Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental multi-fandom project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 10 August.
In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."
Disclaimer: The West Wing is the creation of Aaron Sorkin and property of NBC, used without permission or intent to profit.
Rated 'T' for Strong Language.
-o0O0o-
"Lipstick on Your Collar"
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'
-o0O0o-
"You son of a bitch!"
He wasn't prepared for the strong right hook that came out of nowhere and slammed right into the left side of his jaw.
"Ow," he muttered as he rubbed his mouth, "What was that for?"
"You kissed her, didn't you, you two-timing piece of slime!"
"Who?"
She punched him again, this time a straight jab to the nose.
"Ow! Would you stop that?"
"No," she answered sharply just before throwing another punch; this time, he managed to raise him arm so he ended up taking it somewhere other than his face.
"Look, I don't even know what you're talking about, much less who you're supposed to be talking about, so instead of hitting me would you mind just telling me what the hell's going on?" He demanded.
"This!" She snarled at him as she grabbed his shirt by the collar and pulled it towards her.
"He-hey, I'm wearing that!" He stammered.
"This is what the hell's going on!" She continued, twisting the shirt up so that he could see the deep red stain on his collar, a stain in the shape of a pair of lips.
His attention went quite naturally from the red lipstick stain to the baby pink lipstick on her own pert lips.
"That's right, jerk, I'm not wearing red lipstick!"
She was ready for angry denials, unprepared stammering and stuttering as he attempted to come up with an excuse for what she saw... She was not ready for him to begin laughing, leaving her staring at him in disbelief.
"You did Thursday," He reminded her when he had finally regained enough control of himself, "This is a dirty shirt..."
She thought back to Thursday and released the grip she had on his shirt, blushing as she remembered what they had done... and the fact that she had, in fact, wore red lipstick to match the color of her dress that night.
"Oh," she said in embarrassment, "Um... I'm sorry I hit you?"
