DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and its characters are the property of NBC, Aaron Sorkin and John Wells.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
I had a thing…
By Celievamp
On the table are two bags of take-out from different restaurants, a bottle of Chardonney and a bottle of Californian Riesling, a single red rose and a small posy of peach tea-roses. Two sets of shoes intermingle under the table, both kicked off. Over one of the chairs a dark blue linen jacket has been rather haphazardly hung. On the floor beside it a cream silk shirt is half inside out, most of the buttons still done. Entwined with it is a red silk tunic top, also inside out. A dark blue pair of suit pants, possibly worn with the linen jacket are on the floor half way across the room. A few paces further on a black skirt is puddle as if it had shimmied down over hips and thighs as gravity did what it does and was simply stepped out of en route. A few paces further on and a peach silk and lace slip has been similarly abandoned.
On the door handle a bra hangs by its strap. The peach colour indicates that its owner might have been the owner of the lace slip. The door is slightly ajar. A few feet into the room is another bra, slightly more utilitarian white. One knee-high flesh toned is next to it. The other is at the foot of the bed next to a pair of ladies boxers. Other senses tell you just how aroused the owner of the boxers was when they were abandoned. To the side of the bed a pair of sheer black stockings lie like sloughed snakeskin. Over them peach silk knickers, the material dampened as if two fingers have been pressed to them, using the fabric to enhance the sensation.
On the bed the sheets are awry, partially covering the two prone figures. The smaller blonde is lying half on top of the taller brunette, her head pillowed on her shoulder, her fingers drawing swirling patterns on the skin of her abdomen, over her rips, occasionally skimming the sides of her breasts, tantalizing. Her lover's arms are around her, one hand almost possessively cupping a cheek, her thumb gentling over the dimple at the base of her spine. Their legs are intertwined. The silence is comfortable. The dark haired woman turns her head slightly to kiss the crown of blonde hair, smiling as she feels the other woman's smile against her skin.
The overwhelming need and desire for each other is sated for now. It has been a long day, an interminable week, one hell of a year. They had learnt the hard way never to plan but this evening had been special, an anniversary of a kind. Even so events had conspired against them.
"I'm sorry I was so late," C.J. said softly.
"You had a thing, I know," Kate propped herself up to look down on the face and form she had grown to love so deeply that it scared her sometimes. "National Security, remember?"
"Have you been keeping tabs on me again, Commander Harper?" C.J. quirked a smile.
"Always," Kate said, snuggling closer again. "I'll always have your back, Claudia Jean."
"Good to know." She grinned suggestively. "What about the rest of me?"
Kate laughed. C.J. turns them, arches over Kate, her long slim thigh pressing against the smaller woman's centre as Kate reaches up to take one of C.J.'s breasts into her mouth, her tongue swirling around sensitive nipples. The need is growing again, they have all night and who knows when the next time will be.
The End