Just For Themselves by MelWil
Category - CJ/Toby
Rating - I think PG-13
Summary - CJ and Toby run out of words
Archive - Just let me know where
Disclaimer - They are merely dancers in my choreography
Feedback - Yes please! To lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Author's Note - Thanks to Mirilil for beta-age.

*If not now, then when? *

The day had been long and they hadn't spoken as they had walked away from the West Wing. All day they had played with words, manipulated them, thrown them forward and back at each other, at the other people they worked with, at the people of the country. They had twisted them, made them more palatable, and lain them out in their traditional beauty. But tonight they had spent all their words, exhausted their vocabularies.
Instead they communicated with looks. They were able to read the tiredness in each other, but also the wishes, the longing for something totally selfish, something just for themselves. They could see how much they wanted each other, how they had needed each other for as long as either of them could remember. And if they didn't act of these feelings now, then when would they?
When they got outside he inclined his head towards his own car. She nodded, that would make sense. His place was closer, if they had decided to go to her place, decided to go further, it would seem as if they were making an actual effort. This was something that just needed to happen, without plans, without the slightest thought to the possible repercussions.
They stumbled over his doorway. A curious onlooker may have concluded that they were drunk, the tall woman in her neat business clothes that would have been too conservative if not for the low cut blouse. She was hanging onto the arm of the man, a balding serious man who had discarded his tie before they had reached their destination. They were nothing remarkable at first sight, to the unsuspicious mind. They could have been anyone.
He waited until the door had closed behind them before he kissed her. She closed her eyes as his lips lightly touched her face, her neck, her arms. Carefully he removed her jacket, feeling her warmth through her light blouse. Less gently, she removed his jacket. As he put a hand on each of her shoulders, she could feel goosebumps fill the expanse of her skin.
"Is it okay?" He whispered.
It was the first words either of them had spoken since work had finished. They were such simple words, but they were pleasant to listen to, like a reminder of older times, of when they were younger, when they hadn't known each other so well.
She didn't speak. She didn't nod. Instead she gave him a little smile. Slowly he took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom. As they shed their clothing, they silently appreciated the sensuality of each other. They ran their hands over each other, they enjoyed one another. It was what they needed.
And when they lay next to each other the words finally flowed. As he propped himself on his side and ran his fingers over her torso, they told stories of their childhood, secrets that had been so important in their youth, tales about families and old friends and dreams and theories.
And when they has run out of words, when they had nothing more to say to each other, they both got dressed. Then he drove her back to her car and said goodbye with his sad, intense eyes. Then they drove home alone.

 

 

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