TITLE: What any good man would do
RATING: NC-17, maybe.
CODES: PWP, CJ/Sam/Mallory.
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine.
SUMMARY: Too much liquor and an idle comment can lead to the strangest of places.
He was not surprised that he was drunk. After all, he reasoned, or rather half-reasoned seeing as he was drunk, he'd had what had to amount to half a bottle of Jack Daniels. Okay, maybe not that much but it was close. Okay, maybe it wasn't, but it was a lot.
He shook his head as if to stop the internal argument. He wasn't yet drunk enough to find the voices amusing.
So he wasn't surprised that he was drunk, and in fact, he grabbed a beer from his fridge, and sat down at his kitchen table, trying to recall the day's events. He remembered that the West Wing had been triumphant over a patients' bill of rights – or what's the stupid acronym? CARE, CARP, CARQ, oh hell – success and that they had all headed out to drink themselves silly, as they had a habit of doing. And it had been everyone, even unexpected people like Zoey and Mallory who showed up occasionally. Especially when they knew there'd be free drinks involved.
So they had all spent too much time at their favorite bar and gotten gloriously drunk, except for the Secret Service agents, who snuck occasional pretzels instead.
And finally it had hit two o'clock or something and he'd been talking to CJ about -- well, about something that was just completely cerebral, he was sure. He'd been pretty damn proud of himself because he was carrying on a very intelligent – okay, at least moderately intelligent – conversation while Mallory's hand had been creeping up his leg. Now, CJ apparently had not noticed this, but then she was laughing and saying she felt like a voyeur, and he knew that she had.
He'd turned a bright shade of crimson, he imagined, which was to be expected. The strange thing was the way Mallory, who just reeked of bourbon, looked at CJ through slightly slit eyes and said how if she really wanted voyeurism, how that could be arranged. And CJ'd lifted her eyebrows, smirked, and told her to name the time and place.
And so Mallory had upped the ante and invited her over to Sam's house. He wasn't sure how that happened, but then he was half-asleep in a Secret Service car – he wasn't sure how they'd managed that – and he was wondering if he and Mallory were dating, or if perhaps it was CJ who was dating Mallory. All he knew is that he was in some alternate reality where bourbon-soaked Mallory was teasing a fingertip along the inside of CJ's thigh, while CJ's vodka-and-cranberry breath came a little too quickly.
The Secret Service agent looked back, and Sam just sort of waved at him jovially, and told him not to mind them, that they'd just had a few too many drinks, and oh, that was his block back there about a mile thanks.
And then he'd fumbled with his keys for a while, trying to unlock the lock, and then only remembering the deadbolt after he'd made himself look mildly ridiculous cursing at the door. CJ had laughed behind her hand, and Mallory had grabbed his ass and told him to hurry it up.
So he did. I mean, how can a man ignore an instruction like that? So they'd stumbled inside, and he'd locked the door behind them, and he'd pointed them in the direction of the couch. CJ grabbed the remote and out of habit went straight for C-SPAN, and Mallory rolled her eyes and sat almost in CJ's lap, and Sam had headed for the kitchen because the worst thing that could happen now would be that his inebriation would wear off and he'd suddenly realize just how horribly awful this situation was.
And this was where he found himself, at his kitchen table with an empty beer bottle sitting in front of him, and the sound of giggling carrying from the living room even over the sound of pre-taped Congressional hearings. He wondered what was quite so funny about the House minority leader, and so he stood – quite surefooted, if you asked him – and kind of swayed his way through the door towards the living room.
He kind of stumbled backward at the scene he found when he got there, and he knew that he was definitely, definitely, definitely in a parallel universe where none of the old rules applied, and he was pretty certain that if he dropped something, it would fall up instead of down.
By this time, Mallory was firmly in CJ's lap. CJ had been divested of her jacket, and so she was wearing just her skirt and a camisole, and her feet were up on his coffee table, her nylon-clad toes painted fire engine red. Enough of the buttons on Mallory's blouse had been undone to reveal what would normally be a scandalous amount of flesh, but under the circumstances, Sam was not really surprised. Edges of a lacy lavender bra glared more than peeked out from underneath the black silk CJ was ridding her of.
CJ actually appeared to be quite multitalented, because she was managing to engage in almost-witty repartee about the Majority leader's fashion sense – hence the aforementioned laughter – and also managing to suck on Mallory's collarbone, while unbuttoning the younger woman's shirt.
Sam was nothing if not impressed.
When Mallory opened her eyes, she grinned. "Sam, so nice of you to join us!" She was blushing, and her cheekbones were bright pink, and there were smudges across her jawbone where CJ's lipstick had rubbed off which were so much sexier than they had a right to be.
CJ tilted her neck back and looked at him sort of sideways and upside down. "Where've you been, Sam? I was lonely."
Mallory frowned. "Um, CJ, hello?"
