"Is my tie on straight?" Tom asked Laura, as he fussed with it. It had been a long morning already and they didn't have very long before the press conference would begin.
Laura glanced up from her paperwork. "No. Tory, could you kindly straighten the Vice-President's tie?" Tom caught the quickest flash of her knowing smirk as she directed her aide to help him. Of course, he didn't want Tory to fiddle with his tie, he'd wanted Laura to fiddle with it - with him. He grimaced. The clever woman was onto him.
Tory's sharp glare was metallic but she moved toward Tom to fulfill the request. "Never mind," he told her, "I've got it covered." Laura made one of her sexy little humming sounds, the one that always sounded like an amused chuckle. This particular hum carried an extra little ring of triumph at its mellifluous core.
"Five minutes," Tory told them.
Tom shifted his eyes back to Laura Roslin. Her suit jacket was slung over a nearby chair and she looked even more frakkable without it on. He imagined biting the buttons of her silky lavender blouse off with his teeth. It wasn't a very practical fantasy, he realized. He'd likely choke on a button and Madame President would be furious about having to have her blouse repaired but heck, this was his fantasy. If he wanted to bite her buttons off then -
"Mr. Vice President?"
"Yes?" Tom snapped to attention.
Tory sighed. "Did you hear me?"
"Absolutely."
"So which one?"
"What?"
"Right or left," gritted Tory.
"Right," said Tom impatiently, wishing that Tory and her frizzy hair would get out of the way. She was blocking his view of Laura. She moved (finally!) and Laura came back into his frame of focus. She was standing at the podium adjusting the microphone to be at a more acceptable height and position to be comfortable for her. Tapered fingers moved over the base as she brought her lips to the tip of the mic.
"Testing. One, two." she cooed in that gorgeous voice of hers. Two green eyes seemed to roam from Tom's lap all the way back up to his face at the exact moment she uttered the final plosive consonant.
"Two minutes," warned Tory.
Tom wasn't so sure he was going to last one.
