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TITLE: Sweetness of Small Victories
AUTHOR: Ellen Milholland [radiant@bluelikethat.com]
URL: http://www.bluelikethat.com/radiance/imagine.html
RATING: R
CATEGORY: CJ/Ann Stark, several months after "Ruthless"
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
DISCLAIMERS: Standard disclaimers apply.
SUMMARY: "Ann's nails are trimmed very short, and her fingertips are
soft as they trace their way up the inside of CJ's thigh. 'God, this is
a great dress.'"

For Another Juxtaposition, who was salivating. But that may've been the
Novocain.

*

She looks nothing short of incredible, and she is absolutely aware of
the fact that a dozen pairs of eyes are following her across the room.
The gazes make her smile, smug and self-satisfied, and when she reaches
the bar she orders herself a glass of a six-year-old Riesling. The cold
liquid is the color of pale gold, and it smells of apples and low notes
of tropical fruit.

She holds the stem lightly between her thumb, fore, and middle fingers,
the rim of the glass near to her mouth, as she scans the room
surreptitiously. The wine is good, maybe too good, and very dry, and it
fills her mouth with the distinct taste of France and apricots and
maybe grapefruit. Her fingernails are painted a subtle shade of silver,
and she is impressed that her hands do not even seem to shake.

She knows that Ann will be at this party, because anybody-who-is-
anybody is at this party, dressed in the most uncomfortable evening
gowns and finely tailored tuxedos, mingling and making truly mindless
small talk, waiting until they are buzzed enough not to care. This is
how bi-partisanship works best; if the Republicans and the Democrats
are drunk enough, no one remembers what exactly they were attempting to
argue about in the first place.

Ann never misses a chance to champion, usually arrogantly, the cause of
bi-partisanship, and CJ is not quite sure if this is because she is
attempting to lock up Shallick's nomination or because Ann truly enjoys
making CJ incredibly uncomfortable. They see one another at meetings,
press conferences, debates, dinners or breakfasts or luncheons or
cocktail parties, and they see one another at least twice a month, and
often more. They have never been in the other's apartment, and yet they
have had more sex in the last three months than CJ's had in the past
three years, in offices and in coatrooms and in stopped elevators. It
is dangerous, ridiculously so, for both of them, and it is the fact
that Ann still lets it happen that makes CJ suspect that perhaps, just
maybe, Ann is in it for more than the fucking.

Not that CJ has any problem with the sex. Not at all.

And now she is standing, leaning back against an ugly chair with
someone's jacket draped across it, sipping golden wine and hoping that
she will manage to see Ann before Ann sees her. It hasn't happened yet
- Ann always finds her first - but it iss like a game, and CJ suspects
that eventually she will triumph.

But not tonight.

"You've outdone yourself tonight, Claudia."

CJ turns slowly with the full knowledge that Ann is scrutinizing her,
memorizing every centimeter of exposed flesh, preparing where her lips
will touch. CJ likes this part, because she knows that she will pass
this test with flying colors. "Annette, how many times have I asked you
not to call me that?"

Ann's nose wrinkles a little. "But it's so adorable. And you certainly
look much more of a Claudia than a masculine CJ in this dress."

"Do you like it?" CJ asks, hands on her hips. She knows, of course,
that Ann likes it, from the way that Ann's nipples have hardened
noticeably beneath her dress. But she asks, in any case, because Ann
wants her to.

"I think I'd prefer you out of it," Ann smiles.

CJ leans forward, her hand on the chair back, and Ann is close enough
that no one else heard her comment, but far enough away as to make it a
distinct possibility. The table is small, but Ann keeps it between
them, perhaps in order to assure that they will not do anything
compromising in front of all of Washington's elite.

"I just bought it," CJ says, leaning forward far enough to offer Ann a
full look at her cleavage.

"And you had your nails done," Ann nods and then takes a drink from her
own glass. "You know, it's amazing how difficult it is to find a good
red these days." She considers the ruby-colored liquid. "And then you
find a perfectly lovely Shiraz right behind the bar."

