Falling Free, by Jess
Category: Post-ep, The Ways and Means CJ/Sam
Rating: R for language and other stuff.
Summary: All my senses overthrown by the might of your skin.
Disclaimer: Oh Captain, my Captain, these fabulous characters belong to THE Aaron Benjamin Sorkin and not to me. Pity.
Thanks: The one, the only, the never lonely, Sidalicious.
Notes: Fifth in the Shades of Gray Series (go Kel, shake it, don't break it, took your mama nine months to make it) which is as follows: 1) Flesh, 2) Red Moon, 3) Wisdom, 4) Lead me Upstairs
+++++++++
For a few cowardly moments I will never be able to completely forgive myself for, I thought about getting in my car and just leaving. I wouldn't have looked back either. I could have retired to a villa in France or maybe a small cottage by the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. I just wanted to be as far away from this scandal as possible.
There were tearful conversations over the phone with my mother, there were shouting matches with Leo, there were subtle reprimands from the First Lady, there was sex with Sam; amazing, spine-tingling, mind-blowing sex. And then there was an apology from the President.
And that almost makes everything else obsolete.
Things aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I'm still angry at the lies and the cover up, at my horrendous mistake. But Sam was right: we are a dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless. Josh reaches over and takes a swig of my beer, ignoring my look of protest. Most of the earlier assembled crowd has scattered back to their offices or homes as the case may be, and only Josh and I are left standing in the middle of the bullpen.
"You've done well, Claudia Jean," he beams as he sets the beer on Bonnie's desk.
"Well thank you Mister Lyman," I laugh as I pat his arm and move to walk past him.
"I mean it," he continues as he follows me into my office. "This strategy, it's...it's--"
"Brilliant? Genius? Intelligent? Splendid?"
"Splendid?" he teases as he watches me gather my things.
"Ballerina, Josh?"
"I told you! I didn't know what it was."
"Well, I think you would have looked cute in a tutu," I smile.
He rolls his eyes and leans against the doorjamb. "So, I didn't get a chance to apologize."
"Apologize for what?"
"For what I said to you...you know in Manchester. I didn't really mean it. I was just trying to bait you, anger is much more constructive than...than whatever the hell it was you were feeling."
"Quite honestly, I was treating that conversation like every other one I've had with you, so I wasn't really paying attention to what you were saying."
He smiles and throws his hands up because he knows he's forgiven. "So, how `bout we go out and celebrate?"
"No can do, mi amor."
"What, you got a hot date or something?"
"Yep."
Josh arches his eyebrow and moves aside so I can shut the door behind us. "What's his name?"
"Pledge."
"What kind of name is...wait a minute. You're going home to--"
"Clean, yes." Josh looks at me dubiously and I laugh. "Don't mock the cleaning. I haven't been able to dust in weeks. I have to clean out my fridge, vacuum the floor, scour the--"
"Ok. I get it. Try not to have too much fun," he calls over his shoulder as he heads back to his office, muttering something about women and mops.
I drop past Sam's office, but his lights are out and my curiosity is piqued. Cathy smiles at me as she shrugs into her blazer. "He left about twenty minutes ago. He's still feeling pretty down."
"About Victor Campos?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, listen, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah...great job, CJ."
I smile at her and feel lighter than I have in weeks. Oliver accused me of trying to get back into the game with one swing, and maybe he's right. But this is what I do, and I haven't felt this confident in quite some time. I know Sam has a lot to do with that, and I try not to think about how much I have come to depend upon his comforting touch.
I don't love him. And there are moments when I study him in sleep and wonder why I'm allowing myself to use his body. But then he touches me, and I'm lost. Has it only been a week since that first night in Manchester? His hands map my body expertly, and I wonder how it's possible that he has somehow gained this intimate knowledge of my desires in such a short time.
His touch is reverent, worshipful even, and his tenderness makes me cry when I'm alone in the shower. I know that one day he's going to realize the sex isn't enough for him. He's going to demand so much more than I can ever give him. And he'll be left with a broken heart, and I'll be left with this black emptiness.
