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 Allison Janney or Stockard Channing. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was written initially for shonn as her gift in the Pay It Forward meme. She'd requested CJ/Abbey and later challenged me to a first kiss for them. This was the end result…in about 4 hours time. I hadn't initially planned on any kind of angst, but that seems to be kind of apropos for this pairing… Dedication: My muses, for always keeping me on my toes… Beta: shatterpath, as usual
CHALLENGE: Written as part of the 1001 Nights Challenge - breasts
SPOILERS: Epilogue for 3rd season's "Dead Irish Writers"
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Fantastic
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
"Claudia Jean, let's get drunk."
I stare at her for a long moment, completely dumbfounded. I remember well the last time she said those very same words to me. It was only a few hours, and several bottles of champagne, ago. Before Donna verbally slapped some sense into her.
"I'm having the strangest sense of déjà vu, ma'am," I finally reply. Her staring is enough to drive me insane. "Shall I find Amy and Donna again?"
She flashes me an amused grin, but I see the predatory flash in her eyes. "No, I'm really not in the mood to have my ass handed to me on a silver platter again, or find this conversation in a book of memoirs in a decade or two."
I glance around the ballroom, not surprised in the least that the party is finally starting to wind down. It's been a long night, and most of the guests have wandered back to their homes or hotels. It's primarily the staff and a few people who don't know when to leave, like--
"Abigail, really you are possessed of the most magnificent pair of breasts I've ever seen." Lord John Marbury has never been one to espouse subtlety. Not that I disagree with him in his observations at this present time. "Are you quite certain I can't fondle them? It is your birthday, after all. I'm sure your husband wouldn't mind me worshipping you properly on the anniversary of your entrance onto this planet."
My mind is lost to thoughts of worshipping those perfect breasts myself, so I completely miss Abbey's amused refusal of his request. I can hear the murmured sounds of their conversation as he tries once again to change her mind, but all I can seem to do is try to undress her in my mind. I really need to stop drinking so much champagne when she's wearing a gown that flatters her figure so nicely.
"Come along, CJ," Abbey says, breaking into my thoughts, and loops her arm through mine. "I'd like to get your opinion on some talk shows I'm considering doing."
"Yes, ma'am," I reply, letting her lead me out of the ballroom and toward the residence. We walk in amiable silence, the presence of her guards behind us. Her hand lightly strokes the inside of my forearm, almost unconsciously. But I know Abbey Bartlet, and she doesn't just do things unconsciously.
"Tell me, Claudia Jean," she finally asks as we settle in the sitting room off her bedroom. "Were you planning on going home tonight?"
"Eventually, I suppose. I guess I was waiting to be told my services were no longer needed."
That predatory glint is in her eyes again as she hands me a glass of white wine. "Didn't you release the press corps hours ago?" When I nod, she chuckles. "And yet you can't go home because there might be something you have to fix. Am I wrong?"
"No, ma'am." It's not as if I've ever hidden that fact. In light of everything that's been happening, I need to be aware of everything that happens in this administration. I can't afford to miss something and have it thrown in my face again.
Her touch on my cheek startles me out of my thoughts. Damn! I'm really getting bad at this tonight. "You're thinking too much, CJ," she says softly. "Even if my husband won't say it, I will. You're off duty for the night. And you're staying here tonight." I barely get the chance to consider protesting. "You've had too much to drink and you're not going to drive. That's all there is to it, CJ."
"Yes, ma'am," I finally relent; it's not like I have a choice in the matter any longer. I raise my wine glass in mock salute to her and take a healthy sip. "Will the President be joining us?"
"Should he?"
I stare at her and fight back a sigh. "Why am I here, ma'am? Is there some reason you decided I'm your personal verbal punching bag tonight?" There's a wounded look in her eyes, which actually makes me sigh and set down my wine glass. "And once again, I've gone too far. I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Claudia Jean, stop calling me 'ma'am' for one damned night!" She gets up and starts to pace in front of me. "You would think that the hell of dealing with the public learning about Jed's MS could be set aside for just this one day. Let them flay me alive again tomorrow, but just let me have this one day to appear to be normal. Is that so much to ask?" She pinches the bridge of her nose. "My children couldn't even be here. Oh, they'll be here this weekend, but that's not the same, damn it! I don't even rate high enough for Zoey to stop by, but you can bet if it was Charlie's birthday, or her father's, she'd be here in a heartbeat."
