Author's notes: To my Dani, and to my Aiah and to my... let's call her the freakin' flame under my ass forcing me back on the "holy path" that of West Wing fan fiction. I'm sorry about my little trip into the world of CSI, but it's become a permanent residence now.
This time...
This time it wasn't scotch. It wasn't scotch or bourbon or vodka.
On this particular instance, it was Dom Perringnon, and the taste of it made her cringe because it reminded her of what it must have cost.
He had requested the bottle very suddenly, after canceling her whiskey sour. He'd ordered it so suddenly that it was a few moments before she processed what it was he had requested.
"Isn't that a little much?" She was surprised at how indignant her voice sounded, but he brushed it off.
"No." He said, uninterested, and puffed on his cigar.
She thought back for a moment and tried to recall a time when the two of them were out publicly and he wasn't drinking. She couldn't recall one, and instead of being worried, she chose to be flippant and plaster a self-deprecating grin on her face.
Leaning back in the comfortable lounge chair, she inhaled deeply smelling the acrid scent of the expensive tobacco filling her lungs along with the bittersweet oxygen. It was all Toby, it was all of him. The haze, the scent, the allure and the mystery.
Part of her wanted to cough, to sputter, part longed to reach across the table the put the offending object between her lips, just so she could catalogue the shade that his eyes would inevitably color.
He continued to stare off into space, thinking about the exquisite cut of her dress and the way it clung to her body the way that he longed to. Smoothly, quietly, seductively. But most of all, closely, hugging her warm skin and accentuating several of her best qualities.
Rings of smoke puffed out just as the champagne arrived and was poured into delicate flutes. CJ watched as the dollars were poured into the crystal, and she longed to take the glass and smash it against the lounge fireplace. She longed to scream at him, to tell him that this didn't impress her. But just as quickly as she thought it, she realized that he hadn't ordered the wine to impress her. It was to please her.
He had wanted to please her.
At that, she was sure that he would want to say a few words, make a toast, mark the occasion, as that was what he was good at. Making words. Beautiful eloquent words for another's mouth, like a Cyrano lost amongst the dust. But he made no move to reach for his glass, so she didn't either. Instead, they sat there in fixed silence, pretending not to be thinking about the other.
Her lengthy fingers reached out to toy with the bottom of the flute, hoping to draw his attention to their untouched drinks.
Back and forth, they worked methodically, dragging the crystal against the dark wood... it was the way her words moved. The way she chose to move. He found himself transfixed for a moment, but then was reminded of the champagne, of the color of her eyes.
He put down his cigar slowly, flicking the ashes off of the tip before he allowed the ashtray to cradle it. His stubby finger reached out to touch his glass hesitantly. The speechwriter battled with the words he wished to speak.
"To nuances." He said, meeting her eyes, wondering if the alcohol would make them swim.
For a moment, she squinted, questioning his choice of words, and the twitch of his lips as he said them...
But she clinked her glass with his none-the-less.
He wanted to linger on her lips when she sipped from her glass, like the expensive crystal did. He wanted to be the one wearing her lipstick like a badge, like a beautiful scar, that he could discuss at length, recounting every detail of how he received the blow.
She noticed the darker shade of his cheeks and she raised an eyebrow, sipping the champagne and letting it roll slowly down her throat. It had been some time since she had tasted something quite as exquisite as she was consuming then, and she had half a mind to savor it for as long as she could. Another part of her wanted to be wasteful with it, chug it down and get to the real heart of the matter.
She felt lovely and warm and relaxed after two glasses, while Toby, on the other hand, looked frustrated and tired. He continued to suck in acrid smoke and puff it out, not saying a word, his eyes fixed on his companion. CJ knew better than to press the matter, he would speak in his own time.
"This can't keep happening CJ." Toby said quickly, whipping his head away, staring behind him, eyeing the people. His fiery eyes caught on the fire in the fireplace and held it. When he looked back to CJ, she was augmented by the bright spots his staring had caused.
"Excuse me?"
"This, this can't keep happening. I just can't keep going on like this. You take me here, you pull me there. I'm all over the map CJ. I don't know where I stand. I can't, it's too... this can't go on the way it is."
CJ's back straightened and she took on a defensive pose. Crossing her legs stiffly, she placed her hands delicately over her stocking clad knees. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and she tossed her hair lightly over her right shoulder. "What way would that be?" Finally, she reached over and plucked the cigar out of his hand, puffing it slowly, watching the color drain from his cheeks.
She looked down at the glowing tip, and thought of shoving it into him. She wanted to hear him scream... again Scream like he did the night before, in her bed. She licked her lips again.
Toby felt enraged, as if the fire had leapt into his lungs and was trying to turn his body into an inferno. The only way he knew in which to relieve himself of the heat. He used his words.
"I'm tired of being your... I'm tired of being at your beck and call. I'm tired of... feeling everything while you feel nothing. I'm sick of wanting to be with you, but having to wait for you to-to call me at three in the morning, wanting me in your bed. I'm sick and tired of having that be the only place I'm allowed to reside in CJ. I can't just fuck you anymore CJ."
Her lips twitched and she too looked away. Her eyes focused on the fire behind Toby, and she felt the heat well up inside of her as well.
It was pointless to fight it any longer. Her fear wasn't a rational one.
And the bottle was forgotten when she slipped her hand into his and squeezed. "Okay."
He was lost in the fire of her eyes, and she in his.