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The faint sound of knocking brought Camille stumbling to the front door. Fiddling with the knob, she opened it to reveal Fisher standing before her, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and his tie loosened after a long day at work and an even longer discussion with his ex wife.
“Are you just going to stand there, or do I have to invite you in?” Camille flashed her signature smile.
Fisher proceeded to walk through the door and into the living room, feeling ever so slightly out of place.
“So,” Camille began, “if you’re here, then I’m guessing the ex wife is still…well…an ex.” Her sympathy was having a hard time showing through the alcohol.
“Some things are better left in the past,” Fisher replied stoically.
“Come on Fishy,” Camille patted the spot on the sofa next to her, “have a seat and join the pity party.”
Fisher sat down and immediately grabbed the second wine glass from the table.
“Fill it,” Fisher glanced at Camille who tried unsuccessfully to steadily pour the wine into his glass.
-/-
Three glasses later for Fisher and one more for Camille and the two had slowly gravitated towards each other. Their thighs were pressed together at the divide of the couch cushions and Camille giggled as Fisher finished recapping his talk with his ex.
“I’m serious. I don’t think I’m cut out for relationships. I mean, if I can’t make a marriage work, then how can I expect to make any future relationship work?” Fisher leaned back into the couch.
“Oh please,” Camille said in a sarcasm laced voice, “you’re the biggest sap I know.”
“I am not a sap,” Fisher retaliated.
“Well then prove it.” Camille raised an eyebrow at him.
Their faces were inches apart and Camille could feel the faint ghost of his breath against her cheek. Her face felt hot and rather flushed. She raised one hand and traced her fingers along the line of his shirt collar, their foreheads coming to rest against each other.
Fisher grasped Camille’s wrist, moving her hand away but not letting go.
“Camille…” his voice trailed off.
With no further hesitation, Camille pressed her lips against his. Releasing his grasp on her wrist, Fisher – realizing what was happening – moved one hand to rest on the curve of her waist, fingers pressing into the small of her back, while his other hand moved to the back of her head, tangling his hand into her hair and pulling her closer.
Camille tilted her head, deepening the kiss and biting gently against Fisher’s lower lip, swearing she heard the beginning of a moan hitch in his throat. Pulling him closer by his loosened tie, she climbed into his lap and straddled his legs. Camille grasped at the lapels of his dress shirt began to work on the buttons, her hands pushing away the material to explore the expanse of his hardened chest.
Fisher suddenly pulled away, his hand still tangled in her hair and her hands still resting against his bare chest.
“We can’t do this,” Fisher said, out of breath.
“Yes,” Camille whispered into his chest as she placed an open mouthed kiss against his collarbone, “we can.”
Fisher released his hand from her hair and pushed gently at her shoulders. Their eyes met with an array of emotions.
“Not like this.” Fisher shook his head. “You’ve been through a lot these past couple of days. We both have.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” Camille rolled her eyes and climbed off of his lap into her place next to him.
“Are you seriously complaining about chivalry?” Fisher quirked a smile at her.
“I sure as hell am after that…” Camille smirked back at him and rested her head against his shoulder.
“We’re both in a heightened state of emotions right now. And the next time we do this? I want to have nothing on my mind but you.”
Camille nestled into his side. “Are you saying there’s going to be a next time?” Her smirk grew wider as she looked up at him.
Fisher wrapped his arms around her.
“I sure as hell am after that.”