title: Spinning
author: Ellen Milholland
rating: NC-17 (for unredeemable sex between women)
codes: femslash, cj/amy, post-"Dead Irish Writers"
disclaimers: standard.
soundtrack: alanis, 'under rug swept'
summary: "when amy smiles, the world stops."

for Marie-Claude and my sweet, sweet Stephanie.
*

"Finally. There you are."

CJ's eyes flutter open, shimmering under glossy lashes. "I didn't know you were looking for me, or I wouldn't have made myself so hard to find." She smiles a little, reaches for her wine glass and takes a sip.

"I like a challenge." The consonants get stuck on the insides of Amy's teeth, not quite slurred but messy. CJ's drunk enough that Amy is not so much hazy as ethereal against the dark backdrop of the hallway. Her mouth is wet with fresh lipstick.

"Why aren't you at the party?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Amy's still at the threshold, and she slides her fingers up the doorjamb, a long, pale arm descending into the glittering pattern of her dress. She cocks her head to the side and smiles.

"The longer I stayed, the more work they found for me to do. I decided that, hiding, I'd be able to get a little peace and quiet."

"I can go," Amy says, and her shoulders fall a little in disappointment. She is fabulously beautiful, CJ thinks, and the alcohol certainly doesn't hurt.

"Not a good idea," CJ says.

Amy smiles. "Oh, no?" Her hips move some, and her dress sparkles. She's blinding. CJ's certainly drunk, but that hardly seems to matter.

"I've got another bottle of wine, an extra glass, and at least four hours 'til dawn. The night's still young, and you, my friend, are not nearly drunk enough for my taste."

"Your taste?" Amy says, the corners of her mouth diamond shards. She laughs without having to.

CJ just lifts her eyebrows and gestures towards the other end of the couch. "Come inside already. Tell Tim--"

The agent ducks his head in before she gets the whole sentence out. "Ma'am?" He's pretty, young, with dark hair and light eyes.

Amy jumps, spins around, and CJ says, "Well, your hearing is freakishly good." He nods, and she says, "We can close the door?"

He throws a look at Amy, and CJ says, "I didn't really mean it, about the freakish thing. Well, I did, but--" The agent just nods, and CJ adds, "And you'll, you'll keep it closed?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nods and closes the door behind him. Amy turns back to CJ, grinning.

"I have to tell you, the power thing you've got going on here, giving directions to the Secret Service-- I'm impressed."

"Impressed? That's what they're calling it these days?" CJ says, and Amy flushes across her cheekbones.

"How much of that wine have you had, CJ?" Amy teases, but sits down next to her just the same. Amy's slender thighs are long and defined under the smooth fabric of her dress, and CJ gleams from head to toe, liquid silver.

"Enough to tell you that you look incredible tonight," CJ says without looking at Amy. She looks away towards the widows, fit together like a mosaic. She isn't surprised that Abbey chose this room, far from the party and close to the sky.

"Why thank you, CJ. Not looking so bad yourself." Amy's arm brushes CJ's leg as she reaches for the empty wine glass, and CJ's breath catches, but almost silently. She's not sure if Amy notices, but Amy does notice. She pretends not to, just pours herself the wine. "I'm glad you ditched the uber-corkscrew for a more functional version."

CJ smiles vaguely, then says, "Where's Josh?"

"At the party, wheeling and dealing."

"Aren't you his partner in crime?" CJ asks, looking down at her lap, and then at Amy's knees. CJ's eyelids are a kind of silver that's almost nude, and Amy's legs are crossed.

"This dame needed a drink."

"What about the bar?"

"I came looking for you, CJ. That's not good enough?" Amy's voice is black and purple, a bruise. She runs her finger around the rim of the glass. She has beautiful hands and wrists.

CJ shakes her head. "I didn't mean-- No, no, I did mean. Why aren't you--"

"Josh is great. Don't get me wrong, he's a lot of fun, and he's sweet as hell. But, he's got the emotional capacity of a two-year-old. And-- I came looking for you, CJ." She says it again, and this time CJ nods.

"I'm okay with second best."

"I came looking for you."

This time, CJ's breath hitches, and her chin falls towards her chest before she nods. "Okay."

"There's a long silence that stretches out until CJ things she'll snap. Her palms sweat like they always do, and Amy fidgets. Amy finally says, "At least you're not Canadian."

CJ laughs, sharp and sweet. She says, "Amy, it's been a long-- We'd agreed we wouldn't--"

"I think I'm beginning to be offended, CJ. I'm wearing this ridiculously expensive dress, I'm perfectly drunk, and I'm practically begging -- well, that might be an exaggeration -- and you won't even look at me. You yourself have mentioned that I'm not exactly hideous, so I'd have to assume--"

CJ turns to look at her, her gaze hot as it slides across Amy's stomach, breasts, shoulders, mouth. "I'm drunk. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Amy says, no hesitations. "It's about Josh, then."

"I don't want--"

Amy's voice is a breath. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." She touches CJ's leg, slides a fingertip down to CJ's knee. CJ shivers, gulps down a mouthful of wine.

