Flying Home

Author's Notes: I hate John Hoynes. So does CJ.

Pairing: CJ/Hoynes, implied CJ/Toby

Spoilers: None

Rating: Very much R

It was always a different hotel room. Something cheap but clean, somewhere so far out in the sticks that it was a surprise when the locals had TV. The desk clerk always had some strange accent. CJ Cregg, skilled with words, always understood. John Hoynes, arriving later in polished cowboy boots, always made an ass out of himself. This time, it was a weekend jaunt to Jersey. A poorly lit Motel 8. Only one sign directing you to it from the interstate. CJ chose it because she'd been here before. Toby took here there once, ten years ago. They got absolutely smashed on Jack and he'd screamed her name into the rising sun. Why CJ picked this place for her rendezvous with John Hoynes – a man she loathed – CJ couldn't even explain it to herself. Maybe it was the rows she and Toby had over and over, fights that kept them from really speaking to each other. Maybe it was because all she dreamed about both day and night was Toby, Toby, Toby. Maybe it was something she feared to admit to herself, and a good shagging kept her mind off of it.

The desk clerk was twelve years old. He looked it, anyway. Asked Hoynes how his trip had been, what brought him to Jersey, and so on. It took Hoynes a full three seconds to take in the word "Joy-zeeh." He mumbled something benign and asked if his girlfriend, Lynn Tripp, had arrived. The kid sent Hoynes to the right room, wondering where he'd heard a name like "Lynn Tripp" before. Sounded familiar. Oh well. NASCAR was on FOX.

Hoynes rapped staccato at the door four times. CJ pulled it open, not looking at the man she was letting in. She hated him. He didn't fancy her either, but, God, she was an amazing fuck. Ah. Maze. Ing.

"You found the place okay," CJ noted unnecessarily, perching on the bed. She wouldn't look at him.

"Yeah, just fine." He sat on the desk chair to peel his boots off. She hated his boots. "Desk clerk's a fucking idiot."

"It takes one to know one." If she'd said that to Toby, he'd laugh because he'd know she was kidding. Today, she wasn't kidding.

Hoynes rolled his eyes. "We gonna do this or are you just gonna insult me all afternoon?"

"What difference does it make?" She kicked her own shoes off. Green Nike trainers, size eleven.

He shrugged. "Doesn't, I guess." He placed his boots one next to the other beside the desk. Hoynes crossed the chilly space between himself and the redhead on the bed who wouldn't look him in the eye. It wasn't like he hadn't expected this. He stood before her, hands palm-up, offering himself. "Rough or nice 'n easy this time?"

CJ surged up, grabbed Hoynes by the lapels of his stupid Texas cowboy shirt and threw him onto the bed. Her mouth searched his, her fingers undid his buttons and his composure.

"God, CJ. Oh, God." He tugged at her tee-shirt, forcing it up so he could access her bra. One swift movement and he had the clasp undone. The shirt had to come off.

The shirt had to come off. CJ had all of the buttons free now: her hurried hands pushed the fabric over Hoynes' tingling pectorals and pipes. Her tongue moved down his neck, over his Adam's apple, into that little dip in his collarbone. She only detached herself from his warm scent so he could coax her tee over her head. Why hadn't she worn a blouse he could unbutton? She thought about these things when she was with Toby.

He threw her bra across the room. It hit the desk and slinked down into his boots. He watched the progress with one eye, and the thought of her underwear in his footwear made him hard. And he'd been pompous enough to wear his great big Texas belt buckle in his jeans.

She thought she felt his erection through both of their pairs of pants, but she couldn't be sure. His damn belt buckle – cold and larger than her fist – pushed into her bare belly every time he thrust his hips up. As much as she wanted to let her fingers explore his taut chest muscles, she had to undo his pants. He should undo hers, but he was too busy caressing her breasts. CJ took Hoynes' hands and directed them to her jeans. "Here," she commanded. He obeyed, hastily sliding the zipper down and unpopping the button at the top. She raised her hips and he pushed the jeans down over them. Oh my God, she was wearing silk panties. His callused fingers – smoother now since he'd been away from his precious Texas, but still worn from real work – snagged on the material. Toby wouldn't do that. Yet another thought of Toby. She bit Hoynes' shoulder. He yelped with pain and pleasure. The buckle was off. Pants next. Taking hold of Hoynes' arms, CJ used all of her strength to flip him over so that he was on top. Better access to his Wranglers. Easier to get them off.

His boxer-briefs were black. Toby wore black boxers. Fuck Toby! Oh, if she only could… Underwear joined the clothing strewn about the room. They hadn't even pulled the comforter down! Hoynes always felt more comfortable underneath a sheet, so CJ obliged. She stood now, fully naked, foot tapping, while Hoynes undressed the bed. A second before he expected it, she gave him a shove and knocked him back onto the mattress, dragging the sheet over them to protect his modesty. She wanted to be on the bottom, which was fine with Hoynes, who preferred the top. Usually, he had more control if he was on top. Not with CJ, though. The only one CJ let have any control was Toby. Always and only Toby. And Hoynes knew it. It pissed him off, though he didn't know why. He certainly had no feelings for this woman. He was sure he didn't. His body tried to convince him otherwise.

It took CJ's adept hands to guide Hoynes into her. His moan of pleasure made CJ want to laugh and throw up at the same time. Why did she fuck him? She hated him. Because he was good? Well, he was. Quite good. Damn good, even. Because he wasn't Toby? Toby… Hoynes' hand closed over CJ's breast. Her yelp was one of pain.

"Christ, Hoynes, you're hurting me!"

