 | ShatterStorm Productions
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| ShatterStorm Productions
|
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: I deposited rolls of change at the bank today. Obviously, I’m not making any money off this.
Author’s Notes: Well, I felt terrible about the broken hearts I caused with the last bit. With that in mind, I bring you a bit of fun & fluff I threw together last night. A little out of character perhaps, but fun to write nonetheless. :)
As always, comments are the crack that keeps the writer's block at bay. Feedback is love. :)
Sure enough, there was a black clutch slid far under the coffee table, with not one but two silky men’s ties alongside the typical purse contents. Just as she suspected, there was no way that Abbey would take fabric shears to the President’s tie unless she had at least one waiting in the wings.
“Are you going through my things, Claudia Jean?” Startled by the unexpected voice, CJ attempted to jump up and backwards at the same time, failing to do either, but managing to whack her head on the underside of the table hard enough to knock over the flower arrangement sitting on top.
“Ok, that was probably not my most brilliant moment,” she groaned, rubbing the sore spot.
“Are you all right?” The First Lady asked, dropping to her knees beside CJ, genuine concern replaced by mild amusement at CJ’s sheepish grin. “I’m sorry CJ, I really didn’t mean to startle you. But you know, I could’ve had matters of National Security in there,” she said, gesturing to the purse.
“No one in the West Wing can have a conversation about anything beyond the weather without checking who’s got code word clearance, but they let the First Lady carry notes of National Security in her purse?” CJ raised an eyebrow.
“Absolutely. Aerial photos of the silos in Korea; transcripts of terrorist chatter in Qumari sleeper cells, and Leo’s sixth grade algebra homework. The whole enchilada.”
“Leo’s sixth grade algebra homework is a matter of National Security?” She couldn’t help but match Abbey’s grin. Neither could she help but notice the fact that they were both still sitting on the floor of the debate prep room; Abbey’s bare knees nearly grazing her own
“Shut up. Seriously though, you’re sure you’re okay? You nearly lifted the table off the ground with your skull.” Concern replaced her grin once more, worry lines etched softly at the corners of her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she might’ve thought they were laugh lines. But all that she knew about the events of the past four years told her otherwise.
“My hard headedness finally came in handy, I guess.”
“If you really thought that was going to be funny, you definitely hit your head hard enough to do some damage.”
“No, really, I’m fine, I just -”
“Oh for God’s sake, Claudia Jean. Would you let me take a look already? I am a doctor, in case you’ve somehow forgotten. Believe it or not, I can probably treat a bump on the head even with a suspended license.”
With that, she rose to her knees, brushing CJ’s hand away. Her hands deftly separated the layers of CJ’s hair, finding the raised lump hidden by the light red strands. CJ winced slightly as Abbey’s fingers skirted the edge of the tender spot. The First Lady laid her left hand softly against CJ’s upper back and murmured an apology as she moved her fingers away from the lump.
CJ was becoming more and more aware of their proximity; of the way Abbey let the strands of her hair slip through her fingers, of how she could feel Abbey’s breasts pressing against the shoulders of her suit jacket each time she leaned forward to examine her head. Finally Abbey dropped back down to the floor, legs curled carefully to her side.
“What’s the prognosis, Dr. Bartlet?” CJ was hoping she’d whacked her head hard enough to damage her hearing, because if her voice was as husky as it sounded to her…
“That’s a definite goose egg you’ve got there.” Abbey smiled, placing a comforting hand on CJ’s thigh. “But I think you’ll live.” The muscles in CJ’s legs tightened involuntarily beneath Abbey’s touch, and the First Lady quickly broke the contact, sliding her hand down to the carpet, turning her gaze sideways, acutely aware of the moment-too-long gesture, of just how inappropriate it was. She was married to CJ’s boss, who just so happened to be the Commander in Chief. If there was ever an abuse of power, she figured, this was it. She toyed with the edge of her skirt, unable to meet CJ’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, CJ, that was -” She sighed, and pulled herself up onto her knees. “It was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have, I - I shouldn‘t have put you in that position. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way. I-” Her monologue came to an abrupt halt as CJ’s hands tilted her chin, the embers in her eyes set ablaze as the Press Secretary’s stare locked on her own.
“With all due respect, Ma’am, if that was inappropriate, then this is probably going to get me fired.” Before Abbey could respond, CJ captured her lips with her own, setting the First Lady off balance. Abbey began to slide one leg over CJ’s to compensate, and CJ willingly complied with the unspoken request, dropping onto her back. Abbey leaned forward to follow her motion, supporting her upper body with a hand on either side of CJ’s shoulders. Her fingers grazed something cool and silky at the base of CJ’s neck.
“You were getting a tie out of my purse?” She breathed, descending on CJ’s jaw with her lips.
“Josh was going… to have to... go past all those reporters, and Toby -” Her words were lost as Abbey’s knees pressed firmer on her thighs. “Toby… didn’t want Josh to look like an idiot. Not that a tie can… really fix that.”
“Miracle tie.” She could feel Abbey’s smile against her skin.
“So we went looking for a-” Abbey’s teeth grazed her collarbone. “- Spare tie. And I assumed if anyone was going to have a spare tie it would be the only woman who knew that the President’s tie was going to be rather unceremoniously removed ten seconds before he was set to go on stage, so I came back here and -”
She realized with some uncertainty that the First Lady was now leaning back and staring at her. A flash of panic struck CJ at the sudden change; at the strong possibility of second thoughts. Her attempts to train the fear from her voice were unsuccessful. She struggled up onto her elbows to meet Abbey’s gaze.
“Ma’am? What… What is it?”
“CJ. I know you’re paid to talk for a living, but for the love of all that is sacred and holy, would you please shut up just this once and put your mouth to better use? And for future reference, when I’m lying on top of you, I think you‘re probably safe to drop the ma’am.”