"Plums," CJ nods. "Matches your dress."

Ann looks down, as if she has forgotten the truly extraordinary piece
of red satin she's somehow shimmied into. The neck is regal, and her
arms are bare, and there is an impossibly high slit up the side,
exposing a scandalous amount of her leg. Her fingernails are a close
shade of crimson, and her lips, too, are the color of blood. "Well,
look at that. You're absolutely right."

"Did you wear that dress for me?" CJ ventures, hiding a little behind
her wine glass. Her eyelashes are slick with shiny mascara, and as she
blinks, she can see the light sparkle back into her eyes.

Ann's mouth curves into a tiny smile. "You should be so lucky."

CJ laughs low in her throat. "I see how it is."

"Did you wear that dress for me?" Ann asks, her eyebrows raised,
running a fingertip around the rim of her glass.

"Obviously," CJ smiles. "You think I'm fucking Sam Seaborn, or perhaps
one of the many congressmen here? Though Andrea Wyatt is looking
particularly--"

"Isn't she?" Ann breaks in, a little too sharply. CJ smiles more
brightly, savoring the lingering sweetness of wine and small victories
on her tongue. "I think my presence on the dance floor is being
noticed, darling," Ann adds, the term of endearment almost a slur.

"I'm sure you're right. I owe a few dances, myself. And I would like to
compliment the Congresswoman on her dress. She does look spectacular in
green, doesn't she?"

Ann smiles vaguely as she passes CJ, reaching out to briefly touch her
forearm. "I wore it for you," she murmurs, and then smiles delightedly
at an approaching man. "CJ, Andrew Gordon."

"Senator, a pleasure, as always," CJ says, dipping her head demurely.
He smiles and cups her hand in his.

Ann glows with satisfaction. "CJ and I were just discussing how
delightful it is to see bi-partisanship at work."

"Oh, isn't it?" he says, his eyes flickering across CJ's bare shoulders
and the smooth curves of her collarbone. She sees his gaze, and she
blossoms under it, tilting her shoulders back and raising her head, her
eyes darting briefly to meet Ann's.

"After weeks of arguing over the Patients' Bill of Rights, it's just
nice to stand here amongst Republicans and not have to worry about
someone making an attempt on my life," CJ smiles brilliantly.

The Senator's laugh rumbles through his wide chest, and CJ reaches out
to adjust his bowtie. The gesture is intimate in a way that means
almost nothing to the Senator and everything to Ann, who is suddenly
grinning falsely.

"Andrew, CJ," she says, waving to someone across the room and putting
up her index finger in a 'wait one second' motion, "I am being called
away. It was lovely seeing you out of the office, Andrew." And then she
is gone, and Sam appears to lead CJ to the dance floor.

As much as an hour later, or maybe more, Ann smiles at CJ from across
the room and makes a tiny motion with her head towards the ladies'
room. Her teeth are bright white, and a man's arm is wrapped around her
waist, and CJ knows that Ann can't wait a single second longer.

And so she follows her.

The ladies' room turns out to be just as posh as the hall they've just
left, but it is blessedly quiet in comparison to the dull roar of
voices rippling out from the dance floor. Ann is leaning over the
marble countertop, close to the mirror, reapplying her lipstick with a
tiny brush. She looks at CJ's reflection and smiles as she twists the
lid back on the little red pot.

"You're so obedient, Claudia. I like that," Ann purrs, tossing her
purse onto the small sofa that these bathrooms always seem to have.

"I couldn't imagine what was so important that you'd call me away from
Pauline Rosenthal," CJ says, resting back against the countertop, back
to the mirror.

Ann's dress and lips shimmer in the warm, not-fluorescent light. Her
hair is spun gold against her neck, and she is standing much too close
to CJ walking two fingertips up CJ's thigh. "I'm territorial."

"What, you thought maybe she was going in for the proverbial kill?"

"If you're asking if I thought she wanted her head between your legs,
then yes," Ann murmurs, her mouth close to CJ's ear. The taller woman
shudders, leans towards Ann's hot breath and is rewarded only with a
low chuckle.

