Title: Where Solitude Expands (1/1)
Author: Jess (fauquita@hotmail.com)
Rating: Strong R
Category: CJ/Sam, CJ/Will, post-ep Angel Maintenance
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: She drinks cheap wine from a paper cup, which surprises him more than the fact that she'd called him 'Sam' when he entered her slick body hours earlier.
Thanks: Joanna, Lisa, Sidalicious, needless to say, you rock.
***
She drinks cheap wine from a paper cup, which surprises him more than the fact that she'd called him 'Sam' when he entered her slick body hours earlier. She seems above it, above him, and he watches her without bothering to hide it, smiling when she meets his gaze and doesn't blush. She passes the cup, a faint trace of lipstick on the rim, the rest on his neck, and mouth, and stomach. Their fingers touch and he imagines a spark passing between her flesh and his. If she feels it, or imagines it as he has, there's no sign of it on her face. But then, there wouldn't be, he thinks, because she is adept at hiding what she doesn't want the world to know.
He swallows the last of the too-sweet wine, places the empty cup on the nightstand beside his glasses and brings her mouth to his for another drugging kiss. He doesn't know what makes him so bold, but he suspects it has something to do with the way CJ is trailing her fingers along his stomach. She laughs into his mouth, nibbles playfully on his lower lip, and sighs when he breaks away.
He studies her hooded eyes, the high plane of her cheekbones, the bow of her top lip, the line of her jaw, and then traces her features with his hands like a blind man. He wants to commit her to memory, thinks maybe the exercise is unnecessary because he could never forget CJ, could never forget *this* while the taste of her still lingers on his tongue.
The phone rings shrilly, unapologetically, and Will glances at the clock. A strange possessiveness settles in the pit of his belly as he wonders who'd be calling at three in the morning. She reaches past him to the cordless, checks the caller i.d. and then sitting on the edge of the bed, turns her naked back towards Will.
"Hi," she answers softly. There is a pause, a long and painful pause during which Will counts the knobs of her vertebrae. When he gets to six, she sighs and walks to the other side of the room. "No, I couldn't sleep. I tried calling you from the plane, but—"
She shuts the bathroom door behind her and the rest of the conversation is lost in a rush of water from the sink. He sighs, for no one's benefit but his own, and tosses a pillow across the room with slightly more force than is necessary. He doesn't know what he's doing here, doesn't know what convinced him that sleeping with a coworker was a good idea.
He sits up, puts his glasses on and reflects on how much he'd like to hit Sam. He'd been told about Toby's temper, Josh's quasi-hysterical rants and the President's inane trivia. But Sam had never mentioned CJ. He should've been warned, he thinks, should've been told about the way her sad eyes could draw a man in.
He dresses slowly, thinks about the few hours prior when he was throwing up in the lavatory on Air Force 1, and the drinks afterwards with CJ at Scandals. To say they were drunk when they decided to come back to CJ's apartment would be an exaggeration. They'd had two drinks apiece, and he wonders now how the words in his mouth had come to be replaced by CJ's tongue.
It's not that he hasn't imagined it before, she's been in every fantasy he's had since meeting her in the hallway. But this suddenly seems much too tawdry, and if he knows anything he knows that she's too classy for this sort of thing, but then again, maybe it fits. He isn't sure of anything when it comes to her, now.
He tucks in the tails of his shirt, uncertain as to why he's taking so much care with his appearance when he's just going back to his hotel to sleep for two or three hours. The door to the bathroom finally opens, and she stands there in the short robe staring at him. It suddenly strikes him that she is the most tragic figure he's ever known, all hollowed cheeks and dark circles under eyes.
"I thought you'd be gone by now," she says as she walks past him to place the phone back on the nightstand. She gives nothing away in her tone or posture, and he's lost. She looks into his eyes, softens a bit, "Not that I wanted you gone, or anything, but, well, you know."
"I wasn't sure, I mean, I don't usually do this sort of thing." He hates that he sounds so superior, but it's too late to take it back now, and anyway, he's not sure he would because he's angry. He feels cheated, and used, and helpless to stop it. "Is that how it was with Sam?"
