~Intimate Gesture~
Disclaimer: Belongs to NBC, WB and John Wells. Aaron Sorkin's genius created them. I've got nothing, but a fetish.
Pairing: L/M with a side of Jordan
Rating: PG
Summary: She was never supposed to see it.
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She was never supposed to see it. It was a just a moment. A moment that no one was ever supposed to see, but there she was watching the moment.
The intimate gesture.
He had stepped into his assistant's office, needing to discuss an appointment or some such thing before they left for dinner. She was waiting for him, rather impatiently. When she moved to the door to see what was keeping him, she saw it.
The intimate gesture.
There must have been something on her face as she looked up at him, probably some of the dinner she was eating at her desk, because with a smirk he wiped it from her cheek. The thing was he didn't just wipe it from her face. He carefully cupped her chin with his left hand, and with his right hand used her napkin to gently wipe the smudge from her cheek just near her upper lip. His hand lingered on her chin as he gently scolded her for eating too fast.
The intimate gesture.
Her long, elegant fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand away from her face, but lingered at his pulse point. Dripping with laughter, she reminded him that it was her job to keep the nutritional level of the office in place.
The intimate gesture.
His fingers idly tugged down her own, till they were loosely linked. Holding her hand, he reminder that he was having dinner with the woman in his office, but asked if she would still be there when he got back. She smiled and nodded.
The intimate gesture.
Even as he walked back, his fingers slipped against hers, leaving a warm sensation that he had never felt nor left against the other woman's skin.
The intimate gesture.
He guided her stiffly from his office. His hand cool on the middle of her back.
A distant gesture.