Fandom: The West Wing
Character: Toby Zeigler
Notes: Happy Birthday babykid528!
Takes place after "Six Meetings Before Lunch."
Thanks to hllangel for Beta, but any canon errors are all mine. Shout-out to my husband who loves Toby, but probably wouldn't be very happy about my writing this.
It was still Toby’s “Day of Jubilation,” even if it was technically the next day already.
As far as he was concerned, the euphoria was allowed to continue until he fell asleep. In the morning he’d have to go back to work and help the President live with the deals and compromises it had taken to get Mendoza confirmed, but for now there was still the sweetness of what they’d achieved. A real liberal on the Court.
He’d come home from the party, still elated, humming the song that Josh and Donna had been dancing to, vaguely wishing that Andrea could be there to see the smile on his face, although she had left a congratulatory message on his answering machine.
This was what it was all about and if felt good, even with all the tsuris it had taken to get there. Better than good. Sexy even, he noticed as he undressed and found that the stress of the day, including the vote on Mendoza and Mandy’s ridiculous panda problem, hadn’t left him literally limp with exhaustion. It had happened more than once, another reason that Andrea wasn’t here in bed with him.
Her loss, he thought, not quite spitefully, because it was still a Day of Jubilation.
Not something he did often. Too much vestigial Jewish guilt about the act, and a strange reluctance to objectify people he cared about into a fantasy for the purpose of just getting off. But he was on fire tonight. Like CJ doing The Jackal. .
Toby let himself skip lightly around the image of CJ, and those insanely long legs of hers as he started beating off, and then tip-toed away. She was a friend, not to mention being clearly nuts about Danny Concannon.
Instead he found himself taking a walk around the National Botanical Gardens with Sam, discussing foreign policy and arcane references in the Federalist papers. Sam’s relationship with Mallory didn’t strike Toby as an impediment to their having a late-night walk among the flowers, especially if he could watch Sam’s backside. Strange. He felt remotely bad for beating his meat, but was more than willing to admit to himself the pleasure he sometimes got from seeing Sam Seaborn from behind and the way his suit-pants outlined his tuchus, especially when he was standing next to Toby, bending over the legal pad as they hashed out every word of a speech for the President.
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. His cock was hard in his hand, balls tight.
The gardens had lots of dark, secluded corners, where he could follow Sam until they were alone and safe, even if the words between them were still about ethanol subsidies or what they would have done to salvage the Humphrey campaign if they’d been there in 1968.
By a bubbling fountain and leafy ferns, with tropical flowers giving off a heady aroma, Sam would turn around and face him, shutting up Toby Zeigler the only way possible, with a kiss on the lips and a hand stroking his check.
That was it. Sam’s fingers caressing Toby’s beard, making the hairs stand up, and his toes curl.
“Sam,” he’d try to gasp, but it would all be lost in the kiss, the way he was getting lost now, breathing harder, gasping, and groaning deeply as he imagined Sam’s hand moving from his face down to his fly, unzipping and reaching inside. The last image was Sam’s smile and then it was all abstraction and brightness, nothing to grasp but his own cock as the warmth and stickiness hit his hand and the relaxation took him far away.
Toby’s Day of Jubilation was complete.