It started out as a typical White House state dinner. Dashing men in tuxedoes, beautiful women in gowns, mouth-watering food and smooth cocktails - all interspersed with polite chit-chat and shallow conversations that masked all the real political maneuvering taking place in other rooms behind closed doors. Andy was bored to tears, but she smiled anyway and participated in the long-held ritual as she always had, as part of her duty to Maryland.

Until a small tingle slid along her spine and she turned her head to see Toby halfway across the ballroom, staring intently at the expanse of skin exposed by her backless gown.

He was, amazingly, smiling.

She smiled back. But when she returned her attention to Will and Senator Morris, her focus kept shifting. She could still feel his gaze upon her and it made her shiver. The look that had accompanied his smile was mysterious, indiscernible, and full of longing; it reminded her of looks he'd given her in the past and of the erotic evenings that had followed. It made her think of what this evening could hold.

Will noticed the shiver and asked if she didn't want him to go fetch a wrap or something. She declined and made a joke about someone walking over her grave. Her audience laughed politely, but she knew that she couldn't continue to talk policy with them while her mind was elsewhere. So she smiled at them and, with a brief apology, left in search of Toby.

He was no longer where she had first seen him near the columns towards the back of the ballroom, nor was he with CJ and Josh. A quick glance at the dance floor showed that no elderly matron had forced him into escorting her in a badly performed boxstep. Her eyes searched frantically for him, while she continued to think of his heated look, of what his hands would feel like as they skimmed along her bare back. How they would feel tangled in her hair. Or along her legs, where her stockings ended and the bare skin of her thighs began.

By the time she located him near the bar, engaged in conversation with a handful of Congressmen, she was ready to scream in frustration. Every step she took, every swish of her skirt, made her aware of the friction of her stockings against her legs and of the mildly uncomfortable dampness that had begun to form at the juncture of her thighs. She was sure her nipples were standing out in stark relief against the soft black silk of her gown.

A few more steps and she was beside him, greeting him easily with a kiss on the cheek. The soft scratch of his beard on her skin inflamed her already heightened senses and she shifted a little, trying to ease the ache between her legs. The movement only served to arouse her more.

His eyes gave nothing away and she wondered if perhaps she had imagined his look before. But then he brushed his hand against her bare arm and circled her waist with his arm, his fingers curling into the skin there. And she knew that she hadn't been mistaken; he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And he wanted her now.

After a few moments, Andy linked her arm through his and made their excuses to his companions, citing a need to speak with him privately about the upcoming trip to China. It was pure fabrication, of course, but she didn�t think she'd be able to endure another minute of his deliberately casual touch a minute longer.

She led him away from the ballroom and towards the quieter corridors of the west wing. He followed placidly, but there was still that look in his eyes, that wanting, and it propelled her to walk faster until they were away from any prying eyes.

They found some privacy in a little used supply closet, and Andy pulled him inside, kissing him fiercely. He responded immediately.

Everything else � the dinner, the guests, their very location � melted away. Her world was reduced to just one thing: him. His hands on her hips, lifting her skirt, rolling down her stockings, touching her /there/. The mat of hair on his chest, bared to her grasping fingers as she tugged away the crisp cotton of his shirt. The hardness of his sex pressing against her thigh. The scratch of his beard against her neck, making little frissons of arousal on her skin. His fingers circling her nipples. His mouth and body melding with hers as he entered her. Heat and need and wanting, all combining into an intoxicating mix that transcended mere sex.

When it was over, she sagged against him, both exultant and appalled by their wanton behavior, and she told him so. He chuckled and assured her that she wasn't to blame, that she was simply irresistible and he couldn't have waited another three minutes -- never mind three hours -- to touch her.

She blushed and moved away to make herself presentable. The attempt to fix her hair was hopeless; the smooth chignon was impossible to fix. She settled for letting it cascade down her back in a riot of red waves and he played ladies' maid for her, smoothing out the tangles and removing the stray pins that lingered.

She laughed and thanked him for his services. He bowed in acknowledgement and, with a mischievous smile, picked her ripped stockings off the floor and stuffed them into his pocket.

She blushed again and straightened her dress as best she could. The skirt was wrinkled beyond repair, but the bodice wasn't too frightfully crushed and she managed to smooth the wrinkles somewhat as she pulled it up. Ignoring her shaking fingers as she made the final adjustments, she turned away from his still-heated look. It wasn't wise to let her thoughts linger on what she'd rather be doing for the rest of the night.

But as he opened the closet door so that they could return to the ballroom, she clung to the single word he whispered: "Anon."

*End*