"What has Sam got to do with any of this?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know, CJ, but when you called me by his name earlier, I just assumed that maybe there was a story there," he returns sarcastically.
She brings a hand up to cover her mouth and he sees the apology in her eyes. "Oh God, Will. I'm so sorry."
He relents immediately, sits on the edge of the bed and waits for an explanation. CJ studies him for a few beats, and then joins him on the mattress. "It was after Rosslyn, I mean, the first time. I don't think we ever thought about each other in that manner until after we found out that Josh was going to be all right. It wasn't calculated, it was a celebration of life." She snorts self-deprecatingly and arches an eyebrow. "Sounds pretty corny, doesn't it?"
"Not really," he says because he can imagine how it was, the days after the assassination attempt.
"We didn't have a relationship, not in any real sense of the term. There were dinners, and nights, and sometimes breakfasts, but they were sporadic, unpredictable. Sometimes I'd show up at his door, sometimes he'd be at mine. It wasn't just about the sex; there was a connection. We certainly loved each other, I think, but we just didn't have enough time or energy to put into anything lasting."
She falls silent, and he takes her hand because she suddenly seems so lonely. She smiles at him, stretches out her legs and leans against him. "Things finally ended after Simon. I just couldn't stand to be touched, didn't want anyone near me." She laughs. "I just thought of something…I mean Sam and I started with a bang, and we ended with one."
She laughs some more, but he can tell she doesn't really think it's funny because there are tears in her eyes. "I think I'm destined to die alone. Do you know what that feels like?"
"Yeah, I do," he says emphatically because he wants her to know that there is more hurt in the world than her own.
She rests her head against his shoulder and squeezes his hand. "I know."
"I probably don't want to know the answer to this, but why did you invite me back here tonight? I mean, is it because you spotted a fellow member of the Lonely Hearts club, or did you just find my charm and wit irresistible."
She snorts, pulls back and pushes a strand of hair off his forehead. "You're not going to like my answer," she warns.
He swallows hard. "I'll take it like a man, I promise, just as long as you don't tell me this was some ruse to get Elsie into bed eventually."
She throws her head back to laugh, and he's amazed that he can actually say anything this woman would find funny. She makes him feel invincible. When she finally sobers, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
"You remind me of Sam," she says honestly. "Well, you remind me of Sam during the first year of the administration. When he was sleeping with call girls and trying to save people from themselves. You're…you're just good."
"I'm not quite sure how to take that," he responds, smirking slightly. He doesn't want to remind her of Sam, he wants her to realize the scent branded into her skin is his. As if sensing his thoughts, she brings his mouth down for a few shallow kisses.
"I know you're not Sam, and I don't want you to be. I guess I'm drawn to you because there's something about you that's so inherently pure, innocent even. Sam had this wide-eye idealism, this way of looking at the world that amazed me sometimes. I see it in you, too. I don't know how else to put it into words. I can't really explain."
"I don't think I want you to," he admits.
"I'm sorry, Will. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." And he does, because all he can see in her eyes is regret and something bordering on affection. "But this can't happen again."
And he hates this, whatever this is, but he knows that if he's ever going to make a stand, it has to be now and damn the consequences. It doesn't matter that his fingers burn to touch the skin beneath her robe because there's this other man between them and Will knows more than anything that he's a poor substitute.
"I understand," she says softly.
And she does, because there isn't a hint of surprise on her face. She's been expecting this, has been waiting for the moment of understanding since before they undressed each other with careless haste. He thinks maybe she's been through this before, and it kills him, but he wants to know whom else she's mistaken for Sam. In the end, it doesn't matter, and he's wise enough to realize it.
He gently disengages their hands, pulls on his blazer. "You deserve more, CJ. And so do I."
Before she can think of a response, he's gone, leaving behind only a faint trace of spicy aftershave. On the street, he imagines he can still feel the imprint of her body on his, the gentle path of her hands across his chest, the harsh, labored breathing against his ear. She's still with him, and he's never felt more alone.