"Amy, you're not playing fair."

"I've never been one for following the rules." She touches the back of CJ's hand with her thumb.

"Jesus," CJ hisses and turns on Amy like a cat, kisses her mouth, hard. CJ loves Amy for her mouth, lipstick slick and wine bright and sweet like birthday cake. They've done this before, back when CJ was new to Washington. It had been a liability for both of them, and this just proves that they're both a little desperate, but neither knows the words for their desperation. CJ touches Amy's hair, her powdered cheek, her neck, and Amy strokes the back of CJ's other hand and the palm.

CJ's mouth is next to perfect, hot and wet, and she's the kind of woman that never had to learn how to kiss because she was born knowing. Amy's mind goes blank except for CJ's tongue and the ridges of her soft palate, CJ's index finger tracing the curve of her earlobe. Amy slides her hand up CJ's arm, traces CJ's collarbone with her fingertips.

CJ grabs Amy's wrist, and Amy leans away, eyebrow raised. CJ says, "God, you look fantastic," and sucks one of Amy's fingers into her mouth.

Amy says breathlessly, "I'm glad you think so. This dress-- this dress was a nightmare to get into."

CJ leaves a lipstick mark on Amy's fingers, and she says, "That's a shame."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if I'm coordinated enough for the nightmare of getting you out of it," CJ says without blinking, and Amy smiles.

"I think we'll manage."

"What if," CJ says, "What if Josh comes looking for you?"

"He won't," Amy says.

"But what--" CJ starts, but Amy kisses her, and CJ realizes that she's serious about this, and she'd kill Josh for doing this to Amy, or Amy for doing this to Josh, but instead she just kisses Amy back and slides her hand up Amy's thigh.

A minute or an hour later, Amy pushes CJ back and stands up. CJ looks up at her, a little bewildered and impossibly beautiful, hair mussed from Amy's hands, mouth swollen, one dress strap pushed off her shoulder. Amy can't even find the words to start telling CJ how beautiful she is, so instead she kicks off her shoes and hitches her skirt up above her knees so that she san straddle CJ's lap.

CJ leans back into the sofa, her palms on Amy's thighs, fingers against bare skin, and Amy whimpers. "It's been much too long, CJ."

CJ answers by kissing Amy's shoulder and along the lines of her neck, by sliding her hands up Amy's legs, the material of Amy's dress gathering against her wrists. CJ spreads her knees apart, forcing Amy's legs a little wider, brushes against Amy's panties with the pad of her thumb.

Amy moans aloud. CJ wonders if the Secret Service agents will be able to hear them, but as Amy bites her lower lip and tries to grind against CJ's hand, CJ decides that she really doesn't care. They're far enough way, and CJ's drunk enough that the whole world can shrink to Amy and Amy's breath and the wet warmth between her legs.

"Don't be a tease," Amy says and dips her head to trace CJ's shoulder with the tip of her tongue.

CJ shivers and says, "What, no foreplay?"

"I've had to watch you slink around in this dress all night, drinking too much and spreading yourself out on this couch like you were asking for it. And I had to sit there and pretend like I didn't notice."

"I did see that you became awfully fascinated by the First Lady's dress," CJ smirks.

"Just because you can completely unravel me doesn't mean you're allowed to be smug."

CJ flicks a finger against Amy's panties, and Amy's hips jerk. "Oh, no?"

"Remind me again why I do this?"

"Because I'm great in bed."

"And an assortment of other places, it seems," Amy says, and when CJ brushes a finger against one of her nipples, Amy says, "What does a girl have to do around here--"

"Ask me. Ask me for it."

"Please, CJ."

"Please what?" CJ says quietly. Amy's eyes are wide, and CJ likes it.

Amy drops her head to whisper in CJ's ear, "I'd give anything if you'd just let me come already."

CJ doesn't need any more encouragement, and Amy is impossibly wet, impossibly tight when CJ slips two fingers into her. Amy rocks her hips, holds CJ's shoulders to keep from falling, leaves fingerprints. Amy tries to keep quiet, but she's never been very good at it, and by the time CJ gets to the fourth finger, CJ has to put her other hand over Amy's mouth. Amy bites her palm almost hard enough to draw blood, and CJ whimpers, not in pain.

It happens suddenly, Amy crying out against CJ's hand and tightening around her fingers. Amy's dress sparkles as she twists, and she says, "Oh, CJ. Oh, CJ," over and over again, and CJ loves the way her name sounds when Amy says it like that.

Amy says, "I want to--" and tugs a little at CJ's dress but CJ shakes her head.

"You'd be surprised how not-possible it would be to--"

Amy considers this for a moment, licking her lips, unmoving, still in CJ's lap. She seems to decide something, then says, "Drive me home."

"I--"

"CJ. Let me, please. Let me--"

And so CJ smiles, brilliantly and blindingly. "I'm drunk, you know."

"I know."

"You'll have to drive."

"I know," Amy smiles.

"You're beautiful," CJ says, and when Amy smiles, the world stops.

Back to West Wing fiction.