Disclaimer: I own nothing.
So, I've taken a little break from my current on going story, because after seeing the episode 'Honey' last night, I just couldn't get it out of my head ;-) This story just started writing itself in my head really, so I thought I'd better get it down on paper (or screen, as it were) and share it with my fellow Callian lovers. Enjoy!
One of those days
"Can I sleep in your spare bedroom tonight, if it's not too much of a problem?"
Gillian smiled warmly at him. "Of course." Stepping back to allow him into her house, she touched his chest lightly, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. He hugged her, breathing in the smell of her hair – she smelt like coconut and mango, like a tropical island. Like paradise.
Breaking away from the hug, they shared a chaste kiss on the cheek before Cal walked past Gillian into the house, and she closed the door behind them. A bottle of wine and a solitary glass sat on her coffee table. "Want some?" she asked, gesturing to the bottle.
Cal nodded. "Thanks love." She disappeared into the kitchen, and Cal relaxed on her sofa, taking time to look at the lounge now she'd had time to decorate it and put her own stamp on the place. There were scented candles around, and a big vase of flowers – tulips, of course, her favourite - and a picture of Sophie in a large silver frame sat on top of the fireplace.
"Here," she said, reappearing with a wine glass. She poured him some, then handed it to him and settled herself down on the sofa next to him. It was only a small, two seater sofa, but Cal wasn't about to complain about the close proximity. He was well aware that right now he could be in a hotel room with the woman from the bar, licking warm honey off her smooth, supple body – and he was also well aware that he would much rather be here, sitting comfortably on the couch with Foster. Come to think of it, was there ever anywhere he'd rather be than with her?
"You've already been drinking." It was a comment, not an accusation, and Cal knew she neither expected nor required him to answer. There was no hint of judgement in her voice, just a trace of concern.
"Yeah. I went to a bar, after I left."
She nodded. "Did it help?"
"Not really, no." He looked at her, this gorgeous woman sitting next to him, relaxing in comfortable clothes, her hair tied up loosely in a ponytail. Describe your ideal woman, his drinking companion had said. There was only one word that had come into his head when she said that, and it wasn't beautiful, or smart, or kind, or passionate, or any of the many things that Gillian Foster was. The only word that had come into his head was Foster. He remembered the panic on her face earlier in the day, the tears leaking out her beautiful eyes as she begged Matheson to let him go. He thought of how he'd have felt, if the situation were reversed – if she were the one who'd had a gun to her head all day - and felt an involuntary shudder shake his whole body. It didn't bear thinking about.
"You okay?" She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he smiled at her.
"Just been one of those days, you know?"
She smiled. "Yeah. Not the best day at the office." The smile faded from her eyes, and Cal saw a mixture of sadness and fear there, as she relived those awful moments, just as he had done seconds earlier.
"But we're okay." He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "We're all okay."
She swallowed – a sign of strong emotion – and leaned forward to pick up her wine glass.
"I was with this woman, in the bar." It came almost out of nowhere; he wasn't even sure why he was telling her this, except he felt the sudden need to be honest. The woman was, after all, the reason he was here with Gillian tonight.
"Mm?" she said, sounding as if she didn't want to hear anymore about it, and Cal smiled to himself.
"Yeah… she asked me to describe my ideal woman."
Gillian laughed. "Some women will do anything to get a man to flatter them."
"Well, I didn't describe her."
"You didn't?" Her voice lifted slightly on the last syllable – was that hope? Or was he reading too much into it?
"I told her that what mattered wasn't who my ideal woman was, but whether I was her ideal man." He watched her face closely, but her expression was closely guarded. She's almost as good as me at concealing her thoughts sometimes. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.
"Makes sense." Gillian nodded, taking another sip of her wine.
"And then she suggested we get a hotel room, and order some warm honey, and…"
Gillian spluttered on her wine. "Warm honey?"
"Yeah. You never tried it, love?"
"I can't say I have, no." She chuckled, but Cal noticed the faint blush appearing on her cheeks, and when she glanced up at him, he saw her pupils were dilated.
"You should." He spoke so quietly, for a second Gillian thought she'd imagined it. For a time – it felt like hours, and at the same time only seconds – they looked at each other. Then, slowly, Cal leaned towards her and cupped her face in his hands. Gillian felt her breath hitch as Cal's face came closer to hers, and he brushed her lips with his own.
The kiss was soft and sweet, but didn't last nearly long enough for Gillian's liking. Cal broke away first, but left his hands gently cupping her face. Their eyes locked on one another, Gillian saw no sign of regret on his face, but slight hesitation and worry. Could he really be worried that she didn't want this? Gillian couldn't see her face in a mirror, but she was certain that her feelings – her arousal, her desire, her love – must be plain for him to see.
Leaning back towards him, she captured his lips in a passionate kiss, letting all the emotions from the day, and all the lust she felt for him that had been building up for years pour out of her. His hands moved from her face to her hair, running his fingers through it. A small moan of pleasure escaped from her lips as she pulled him in closer to her, deepening the kiss. Eventually they broke apart, but stayed mere centimetres from each other. You never know 'til you try. The words echoed in Cal's mind as he looked into Gillian's eyes, feeling her warm breath on his face.
She opened her mouth to speak, and for one agonising second Cal thought she was going to say that they shouldn't do this – that it was a mistake, that it wasn't professional, that it might ruin their friendship. Instead, her lips curled into the sexiest smile he'd ever seen, as she said breathlessly, "So, this honey… how warm are we talking?"