+++++++
Somber is a word I could use to describe him right now. Sullen, as a word, would be better. He answers his door barefoot, wearing a well-worn pair of dark blue sweats, and a stark white tank top. I silently observe him for a moment, taking in his broad shoulders and sculpted arms. His fists clench at his side and I smile as he unknowingly flexes his biceps. Damn, he's sexy.
"I brought food," I begin, holding up the plastic bag from the local taqueria. "So invite me in now or I'm going to take my loot elsewhere."
He sighs, but the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and I know he's happy to see me. He steps aside and takes the food from my hands, leaving me to shut the door and turn the locks. I set my purse down on the over-stuffed chair in the corner and allow my eyes to roam over the rest of his apartment. I have to admit that the man has great taste in décor, and well, women.
His wood floors are polished to an almost blinding shine, and a simple Oriental rug lies in the middle of his living room, lending a refined touch to the rest of the apartment. I run my hand along the back of his plush couch and smile as I think of our lovemaking the night before. It's long enough to accommodate my legs, and wide enough to fit both our frames. It was an interesting experience to say the least.
I notice he has the TV set to C-Span and I wince slightly at the visuals of the fire sweeping cross Yellowstone. He's been obsessive about this for the past week and I wonder if I should be more concerned about it myself. I walk over and turn the TV off, powering the stereo up instead. I wait until UB40 begins singing about Red, Red wine before making my way into the kitchen.
"CJ, this isn't fresh Mex," Sam says, eyeing me in disapproval.
"No, Sam. This is actually real Mexican food with, get this, grease. You'll love it," I reply as I move to his cabinet to take out two plates.
"This isn't healthy."
"No, but you go to the gym like every single day. I'm sure one chicken burrito isn't going to kill you."
He rolls his eyes at me, but accepts the plates from my hand. I squeeze past him, trailing my fingers across his lower back as I rifle through the silverware drawer. I stop suddenly as the domesticity of the scene strikes me. I know where he keeps everything; his wineglasses and fine china, his forks, knives and spoons, his coffee mugs and Tupperware. What the hell am I doing?
"What is it?"
I turn around to find him regarding me curiously. "Um, nothing."
"CJ, what is it?"
"Nothing, nothing. I just, uh, remembered something I forgot at the office."
"What?"
"It's not important. Come on and let's eat. I'm starving."
He smiles at me indulgently, but his eyes look so incredibly weary that it takes all I have not to drag him off to bed to heal him the only way I know how. As soon as we're seated at the table, I arch my eyebrow and lean forward.
"So, I didn't know you could speak Spanish."
"I minored in it," he replies almost absently as he rubs his fingers across his forehead.
I'm learning more about Sam every day, and I don't know whether to be frightened or delighted. "You know, Spanish is an excellent language with which to woo."
"Woo?"
"Oh shut up, and speak to me en espanol."
He looks into my eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "Maybe later."
"You're no fun, you know that?" He doesn't answer and I reach across the table to place my hand over his.
"You know, Sam, I don't think Connie meant to undermine you--"
"Like hell. She knew what she was doing."
"No, I really don't think she did."
"She didn't ask to speak to me outside the room, CJ. You weren't there...she just, she just cut in when I told her to stay out of my way."
"I hope you said it nicer than that."
"No, I said it exactly like that."
"Oh, Sam," I sigh as I pull my hand away. "They're here to help, you know? It's not their fault that..." I trail off because I don't feel the need to continue.
But obviously Sam does. "What? That the President lied, and now we might be indicted so we can't run our own damn campaign?"
"Yeah." I wait for him to calm down and then smile. "The reason I don't think Connie intentionally set out to undermine you is because she has a crush on you."
His eyes blaze angrily and I wonder if I've crossed the line with my teasing. "Will you please stop with the Connie shit?"
He pushes his chair away from the table roughly and stands up to pace the kitchen. He really has no idea how hot he's making me right now. His hair is a bit disheveled and his eyes are several shades darker than normal. And don't get me started on the light flush across his cheeks and neck. I stand up too and approach him cautiously.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I was only--"
"No, I'm sorry," he interrupts as he takes one of my hands, running a finger gently across my knuckles. "I'm not angry at you, I'm just..."
"Angry at the situation," I finish softly for him.
"Yeah," he agrees as he suddenly pulls me towards his body. "Let's dance," he whispers.
