Author: Psycha
Rating: M (or maybe a high T)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and whomever holds the legal ownership of the show. I make no money, only headaches in fact and hopefully a few reviews...
A/N: While writing Vulnerant Omnes, there are some plotbunnies that hop around but can't possibly be integrated into the story for various reasons. So to ease my mind (and add to the Abbey/CJ stories, since there really aren't enough of those – come on people, write?), I'm going to give some of those bunnies a run for their money and figured I might as well share.
A few warnings: this will most likely be a collection of one-shots, quite possibly breaking canon and not posted chronologically. There won't be regular updates and styles will vary. Since these stories have nothing to do with Vulnerant Omnes, consider it a little something extra ;)
Summary: Abbey questions, demands and orders, but CJ spins, denies and defies.
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The Nature of Things
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There are days when this place makes you feel as if you can walk on water, but then there are also days – and weeks, and months – that cause you to question the choices that led you here. In this place it could be dangerous to be honest with anyone, even your colleagues and friends and CJ Cregg knows that even in these dark, empty hallways, secrets follow like shadows.
She nods to the secret service men posted outside the door and raps softly on the wood. The trepidation and guilt she once felt, gone because she now knows that everyone has secrets and most of those are dark and dirty tokens of the same type. The knowledge that she's not alone is what allows her to accept this shady part of her job.
At least that's what she told herself two years ago and it's what she believes now as two hazel eyes gleam in the moonlight and red lips twist into a feral smile. "Claudia Jean."
The mood already set, she knows exactly what is expected of her and feels her body react to the sudden tension in the air. There will be no release for her tonight and that's fine with her. There never has been, and it's the only thing keeping the guilt at bay.
Her feet take her forward until the lascivious smile softens. With practiced ease, she reads her companion and decides on a plan of action. Easily her fingers slide through dark tresses, the familiar fragrance shutting out memories of work and public functions. She finds those red lips with her own, pulling not so gently on the hair between her fingers to set the tone for this evening. They haven't seen much of each other in the last month and the few exchanges there were, were heated arguments and out –right fights.
The kiss, like their fights, is heated and fiery and she only breaks away for air. "Abigail," she greets, matching the other woman's smile. She's in control here and they both know it. Sure, Abbey questions, demands and orders, but CJ spins, denies and defies.
They never make it to the bed in the adjoining room and don't care, both too preoccupied by CJ's hands on the First Lady's thighs and Claudia's mouth on Abbey's skin. There is victory for the Press Secretary when the Doctor's fingers tears holes in the upholstery of the couch, her knuckles white and her body straining for release. She whimpers and whines and eventually begs with that wonderful throaty voice of hers.
CJ shudders, her body on fire and her competitive streak pleased with the abandonment in Abbey's voice and the wetness between her thighs. Her fingers drive home and she can't suppress a whimper at the heat now surrounding them. Abbey hisses and rakes her fingernails across Claudia's back, but that does nothing to urge CJ on. She refuses to speed up her thrusts and does no more than breathe against sensitive skin.
When, after more begging and pleading, she latches onto wet skin and drives her fingers into the First Lady hard and fast, it takes only seconds for Abigail to curse and scream her name and for her body to shudder so violently CJ is left no choice but to retreat, even though she doesn't want to.
They breathe into each other's hair, limbs tangled until Abbey recovers enough to sit up and pull CJ in for a soft, slow kiss. "Thank you."
Nodding wordlessly, the younger woman untangles herself and stands up. She doesn't bother to re-button her blouse and only half-heartedly tries to smooth the creases out of her pants. Instead she pulls Abbey to her feet and leads her to the bedroom. As soon as she's settled under the covers, still delightfully naked, CJ returns to pick up the clothes strewn about the couch – it wouldn't do for anyone to accidentally stumble upon obvious clues spelled out in lace underwear. Back in the bedroom she finally undresses herself and doesn't mind Abbey's intense eyes watching her.
Once under the covers, Abbey's body curls into her and there's one last kiss. "I missed this."
She's too aware of perfectly manicured fingers smoothing down her hair to reply straight away and when she finally does, cool lips against her shoulder cause her breath to hitch. "So did I." She can feel Abbey smile against her skin and wonders if the smile speaks of carnal satisfaction, affection, or perhaps cruel knowledge of the tension still present in CJ's body.
They speak in hushed tones about mundane things, unwilling to let the hallowed West Wing into their intimate world. Abigail - it's always Abbey who dozes off first - makes content little sighs that cause CJ to turn over and watch the other woman sleep. The throbbing in the pit of her stomach and between her legs finally eases as the worries that lined Abbey's face smooth out into peaceful slumber.
The alarm clock says two a.m. The President, along with the rest of the Senior Staff, is some ten thousand miles above the Pacific and she's gotta check in with Leo at six a.m. It's her turn to hold down the fort and at least she's off to a good start on mending the rift between the East and West Wing.
Probably not in the way Leo had in mind, but CJ decides that's just the nature of politics.