last night," I told him in a slurred mumble, and when he agreed, I insisted, "And if my girlfriend was here, I would have boinked her brains out."  

He didn't protest.  

He was supposed to say, "Mine are the only brains you're gonna be boinking out from now on, Shaw."  

He didn't.  

However, Machiavelli could have taken lessons from me in craftiness. I intended to play my hand perfectly. If Wills thought it was just a blow-job between buddies, that was fine, that was a start.  

I'd just make sure it would happen again, and more and more frequently.  

I went back to my own bed. I would have liked to sleep off my hangover in Wills' bed, with him in my arms. A repeat of our early morning sex would have been nice, too.  

But I could wait. He'd be mine.  


I accomplished what I set out to do; after all, I was a master of manipulation. I got him to go out drinking with me and then would pretend to be more blitzed or high than I was, fall into bed with him and jerk or suck him off and get him to reciprocate.  

A couple of those times, he'd been pretty lit too, but not every time, and I began to hope that one day I would actually get him to bend over for me, and I'd finally fuck his ass.  

I found myself outside the window of a leather shop, mooning over a black studded dog collar, wondering if Wills would wear it for me. Wondering if he'd like me to wear it for him.  

That was when I realized I was in over my head. I'd never been that emotionally involved with anyone.  

I had to show him that he didn't have me wrapped around his little finger.  

Crystal McNamara was the girl I'd been seeing on and off during our junior year. It had been more 'off' than 'on' since the night I'd blown Wills, and she was thrilled that I'd called and asked her to meet me.  

I made sure Wills saw me kissing her, and I made a point of not being around when he left for Cambridge .  

What was that saying about best laid plans?  

When he came back from summer break, things between us were different; he was different.  

"Hey, Willie Boy! How's it hangin'? Why don't you put on your 501s? We can…"  

"I didn't bring them, Michael. They got too worn over the summer."  

His suitcase was open on his bed. There were cargo pants and twill trousers, but no jeans at all. What he'd brought this semester would do nothing for his fine bod.  

"Well, uh… Leave the rest of the unpacking for later, and let's go out for a beer."  

"No, thanks, Michael. I'm cutting back on my drinking."  

"What?" Had that bitch of a stepmother of his cried all over him? Had his holier-than-thou father given him a lecture on partying too hearty while away at school? What had happened over the summer?  

Apparently he wasn't going to tell me. "Why don't you give Crystal a call?"  

"Nah. We broke up."  

"I'm sorry."  

"It's no big deal. She was getting too possessive anyway." He looked at me sharply, and I wondered what he thought he'd heard in my voice. "Another time, then?"  

"Sure, Michael."  

Only there wasn't another time. It didn't take long for me to realize that what we'd had was over. For the first time in my life, I couldn't shrug it off.  

I spent a long weekend determined to replace the memory of him in my bed with the memory of someone who was hot, who was professional, who would do more than use his mouth or hands. I went to a house in Boston that I'd heard of at one frat house or another and fucked one of the boys.  

I was only fooling myself, thinking this would help me get over him. I didn't realize until too late that the boy I chose looked enough like my best friend to be his twin.  

I returned to the room we shared in the Alpha Omega Chi frat house, deliberately smelling of sex and alcohol and grass. I flaunted that smell in front of my friend.  

There was such sadness in his eyes, such disappointment.  

"Fuck you, Willie Boy. I don't need your self-righteous disapproval. Who made you the guardian of my morals? Just stay the fuck out of my face and leave me the fuck alone."  

I stood there, waiting for… what? For him to give me a punch in the mouth, throw me the fuck out of his life?  

Throw me down on the bed and fuck me stupid?  

"What's wrong, Michael?" He was always too smart for his own good. "Did you run into Crystal?"  

My eyes burned and my throat tightened. Here I was pining for him, and he thought…  


"Did you have a quarrel with your father?"  

"No." I sat heavily on my bed. "You know me, Willie Boy, bad to the bone. I felt like getting wasted, blitzed, hammered and laid. I fucked that little number through the mattress."  

He looked as if he was going to ask why I'd felt the need to do that to my body, and I held my breath, but he just said, "I hope you practiced safe sex, my friend."  

"Don't I always play it safe, Wills? So what did you do this weekend?"  

I thought he wasn't going to let me get away with the change of subject; it was a measure of how far apart we'd grown over that summer when he let me.  

"A couple of headhunters from Bradenhurst Corporation came by. It sounds like something I might want to pursue."  

"Oh, yeah? I've spoken to one of their recruiters too." A lie. "Guess I'll join their firm as well."  

I had to do some pretty fancy footwork to get Bradenhurst to hire me, my grades were only passable, not like Willie Boy, who spent hours in the labs and had a permanent place on the Dean's list, but then I'd always been good at tap dancing; they saw that, and they took me on.  

After graduation, we didn't see as much of each other as I'd expected, even though we worked in the same building.  

I convinced myself that was fine. I was so over him. I stuck with women and was even seeing one on a steady basis. She was tall for a woman, with brown hair and velvety brown eyes, and as long as I went down on her before hand, she didn't mind taking it up the ass.  

I was working in Public Relations, and Wills… well, the department he worked for seemed to be a combination of computers and security, and he was either coming back from someplace, or going there.  

I ran into him in the lunch room one Friday. "Hi there, Willie Boy."  

He gave me a patient smile. "Hi, Michael. It's been a while."  

My heart gave a lurch. Had he missed me? "Yeah. How are things going?"  

"Good, thanks. I've been offered a position in DC. Say, why don't you come over to the house for dinner on Saturday? Alice will cook a rib roast for you. You always loved Alice's rib roasts."  

Go to that big house in Cambridge, surrounded by his loving family? "Nah, thanks, but I've got other plans."  

"Sure, Michael. I… uh… I hear you're on the fast track to a corner office."  

"You know what they say. 'If you can't dazzle 'em with your brilliance, baffle 'em with your bullshit.'" I shrugged. It didn't matter what I did, as long as it wasn't selling stocks on Wall Street. "So you're going to DC?"  

"Yeah. I've already had three interviews, which is more than any of the other candidates. I'm pretty sure it's in the bag."  

Clichés start life as truisms. Boston was a cold and lonely town, but without the knowledge that Wills was at least in the same city, it would be unbearable.  

I had known vaguely that Bradenhurst had some sort of corporate holdings in the Capital, and I remembered seeing that a position was opening up there.  

I'd finagled my way into the Boston office. It would be no problem doing the same and making the transfer to Washington.  

And it wasn't.  


I loved two men in my life. One of them was my father.  

And the other…  

For a few months in the spring of our junior year, William Matheson had been mine…