I tighten my arms around his waist as we sway slowly in his kitchen. I don't mind my height so much when he buries his face against my neck and inhales deeply. I feel his smile against my skin and gasp at the feather-light kisses he showers across my bare shoulder. "You smell so good."
I gently stroke his back and place my lips at his temple. "I still maintain that Connie has an itch for you."
"Well, as long as we're talking about crushes, what about Bruno?" he asks as he pulls away slightly.
"What about him?"
"Oh come on, CJ. You have a great body?"
"He was just stating the obvious...and how did you hear about that?"
"Doesn't matter, but that comment was out of place. What if a reporter had over-heard? There'd be stories about torrid affairs in the White House, and--"
I laugh incredulously at his expression and caress the side of his face. "You're jealous!"
He opens his mouth to protest and then sighs. "I am, in fact, jealous." I laugh again and he pinches me lightly in the side. "This is the part where you tell me I have nothing to be afraid of."
I sober immediately and capture his lips for a moment. "Oh, Sam. I promise you never have to worry about Bruno Gianelli. Now, Lord John Marbury on the other hand..."
He grins and shrugs his shoulders. "I can't compete with a perpetually inebriated Englishman."
"He's eccentric," I correct as I trace his lips with my finger.
"Riiiiiight. Now, can I go eat before that gut bomb gets cold?"
"You're the one who wanted to dance Mr. Astaire."
"Details," he mutters as he sits down at the table again, eyeing his half-eaten burrito warily.
+++++
"So, I brought you a happy," I say suddenly as he sits heavily on the couch after the dishes have been washed.
"A happy?"
"Yeah, you know, a present?"
"Is it a life-size cardboard cut-out of Angelina Jolie?"
"If you want to get laid tonight, I suggest you refrain from mentioning other women in my presence."
"This is me, shutting up," he says seriously as he meets my gaze.
"Good, now..." I open my purse and pull out the Carolina Blue hat I ordered on-line. "I thought you might like something to go along with your Duke pennant," I say as I toss the cap towards him.
He narrows his eyes as he throws the hat to the ground. "CJ, this is a UNC cap. This is the Tarheels."
"I know," I smile sweetly as I sit beside him. "I just thought you might like to own something from a team that doesn't, you know, suck."
"Don't diss the Blue Devils," he says petulantly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Bobby Hurley, Grant Hill, and Christian Laettner, any of those names ring a bell? Not to mention Mike Krzyzewski, arguably the best coach in the history of the NCAA. You want to talk defense?"
"No, I'd rather talk offense," I whisper as I pull his earlobe between my teeth. I smile as he shivers and threads his fingers through my hair.
"CJ?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do you know even one player from UNC?"
"No."
"Then why--"
"You get all puffed up when you talk about Duke," I say simply as I gently flit my tongue out to lick a spot just below his ear. "I remember all those stupid debates you and Leo got into during the campaign. Who cares about hockey?"
"Basketball, CJ. It's basketball," he corrects, just before he moans in pleasure.
"I know, I'm joking when I do this."
"Oh God, I hope not," he breathes as he pulls my face to his, covering my parted lips with his own.
His tongue darts into my mouth to tangle erotically with mine. I get lost in the sensation of taste and texture and pull away breathlessly as he starts moving his hands beneath my blouse. His eyes are clouded with desire and I smile as his movements still at my back.
"Josh told me, you know."
"Told you what?" he asks in frustration as he leans forward and tries to silence me with a kiss.
"He told me you wanted to be a fireman when you were little."
"Well, it's better than a ballerina, isn't it?"
I cock my head to the side and pretend to mull it over. "Well, dancers are quite flexible, you know."
He stares at me for a moment before quickly jumping to his feet. "Oh yeah? Could a ballerina do this?"
And before I can contemplate what `this' is, he throws my arm around his neck and hauls me over his shoulder. I squeal--yes squeal--in surprise and delight as he carries me off to the bedroom effortlessly.