"Oh, Ann. You and your sweet talk..." CJ says, with more confidence
than she possesses.

"You're the one who scampered in here when you knew exactly what I was
asking you for, CJ." CJ lifts her hips as Ann pulls down her nylons and
her panties, barely a wisp of carnation pink cotton, down. CJ toes off
her shoes and kicks off the offending garments.

"I thought maybe you just wanted to borrow my really fantastic eye
shadow," CJ says breathily.

"You did, huh?" Ann says, her mouth close to CJ's. "Funny, because I
think you're lying." CJ's legs are spread, and she is leaning hard back
against the countertop.

"Me? Lying?"

Ann's nails are trimmed very short, and her fingertips are soft as they
trace their way up the inside of CJ's thigh. "God, this is a great
dress."

"I paid an arm and a leg for it. You'd better like it."

"It does incredible things for your eyes," Ann purrs. "And every other
part of you."

"I haven't heard this much flattery out of your mouth in weeks. What is
it that you want?" CJ asks, and her voice is sandpaper-rough as she
grips the counter's edge.

"I can't just say I like your dress? I'm truly hurt," Ann says as one
of her fingers slips into CJ, who gasps. "Jesus, CJ. You're so wet."

"I blame it on you," CJ says through clenched teeth as Ann's fingers
slide into her. "What do you want?" CJ asks, and her eyes are open.

Ann grins, and CJ sees her gaze dart over CJ's shoulder. Ann's watching
herself in the wide, clean mirror, CJ realizes, and it's all at once
amusing and arousing. "I guess now would be a bad time to ask you to
give me some inside information about the voucher bill?"

"Oh," CJ says on a sharp intake of breath, "You don't have to fuck me
to get the dirt, Ann."

"Mm, but it's more fun this way, isn't it?" Ann murmurs, and she kisses
the inside of CJ's wrist, leaving behind a smear of red lipstick.

"Good Lord, yes," CJ groans, and it's only a moment before she's
shuddering and digging her nails into Ann's arms.

"Shush," Ann chides. "Honestly, you know you have to be quiet. They'll
hear you." CJ knows that Ann gets her thrills out the fact that they
might be heard by the gaggle of important people right outside the
door.

"You can always call my office, you know," CJ says, as she readjusts
her dress and tucks her stockings and panties into her clutch. "We can
do work the way normal people do work."

Ann trails her fingers across the small of CJ's back. "You say this was
normal?"

"Point taken," CJ smiles into the mirror, watching Ann's reflection.
"But still, you could call me. At my office."

"I could."

"We could have meetings," CJ smiles, knowing full well that they
probably couldn't. "Lunch meetings, even. Combine activities. You could
ask me questions when I had notes to refer to."

"We could," Ann laughs. "You're absolutely right. I'll take it under
advisement."

"Fantastic," CJ says, brushing her hair back into place.

Ann touches her hand to the door handle, fully prepared to go back to
her friends on the dance floor. "Oh, and CJ?"

"Ann?"

"If you ever mention to me how attractive another woman is..." She
smiles, but it is the slightest, just the slightest bit unsure. "I may
have to have her killed."

"Understood," CJ chuckles. "Go, be the life of the party."

And as the door closes behind her, CJ hears Ann say, "I might call
you." CJ smiles triumphantly, tosses her hair back, and decides to go
find another glass of wine. Red, this time, and thick with plums.

She is not sure why, very long after, she is on her third glass of
Shiraz, standing near Toby, and laughing full-throated. She is not sure
why she is so happy, but she blames it on the wine and is very, very
careful to keep her clutch latched shut.

"I might be meeting with Ann Stark," CJ mentions casually to Toby as
his hand settles against her hip.

"Good luck. Don't let her kill you," Toby says bitterly.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can protect myself," she smiles. "She's pretty
tame once you figure out her weak spots."

"Is that the secret?"

"Seems to be, Toby. Seems to be," CJ laughs. "Come on, let's dance."