Fic - Toby/Ann - I And This Mystery Here We Stand
Title: I And This Mystery Here We Stand
Author: Maeve
Rating: arr
Pairing: Toby/Ann Stark
Spoilers: The Leadership Breakfast (minor)
Disclaimer: Toby and Ann belong to someone else.
Summary/Notes/Warnings:
The title is from Whitman, Song of Myself.
This would take place after Bartlet is re-elected.
It’s a cold hand on his back. And he marks the memory of her hands, colder than Andrea’s, starker than Claudia Jean’s. He recognizes the taper of her fingers as she curls his back, trapping him to the bar. There’s the scent of cold cold water that he’s always matched with her.
"You started early."
His answer is in the last swallow of Bourbon in a heavy lipped glass.
His answer is all he swallows.
"Ann." Sometimes he feels like if he says her name enough he’ll circle back to liking (loving) her. Did he ever really love her? He loved her in the way anyone could love a lioness.
She’s on the bar stool beside him, eyes appraising him, "You haven’t called in awhile."
Her finger is tracing his ear and he breathes, heavy like there’s ice forming the shape of his lungs.
"I haven’t needed to feel inferior." he finally tips her a grin, sarcasm saturated. Toby expects the laughter she gives him as she waves to the bartender.
Her eyes are stained dark when she looks at him again, almost malicious, "If that’s all you wanted, I could have done it over the phone."
He watches her order a Bourbon, knowing it’s only for his sake.
******
She’s taking off his shirt, eyes fixed on his face. It makes him close his eyes, embarrassed at the way she watches him. Embarrassed that she can fuck him dry sober in a hotel room but he has to be somewhere between tipsy and lost before he lets her touch him.
"You’re still pissed at me Toby." her hands are on his belt now. "Get over it. You won, I lost."
He opens his eyes, telling himself that he can break again, "You made me question our relationship."
Her hands, cold hands, slide into his pants, past layers of fabric. Toby lets his clothes go, sinking against her iced skin. He runs his hands on her arms, trying to warm her as she strokes along his length, his thighs, his ass.
This is where they always end up.
"This is our relationship."
And by that, she means they have no relationship.
******
They decide, silently, that they’ll try to hurt each other as quickly as possible. Because they can’t spend more than a night in bed. Because they think they’re enemies. They’ve got their weapons of wit and sarcasm. Harsh whispers, scraping nails, and sinking teeth.
He pushes her beneath his hips and for once he’s got the upper hand.
But he knows it’s only because she lets him have it.
******
She reminds him that, really, he doesn’t mean that much to her.
It’s written in the way she curls away from him afterward.
Her hair falls against her pillow and there’s a strand of it on his tongue.
******
"Congratulations by the way." his tone is a shadow between them.
Ann pulls her hair from the collar of her coat, "For what?"
"Your new job." he’s not looking at her, but watching the young blond girl make a machiatto.
There’s amusement in the corners of her smile, "It’s the same job I had."
Toby shrugs a peace offering, "Different boss."
There’s a forgiveness in her glance, "And you still haven’t sent me flowers for the first time."
They smile, side by side, at the counter of the coffee shop. Toby watches her shake a packet of sugar as she leans over the counter, studying the color and consistency of her coffee. She used to drink it black. He wonders if she’s softening, sweetening. He shifts his arm to take his own cup and winces from the dig marks in his back.
He doesn’t wonder whether or not she’s changed anymore (she hasn’t).
He just questions whether or not he’ll ever be able to figure her out (he won’t).
But then - they understand each other just enough.
Author: Maeve
Rating: arr
Pairing: Toby/Ann Stark
Spoilers: The Leadership Breakfast (minor)
Disclaimer: Toby and Ann belong to someone else.
Summary/Notes/Warnings:
The title is from Whitman, Song of Myself.
This would take place after Bartlet is re-elected.
It’s a cold hand on his back. And he marks the memory of her hands, colder than Andrea’s, starker than Claudia Jean’s. He recognizes the taper of her fingers as she curls his back, trapping him to the bar. There’s the scent of cold cold water that he’s always matched with her.
"You started early."
His answer is in the last swallow of Bourbon in a heavy lipped glass.
His answer is all he swallows.
"Ann." Sometimes he feels like if he says her name enough he’ll circle back to liking (loving) her. Did he ever really love her? He loved her in the way anyone could love a lioness.
She’s on the bar stool beside him, eyes appraising him, "You haven’t called in awhile."
Her finger is tracing his ear and he breathes, heavy like there’s ice forming the shape of his lungs.
"I haven’t needed to feel inferior." he finally tips her a grin, sarcasm saturated. Toby expects the laughter she gives him as she waves to the bartender.
Her eyes are stained dark when she looks at him again, almost malicious, "If that’s all you wanted, I could have done it over the phone."
He watches her order a Bourbon, knowing it’s only for his sake.
******
She’s taking off his shirt, eyes fixed on his face. It makes him close his eyes, embarrassed at the way she watches him. Embarrassed that she can fuck him dry sober in a hotel room but he has to be somewhere between tipsy and lost before he lets her touch him.
"You’re still pissed at me Toby." her hands are on his belt now. "Get over it. You won, I lost."
He opens his eyes, telling himself that he can break again, "You made me question our relationship."
Her hands, cold hands, slide into his pants, past layers of fabric. Toby lets his clothes go, sinking against her iced skin. He runs his hands on her arms, trying to warm her as she strokes along his length, his thighs, his ass.
This is where they always end up.
"This is our relationship."
And by that, she means they have no relationship.
******
They decide, silently, that they’ll try to hurt each other as quickly as possible. Because they can’t spend more than a night in bed. Because they think they’re enemies. They’ve got their weapons of wit and sarcasm. Harsh whispers, scraping nails, and sinking teeth.
He pushes her beneath his hips and for once he’s got the upper hand.
But he knows it’s only because she lets him have it.
******
She reminds him that, really, he doesn’t mean that much to her.
It’s written in the way she curls away from him afterward.
Her hair falls against her pillow and there’s a strand of it on his tongue.
******
"Congratulations by the way." his tone is a shadow between them.
Ann pulls her hair from the collar of her coat, "For what?"
"Your new job." he’s not looking at her, but watching the young blond girl make a machiatto.
There’s amusement in the corners of her smile, "It’s the same job I had."
Toby shrugs a peace offering, "Different boss."
There’s a forgiveness in her glance, "And you still haven’t sent me flowers for the first time."
They smile, side by side, at the counter of the coffee shop. Toby watches her shake a packet of sugar as she leans over the counter, studying the color and consistency of her coffee. She used to drink it black. He wonders if she’s softening, sweetening. He shifts his arm to take his own cup and winces from the dig marks in his back.
He doesn’t wonder whether or not she’s changed anymore (she hasn’t).
He just questions whether or not he’ll ever be able to figure her out (he won’t).
But then - they understand each other just enough.