Before I realize it, I'm on my feet and moving to stand behind her. I can hear her heavy breathing as she struggles with her emotions, and I wrap my arms around her in an attempt at comfort. She leans back into my touch for a moment, arms resting atop my own.
"You know the girls would be here if they could," I finally say softly, my cheek moving to rest against the crown of her head. "They love you, and your husband would tell you the same thing. Zoey's got a huge exam tomorrow that she's been studying for, or so Charlie told me earlier tonight. He even tried to get her here for you tonight, but she really wants to pass this exam."
"She didn't even call, CJ," comes the pathetic response. "Is one exam so damned important that she can't even take out five minutes to call and wish her mother a happy birthday?"
I turn her around to face me and cup her chin in my hand. "She's nineteen years old, Abbey, and doesn't think sometimes. Ellie is busy with med school, something you well remember being very demanding. And Liz has Doug and the kids to deal with. They didn't forget you; they're all going to be here this weekend for your private birthday party. Do you really think any of them would have been comfortable here tonight? Particularly with Lord John repeatedly commenting about your fantastic breasts?"
A watery smile lights up her face and she chuckles softly. "Lord John has called my breasts many things this evening, but fantastic is not one of them."
Oh shit! "Are -- are you sure?" I ask, attempting to clear my throat to keep my voice from cracking. "I could have sworn…"
"No, Claudia Jean, I would remember being told my breasts were fantastic by someone other than my husband."
"Um…"
She leans back a bit, giving me a better view of said cleavage, and smiles mischievously at me. "Do you really think they're fantastic, Claudia Jean?"
All I can do is stare blankly at her; I can't even form the words to say yes or no. On the one hand, I can't deny that Abbey has a fantastic body, First Lady or not, particularly after having had three children. She's always had a sort of hold over me, ever since I first joined the campaign four years ago. There's something about Abbey Bartlet that just demands you pay attention and do as she asks. In some ways, she's more intense than her husband, and that's saying a lot. But there's also the woman behind the politics. She's just… Jeezus, I've had too damned much alcohol tonight.
"Claudia Jean?"
"You've got the most magnificent body I've seen in a long time," I blurt out, instantly wishing I could take it all back. I feel faint from the blood rushing to my face, and struggle to get away from her.
She doesn't let go of me easily, but somehow I manage to scuttle off to collapse on the couch again. I drain my wine glass and drop my head into my hands, wondering how long it'll take to find a new job…in Timbuktu. The rustling of material stops, and I feel the couch cushions dip as she sits next to me. She tries to tip my chin up, but I resolutely resist. I can't face her right now, maybe not ever again.
"Please look at me, CJ." Her voice is soft, beckoning.
"No, I don't think so, ma'am." There you go, CJ. Keep the professionalism you should have kept all along.
She grows more insistent, gripping my chin tightly until I don't have a choice but to turn her way. I keep my eyes closed, unwilling to witness what's in hers. I just want to get this night over with, and repeatedly pray for the President to interrupt us, so I can slink out of here with the tattered shreds of my dignity. I can feel her staring at me, but I just can't open my eyes. Her fingers stroke at my cheek and chin, but it's the brush of her lips against mine that is startling enough to make me open my eyes. I can't help staring at her in confusion and…something else I don't want to admit to just yet.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
"For what?" Does my voice really sound that husky? Damn!
"For complimenting an old woman and making her feel better on her birthday."
"You're not old, Abbey," I scold lightly, and lean into her hand cupping my cheek. "You're only as old as you feel."
She grins broadly at that. "If I told you how old I feel right now, and what I'd like to do, I think you'd run screaming from the room."
I can feel the blush heating my cheeks again. "I think you're right," I reply with a slight hitch in my voice. "But, Abbey, I was serious when I said you're not old. You're a beautiful woman who deserves to have attentions lavished on her every single day, but today especially."
Before I can think of stopping myself, I lean in to caress her lips with mine. The butterflies in my stomach go into full flight mode as her lips part under mine, and I can't help the urge to explore her mouth. I'll blame it on the wine and champagne later, particularly if her husband walks in; but for now, I'm going to make sure she has something wonderful to remember on her birthday. And if I get something to kindle a few fantasies for me, then that's just an added bonus, isn't it?
"Happy birthday, Abbey," I murmur when I finally pull away with great reluctance; I never want this feeling to end. "And may you have many, many more."
The End