++++++
His chest rises and falls gently under my head and I listen intently to the sound of his beating heart. I idly trace a pattern on his rippled abdomen with my fingertip and prepare to pull myself from his embrace. I have to orchestrate my movements carefully, but I've been sneaking out of beds before morning long enough to know exactly how to control my limbs. Sam stirs slightly as I sit on the edge of the bed, but his breathing indicates sleep and I relax a little. I try to locate my clothes in the darkness, but don't recognize anything from my vantagepoint. And then suddenly his arms are around my waist and he pulls me back to rest beside him on the large bed so that he's spooned against my back.
"I thought you were asleep," I whisper even though there's no one to disturb.
"I know. You always leave after I've fallen asleep." His voice isn't accusatory, merely accepting.
"I have to get home. All my clothes--"
"You could start keeping some things here. There's plenty of room." I stiffen beside him and hope he doesn't notice. But when he pulls me closer and places a hand almost possessively on the curve of my hip, I know my wish was in vain. "I'm not asking you to move in, CJ. I'm just suggesting you keep some things here so you don't have to go sneaking off in the middle of the night."
"I don't sneak off."
He sighs against my neck and presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. "Sam, I have to get home."
He tightens his arm across my chest in response. "Quiero despertarse al lado de tu."
"What?"
"You wanted me to woo you in Spanish," he explains calmly. "I said I want to wake up beside you."
I smile despite myself and turn to face him. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," I admit honestly.
"So you'll stay?"
"No, I have to go."
He must hear the hard finality in my voice because he loosens his grip and allows me to stand up. I find my skirt thrown across his dresser and begin to zip it up when he clears his throat.
"Why don't we ever meet at your apartment?"
His question throws me off guard and I stutter a bit. "Um...what?"
"Why don't we ever meet at your apartment?" he repeats slowly, sitting up to lean against the headboard.
"Do we have to have this conversation now?" I ask impatiently as I pull my blouse on.
"Yes."
"Well, it's um, it's because of my cat, Sam. You're allergic."
"You don't have a cat," he says angrily.
"I can get one. I'll name him Fluffy," I reply cheekily, but I know he's not amused because fury rolls off him in waves.
"Don't get cute with me, CJ. Answer the question."
"What was the question again?"
"Why do we only fuck at my place?"
"Sam!"
"What?"
"You make it sound so ugly," I reply softly as I walk to the side of the bed. "Were you lying to me, Sam?"
"Lying to you about what?" he asks morosely, although some of the anger is gone from his voice.
"I told you that this could never be what you wanted it to be. I told you I could only offer you my body and nothing else."
"I know."
"So why are you pushing for more? If you can't handle this, and I wouldn't blame you, Sam, then you need to tell me. Because I don't want you to start to hate me,"
He reaches for my hand and gently kisses my palm. "I could never hate you."
I stroke the side of his face and shake my head. "I don't think this is going to work."
"Yes it is," he disagrees as he places his hand over mine. "I'm sorry about pressuring you...it's just, I want--"
"You want a normal relationship, and I can't give that to you."
"I don't want a normal relationship. I want you. And if this is the only way I can have you, then I can deal with it."
"You deserve more, Sam," I say sadly.
But I know I'll be in his arms again tomorrow night because I don't have the resolve to walk away when he looks at me like that. A mixture of desire and apology. He pulls me down to the bed again and sweeps several strands of hair away from my face. He leans forward and places a kiss, almost chaste in its brevity, against my lips.
"No demands, no questions...I just want you."
His voice is so earnest and sincere that I allow him to undress me again.
-fin-
++++++++
All of my senses overthrown
By the might of your skin
And the lamplight
on your cheek bone
Drawing me further in
No sentence I can speak
For the wonder so unique
Breaking like a wave
upon the shore
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened the door
See how the sky is
made of sapphire
The colours flowing
through our hands
The moon is fire in your hair
A million miles beyond
what science understands
Smell that mountain heather
I don't remember ever
Feeling like this before
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened the door
If every windowpane
should shatter
If every wall should fall apart
Well it might hurt a bit,
but would it matter
With this jewel in my heart
No need to nail it to the ground
No need to smother it with sense
Just listen to the rhythm of
your heart that pounds
And trust it all to chance
Cos we're standing face to face
With the angel of grace
Don't it just taste so pure
Mercy me, I'm falling free
Since you opened the door
--Falling Free, David Gray--