~Fin~
Author: Jess (fauquita@hotmail.com)
Rating: Strong R
Category: CJ/Sam, CJ/Will, post-ep Angel Maintenance
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: She drinks cheap wine from a paper cup, which surprises him more than the fact that she'd called him 'Sam' when he entered her slick body hours earlier.
Thanks: Joanna, Lisa, Sidalicious, needless to say, you rock.
***
She drinks cheap wine from a paper cup, which surprises him more than the fact that she'd called him 'Sam' when he entered her slick body hours earlier. She seems above it, above him, and he watches her without bothering to hide it, smiling when she meets his gaze and doesn't blush. She passes the cup, a faint trace of lipstick on the rim, the rest on his neck, and mouth, and stomach. Their fingers touch and he imagines a spark passing between her flesh and his. If she feels it, or imagines it as he has, there's no sign of it on her face. But then, there wouldn't be, he thinks, because she is adept at hiding what she doesn't want the world to know.
He swallows the last of the too-sweet wine, places the empty cup on the nightstand beside his glasses and brings her mouth to his for another drugging kiss. He doesn't know what makes him so bold, but he suspects it has something to do with the way CJ is trailing her fingers along his stomach. She laughs into his mouth, nibbles playfully on his lower lip, and sighs when he breaks away.
He studies her hooded eyes, the high plane of her cheekbones, the bow of her top lip, the line of her jaw, and then traces her features with his hands like a blind man. He wants to commit her to memory, thinks maybe the exercise is unnecessary because he could never forget CJ, could never forget *this* while the taste of her still lingers on his tongue.
The phone rings shrilly, unapologetically, and Will glances at the clock. A strange possessiveness settles in the pit of his belly as he wonders who'd be calling at three in the morning. She reaches past him to the cordless, checks the caller i.d. and then sitting on the edge of the bed, turns her naked back towards Will.
"Hi," she answers softly. There is a pause, a long and painful pause during which Will counts the knobs of her vertebrae. When he gets to six, she sighs and walks to the other side of the room. "No, I couldn't sleep. I tried calling you from the plane, but—"
She shuts the bathroom door behind her and the rest of the conversation is lost in a rush of water from the sink. He sighs, for no one's benefit but his own, and tosses a pillow across the room with slightly more force than is necessary. He doesn't know what he's doing here, doesn't know what convinced him that sleeping with a coworker was a good idea.
He sits up, puts his glasses on and reflects on how much he'd like to hit Sam. He'd been told about Toby's temper, Josh's quasi-hysterical rants and the President's inane trivia. But Sam had never mentioned CJ. He should've been warned, he thinks, should've been told about the way her sad eyes could draw a man in.
He dresses slowly, thinks about the few hours prior when he was throwing up in the lavatory on Air Force 1, and the drinks afterwards with CJ at Scandals. To say they were drunk when they decided to come back to CJ's apartment would be an exaggeration. They'd had two drinks apiece, and he wonders now how the words in his mouth had come to be replaced by CJ's tongue.
It's not that he hasn't imagined it before, she's been in every fantasy he's had since meeting her in the hallway. But this suddenly seems much too tawdry, and if he knows anything he knows that she's too classy for this sort of thing, but then again, maybe it fits. He isn't sure of anything when it comes to her, now.
He tucks in the tails of his shirt, uncertain as to why he's taking so much care with his appearance when he's just going back to his hotel to sleep for two or three hours. The door to the bathroom finally opens, and she stands there in the short robe staring at him. It suddenly strikes him that she is the most tragic figure he's ever known, all hollowed cheeks and dark circles under eyes.
"I thought you'd be gone by now," she says as she walks past him to place the phone back on the nightstand. She gives nothing away in her tone or posture, and he's lost. She looks into his eyes, softens a bit, "Not that I wanted you gone, or anything, but, well, you know."
"I wasn't sure, I mean, I don't usually do this sort of thing." He hates that he sounds so superior, but it's too late to take it back now, and anyway, he's not sure he would because he's angry. He feels cheated, and used, and helpless to stop it. "Is that how it was with Sam?"
