Disclaimer: "The West Wing", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
Author's Disclaimer: The characters are not mine yada yada
Author’s Notes: For my star far away, who shines ever brightly in my heart.
“Its hypnotic isn’t it?”
“Mmmm?” His question pulled her from her trance, but she did not look at him. Her eyes remained transfixed to the open fire. Every flickering flame resembled entwined bodies, closeness. It took all of her strength not to reach into the fire and pull the burning embers to her chest. She was barely two feet away from the hearth but she felt cold, so cold.
“Abigail…” She knew his brow was furrowed by the sound of her name. Now it was nothing more than quiet concern, but if it were to remain that way, she would have to look at him. When she faced him, she was grateful that the flames reflection hid the expression in his eyes. Her whole body shook when part of her wished that his eyes dropped into the grate and burned away. He did not deserve to see what she was doing to him.
“Are you OK?” She hated the way his touch still felt warm against her skin.
“Oh yes. Just enjoying the peace and quiet. I forgot how noisy Christmas can be.” A surprising grin snaked from her tight lips. “And how you cheat at charades.”
His back tightened in defiance. “I did not cheat, Abigail. I just asked for a little help.”
Her eyes bore into him in exasperation. “Jed, your turn was ‘The American President’!”
“So what do I do? The natural thing. Point at myself. Then hear someone in the corner yell out Jackass. It threw my concentration!”
“Sorry. Blame the Merlot.” Her palm patted out another apology on the back of his hand. She uncurled her legs from underneath her and stood up slowly, her bare toes stretching into the carpet as she spoke. “It was a good day. But my head is pounding. I need to walk outside for a while. Don’t wait up.”
“You’ll freeze. “ He replied, indicating her insubstantial black silk pyjamas.
“It’ll clear my head.” She quickly slipped on the coat she had picked especially three nights before. It was at least one size too large but fitted the purpose perfectly; she pulled it close and hid herself stepping into gleaming stilettos behind the floor length hem. Her hand reached for the phone inside the pocket, her index finger automatically gliding to the preset on the number pad. She held her breath, as she always did and pressed the button, not breathing again until she knew was heard and the door had closed behind her.
Abbey could hardly see the figure up close to a brick wall and a hedge. She watched her breath drift from her and hang in the air before her crystal whispers shattered into the night.
“Merry Christmas CJ.”
The grip of soft-gloved cashmere against her palm warmed her instantly. Although she was keen to get back inside her pace slowed to match CJ’s unusually delicate gait. It took her a while realise that she was peering closely at the pavement beneath their feet.
“What does that look like to you?”
Abbey watched in amazement as the frost seemed to spread itself over the concrete in masses of glittering luminous silver threads.
“A spiders web perhaps?” She felt a smile press gently into her hair. A wicked gust of wind moved Abbey’s head close to CJ’s chest.
Despite the cold, the sense of anticipation in her voice cannot be disguised. Her voice is so low and thick with arousal Abbey has to lean in to hear.
“They are wings of angels….” Abbey’s coat opens and pulls CJ in. She gasps as she sees two hard nipples peeking out from behind the pyjama shirt and shove against her. She breathes heavily into Abbey’s ear and experimentally dips the tip of her tongue inside before speaking again. ”Fallen angels.”
“Do that again.” She groaned as they opened the door. As soon as the women were out of sight, they broke off the safe pose that fooled an East Wing guard not six foot behind the door. Abbey’s eyes shone diamond bright as she felt the momentum of her need slam her against the doorframe. “Oh god, Claudia. Do it again.” She bit her lip in regret, how she hated sounding so desperate. She snared up some saliva with the tip of her tongue and watched CJ slowly remove her gloves with her teeth, toss them on the floor and unbutton her long red coat.
“Look at me, Abbey. Don’t even blink.”
Her eyes looked like smoked emeralds in the shadows. Abbey gulped the air back down. She could feel it swirling around her gut and scratching for escape against her ribs.
When the last button was undone, CJ threw the coat from her chiselled shoulders. It hit the floor as silent as snow. All she was wearing was a mischievous grin and thigh length black leather boots. The sight of the spiked heels winking in the light like eyelashes morphed Abbey’s trapped breath into a mangled roar.
“So… I unwrapped myself.” She smiled, trying to level her voice despite feeling Abbey’s groan resonate deeply into every pore of her iced skin. “Happy Christmas Abigail.”
Abbey throws her own coat untidily over the end of the bed. In the corner of her eye, as she lowers herself between CJ’s legs she notices dishevelled sheets and a pile of clothes. She feels her clit throb as the sweet smell of leather weaves itself around her nostrils and through her hair - the trail of a pristine whip before it hits eager flesh. Her warm tongue gently caresses the top of one boot. The scent and taste recalls memories of a past game and how her fingernails dug a white trail into CJ’s rosy skin.
She moans delightfully, as the toned muscles under her tongue begin to quiver. She feels CJ lean into the door for support. She can hear her scratch desperation into the grain of the wood.
CJ inhales the ancient varnish and secrets beneath her fingernails. She allows her hips to sway as the warmth of Abbey’s whispers dance against her inner thigh and into her soft dripping curls.
“Angeli Delapsus indeed.” The voice purrs before vanishing into the sweet luscious velvet folds.