He moved his hand off of her breast to caress her ribcage. "Sorry." He wasn't. "I didn't think the Ice Princess felt pain."

"Fuck you." Her hips followed his rhythm.

"That's what I'm trying to get you to do!" He thrust. This time, she sighed and there was no pain.

"I hate you, you know." She squeezed his arms, trying to pull him even closer. Her lips tickled his earlobe. He was perspiring: the sweat mixed with his cologne and, God, he smelled wonderful.

"I hate you too." Thrust again. And again. "Oh, sweet Jesus in Heaven!" Fred and Ethel two doors down heard it loud and clear.

With Toby, she screamed aloud, wishing the whole world to hear her. With Hoynes, the hollering reverberated inside her own head. "You're going to get us caught." Her breath was ragged. A bead of sweat slipped between her breasts. Hoynes caught it with his tongue.

"Since when do you care about that? You're the one who picked this place." He grabbed her rear end to pull her tighter around him.

"I'm not. You're the one who should care, Hoynes." Her fingernails left lines on his perfect chest. "If we're caught, all I have to do is tell my press corps that you tricked me here and raped me. And they'll believe me because – oh, God, Hoynes – because they love me and you're –" She gasped his name again. "And you're an asshole."

"It'd make an excellent scandal for your dear President Bartlet." He was thrusting harder and faster now. The explosion was so close.

"Scandal!" CJ laughed, grinding her hips into his. Orgasm was seconds away. "Scandal my ass! It'll be one more reason why you're no longer Bartlet's vee-pee. You're a rapist and an adulterer!"

"And an asshole?"

"And the biggest…" Thrust. "Most annoying…" Again. "Fucking…" Once again. "Asshole I've ever met!"

Fireworks and parades played across the room. Stars fell from the sky. Republicans burned in Hell. God Himself issued exaltations of triumph. This was why He created sex organs in the Beginning.

"Yet you keep coming back." Hoynes collapsed onto the pillow beside his bedmate, sucking in deep drags of cool air. Ah. Maze. Ing. He was actually trembling.

CJ blew out a hot breath and looked away towards the window with the drawn curtain. Yeah. Fine. Fucking fine. So he was good. Really good. Damn good, even. And she kept coming back. "What're you saying, Hoynes? Trying to tell me I'm a whore? Go ahead then. Say it."

"You're a whore, CJ. The worst kind of whore, too. You're gorgeous and brilliant and you use us. Use us and when you're done, you watch us cry. You laugh, and we cry because you're in charge. You always have the upper hand. Always in control. Always." Hoynes pushed himself onto his side, propped his head on his fist. Using his free hand, he traced a lazy line over CJ's belly and around her breasts. "You do this to Toby too, Claudia?"

CJ snapped her head back around and looked Hoynes in the eyes for the first time that day. Her baby blues blazed with a fire he had never seen before, and her open palm left an angry sting on his cheek. "Don't call me that," she hissed. She was out of bed and searching for her clothes in an instant. Here was her underwear. Where the hell was her bra?

"What?" Hoynes sat up fully and watched CJ in amazement. "What the fuck is wrong with you, CJ? I can call you a whore but I can't call you 'Claudia'?" In spite of himself, he felt a second erection surfacing.

"Fuck you, Hoynes." Here. Her bra was in his goddamn cowboy boots.

"I keep telling you, that's what I'm trying to get you to do." He watched hungrily as she fastened her brassier. "So, what? I bet Toby can call you Claudia. Can't he?" A smarter man would have known to keep his mouth shut. Toby would have known.

"You're damn right he can," CJ raved, whipping Hoynes' pants at him. "Toby can and you can't. Because you're an asshole! A rapist, an adulterer, an asshole, and you don't love me any more than I love you!"

Hoynes chortled gracelessly. "Since when is this about love? We're nothing more than friends with benefits."

"Friends!" CJ snorted. "Fuck buddies, and that might even be going too far." She had her jeans on now. "I hate you so much, Hoynes. You have no idea how much I fucking hate you."

"So leave then." His gaze became icy cold as he watched her dress. For the first time, just like that slap in the face she'd given him, he realized that he loved her. Loved her body, loved her mind, loved her soul. And he hated her too. "Run away, CJ. Run away to your precious Toby. But if you leave now, don't ever come back."

She was wearing her shirt now too. Run away to Toby. Why hadn't she gone to Toby in the first place? "I'm afraid." The words were whispered. She tugged her trainers on. "Afraid he won't love me back." CJ ran her hands through her tousled hair. She hadn't seen it before. Blind and stupid. But isn't love blind? She laughed softly. Toby. Always Toby. Her Toby.

"If you're going to talk to me, talk to me," Hoynes commanded. For once, he wanted to be in charge.

"I love him." CJ stood, proud of the power of her full height, and looked right at Hoynes, daring him to contradict her or beg her to stay or tell her she's wrong. He couldn't hold her gaze.

"I know." He conceded. He had always known, but the words coming out of her pretty little mouth hurt him more than the slap on the face, than the scratches on his chest, than a punch to the stomach, than a kick to the groin. It was final. He didn't have her. He had nothing. He would never be in charge of CJ Cregg. "And I hate you."

"I hate you more, Hoynes." Her purse in hand and jacket over her arm, she stalked purposely out of the hotel room and out of John Hoynes' life. CJ left him in a puddle of blankets that still smelled of sex and his defeat. He could pick the room up whilst he picked himself up. She hoped to never see him again. But she was taking his advice with her: just changing the words. She wasn't running away to Toby. She was flying home.