"What has Sam got to do with any of this?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know, CJ, but when you called me by his name earlier, I just assumed that maybe there was a story there," he returns sarcastically.
She brings a hand up to cover her mouth and he sees the apology in her eyes. "Oh God, Will. I'm so sorry."
He relents immediately, sits on the edge of the bed and waits for an explanation. CJ studies him for a few beats, and then joins him on the mattress. "It was after Rosslyn, I mean, the first time. I don't think we ever thought about each other in that manner until after we found out that Josh was going to be all right. It wasn't calculated, it was a celebration of life." She snorts self-deprecatingly and arches an eyebrow. "Sounds pretty corny, doesn't it?"
"Not really," he says because he can imagine how it was, the days after the assassination attempt.
"We didn't have a relationship, not in any real sense of the term. There were dinners, and nights, and sometimes breakfasts, but they were sporadic, unpredictable. Sometimes I'd show up at his door, sometimes he'd be at mine. It wasn't just about the sex; there was a connection. We certainly loved each other, I think, but we just didn't have enough time or energy to put into anything lasting."
She falls silent, and he takes her hand because she suddenly seems so lonely. She smiles at him, stretches out her legs and leans against him. "Things finally ended after Simon. I just couldn't stand to be touched, didn't want anyone near me." She laughs. "I just thought of something…I mean Sam and I started with a bang, and we ended with one."
She laughs some more, but he can tell she doesn't really think it's funny because there are tears in her eyes. "I think I'm destined to die alone. Do you know what that feels like?"
"Yeah, I do," he says emphatically because he wants her to know that there is more hurt in the world than her own.
She rests her head against his shoulder and squeezes his hand. "I know."
"I probably don't want to know the answer to this, but why did you invite me back here tonight? I mean, is it because you spotted a fellow member of the Lonely Hearts club, or did you just find my charm and wit irresistible."
She snorts, pulls back and pushes a strand of hair off his forehead. "You're not going to like my answer," she warns.
He swallows hard. "I'll take it like a man, I promise, just as long as you don't tell me this was some ruse to get Elsie into bed eventually."
She throws her head back to laugh, and he's amazed that he can actually say anything this woman would find funny. She makes him feel invincible. When she finally sobers, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
"You remind me of Sam," she says honestly. "Well, you remind me of Sam during the first year of the administration. When he was sleeping with call girls and trying to save people from themselves. You're…you're just good."
"I'm not quite sure how to take that," he responds, smirking slightly. He doesn't want to remind her of Sam, he wants her to realize the scent branded into her skin is his. As if sensing his thoughts, she brings his mouth down for a few shallow kisses.
"I know you're not Sam, and I don't want you to be. I guess I'm drawn to you because there's something about you that's so inherently pure, innocent even. Sam had this wide-eye idealism, this way of looking at the world that amazed me sometimes. I see it in you, too. I don't know how else to put it into words. I can't really explain."
"I don't think I want you to," he admits.
"I'm sorry, Will. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." And he does, because all he can see in her eyes is regret and something bordering on affection. "But this can't happen again."
And he hates this, whatever this is, but he knows that if he's ever going to make a stand, it has to be now and damn the consequences. It doesn't matter that his fingers burn to touch the skin beneath her robe because there's this other man between them and Will knows more than anything that he's a poor substitute.
"I understand," she says softly.
And she does, because there isn't a hint of surprise on her face. She's been expecting this, has been waiting for the moment of understanding since before they undressed each other with careless haste. He thinks maybe she's been through this before, and it kills him, but he wants to know whom else she's mistaken for Sam. In the end, it doesn't matter, and he's wise enough to realize it.
He gently disengages their hands, pulls on his blazer. "You deserve more, CJ. And so do I."
Before she can think of a response, he's gone, leaving behind only a faint trace of spicy aftershave. On the street, he imagines he can still feel the imprint of her body on his, the gentle path of her hands across his chest, the harsh, labored breathing against his ear. She's still with him, and he's never felt more alone.
~Fin~