"Wait. That was wrong," CJ corrected, furrowing her brow. "What I meant to say was that _we_ were lonely. We. That being a plural pronoun, you know. We."
Sam thought that Mallory probably had one of her hands in a compromising position and that CJ was just trying to make sure that she kept all of her anatomy intact. Then Sam remembered that women aren't quite as susceptible to that kind of sneak attack as men are, and so he thought maybe Mallory's hands were under CJ's skirt.
Sure enough, the very agile young woman had managed to figure out just the right position so that she could simultaneously straddle CJ's legs and run her hands up between them. It was really quite a feat.
Sam was totally impressed.
"Mallory, aren't you straight?"
"Mhm," she answered with a little nod as CJ went back for her throat, nipping and licking her way up to Mallory's earlobe. "Straight as a rail. Straight as a tree. Straight as --"
"Um, Mallory, could you, like, not talk?" CJ said. "I'm trying to ravish you here, and it's really hard with you babbling on like that."
Mallory laughed. "Yeah, okay, CJ. Can do. This is me, shutting up. This is me, totally shut--"
And so Sam did the only thing that he could think of to make her shut up – though he wondered why he'd never before noticed what a loud drunk she was. He kissed her, hot and long and hard, and he was surprised by how slippery her tongue was. He was leaning over the back of the couch, over CJ's head, and so he reached down and pulled CJ's hair back from her face, running his fingers across her neck in the process.
It was funny because he'd imagined sleeping with both of them before, but he'd never imagined, you know, sleeping with _both_ of them. This was like the ultimate male lesbian-threesome-voyeuristic fantasy he was about to live out here, and his hands were in CJ's hair and his tongue was in Mallory's mouth and the room was spinning around him.
"Whoa," he said when Mallory had had the silly need to breathe, "does anyone else get the distinct impression that the room is, like, moving?"
Mallory slid down in front of CJ, now fully straddling her thighs and cupping CJ's face in her hands. "Sure, Sam."
"Yeah, Sam. Sounds fine," CJ said. He got the distinct impression that neither of them had heard him, and he was about to go off on a diatribe about how no one around there respected him, but then Mallory stuck her tongue down CJ's throat and CJ put her hand up Mallory's blouse and he couldn't really remember what he'd been so pissed about.
So he did what any good man would do. He sat down next to CJ, touched one of his hands to one of her breasts, and kissed Mallory's bare shoulder. CJ gasped and leaned back, turning to look at him sharply.
"Yes?" He was a little confused because it wasn't as if he'd just snuck up on her.
She collected herself pretty well, and somewhere in the depths of her mind she really, really noted the need she had for another drink but the feeling of Sam and Mallory's hands on her satin-clad breasts was just a little much for her drunken brain.
And so she did what any good woman would do. She kissed Sam soundly, a little surprised at how normal and natural his mouth felt around her tongue. His fingers were teasing her nipple, and Mallory was nuzzling at the base of her neck.
CJ's whole body reacted to the onslaught of groping and saliva. One of her hands found its way into Mallory's soft hair and the other found its way to Sam's crotch, an area for which the appropriate descriptor, she mused as well as a drunk woman can, would not be 'soft.'
And so then he was arching his hips towards her hand, and sliding his hand down Mallory's slacks and attempting to take off his own tie. Underneath it all, he very vaguely wondered where he would find the box of condoms he knew he owned.
Half an hour later, they were in his bedroom and he was fucking CJ and that was the most shocking thing that had happened to him in years because she was so much softer than she looked and because underneath that CJ exterior, she was a woman.
Very much a woman, he found as he slid frantically into her again and again and she was wet and hot and deep for him. And occasionally she moaned his name, which was really another talent she had because he recognized his name even as she buried her tongue inside Mallory.
And when she came, and he came, and Mallory was left clutching at his shoulders until CJ's nimble mouth and fingers caught her up with the rest of the group, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine that maybe in the alternate universe where he just had his cock inside CJ while he watched her lick Mallory and suck the young woman's tongue... he tried to imagine that in this universe this makes sense and that he would not have to beg CJ for forgiveness for the next eight weeks.
His fingers splayed out against her taut stomach, though, and he idly stroked one of Mallory's thighs, soft and familiar. And he thought that all he needed to do was go to sleep, because then he could wake up hung over and alone.
And because he thought this, he was not quite sure why much later he wrapped his arm around CJ as if not to let her go. "Worried I'm going to leave, Sam?" she murmured.
"Worried that you'll stay, more like it."
"I probably won't," she said, not quite so drunk as he perhaps thought she was, "But maybe I'll be back sometime."
And it was funny because Mallory was asleep, and because even though
CJ's mouth tasted so much like Mallory's sex, he didn't want her for
even a moment. Sucking CJ's lower lip and touching her waist, he
wondered if he might not want to wake up in this same universe after
Back to the West Wing index.