Title: Case of You (Part IV of Drunken Actions, Sober Thoughts)
Author: sterling_sky
Rating: R seems rather strong, since it’s mostly allusion, but I’m not taking any chances.
Pairing: CJ/Abbey
Summary: I could drink a case of you, and still be on my feet....
Spoilers (if any): None

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: Abbey, CJ & The West Wing all belong to NBC, Aaron Sorkin and whoever else. Purely for pleasure, not profit. Case of You was written by the ever-talented Joni Mitchell.

Author’s Notes: I can’t write smut to save my life - I end up sounding like an anatomy textbook; “insert part A into part B and wiggle about a bit” isn’t exactly hot reading. I hope I’m better at it than writing it, or else I owe a few people some apologies. XD

If you can hold back your laughter long enough for some concrit, that would be great!

Her mouth, already awakened by the bittersweet burn of the vodka, was suddenly overwhelmed at the sensation - at the impossibility - of Abbey’s lips on her own, until finally something within her recognized the taste as desire; as the sweet burn of longing kept for too many years concealed.

With her thoughts racing at the same breakneck speed as her heart rate, CJ sensed her grip on the situation slipping; knew her morals were dancing somewhere in and out of reach. She would be left with regret beyond comprehension tomorrow morning no matter what she did; the regret of never knowing if she turned away in this moment, the regret of never being able to look anyone - including herself - in the eye again if she allowed herself to be caught up in whatever this might turn out to be. But where one version of the morning after was filled only with regret, the other was filled with regret coupled with images of the first light of dawn on Abbey Bartlet’s skin.

She let herself melt beneath Abbey’s touch, soon finding herself standing in the silk pool of her own dress, persuaded off of her body by Abbey’s fingers and the tremors that they caused at every point of contact. Her back arched against the cool of the bedroom wall as Abbey’s hands skirted along her waist, tracing slowly down the swirls of black lace, hooking her fingers under the seams along the soft skin where CJ’s thighs met her core. Dragging the garment away from the heat of CJ’s body and down her legs, she watched them drop noiselessly in the centre of the fallen dress; an oil slick of black lace in a pool of crimson silk. As she brought her attentions back to CJ’s body, their roles reversed.

“You can’t let your hands linger like that. It’s torture.” CJ breathed, her words cut short as her mouth explored the skin behind Abbey’s ear and farther, following the trail of Abbey’s scent down her neck and along her collarbone, across all of the forbidden territory that had stolen her breath minutes - was it really only minutes? - ago. She ran her hand firmly up Abbey’s ribcage, finding the zipper at the side of her dress. She fumbled only briefly for the tag at the top, catching it between her thumb and forefinger, then pulling it down with the same agonizing slowness Abbey had used on her.

“You see what I mean?” She murmured as Abbey writhed under her grip in an attempt to free herself from the all too form fitting bodice. Finally, she let the zipper slide from her fingertips, putting them to much better use on the cashmere expanse of Abbey’s now bare hips.

The soft fall of the fabric as it descended, dancing and rolling against her skin, sent a shockwave through Abbey. CJ caught her body against her own, pressing her trembling and nearly naked form back more firmly against the wall. Through the chocolate lace of Abbey’s lingerie, she could feel the curve of Abbey’s breasts firm against her - ready for her. The underside of her tongue raced back across Abbey’s shoulders, to where the dark strap of her bra stood out starkly against her pale bare skin. She smiled against Abbey’s shoulder as the First Lady cursed and shuddered at the sharp nip of her teeth dragging the strap down to her upper arm.

“CJ…” Abbey moaned softly. Never had two syllables sounded quite so sweet. CJ made a promise to herself that she would do anything in her power to hear it said just that way again. She turned her attention to the other shoulder; the other strap.

“CJ,” her voice was still soft, but more demanding as she added, “unless you want to keep holding me up all night-” The slightest flash of a predator’s instincts flared in Abbey’s eyes as she advanced until CJ’s knees buckled, flush against the edge of the imposing four poster bed. CJ coiled beneath her, more than willing prey as she gave up her body like a sacrifice to Abbey Bartlet’s blessed hands.