It's Never a Simple Dance They Do
hastily written, unbetaed Jed/Abbey fic, written for the ficathon here. Just schmoop, cause I can't do porn.
It's Never a Simple Dance They Do
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Jed/Abbey
Prompt: reparations
"You look like you've had a long day," Abbey said as Jed entered the bedroom and slung his jacket on the nearest chair.
"Yeah," was the answer - the slightly drawn out, thank-you-for-noticing-the-obvious one.
"Are you feeling alright?"
That garnered a sigh and an eyeroll.
"Abigail..."
"I was just *asking*," she sidled over and dealt him a firm kiss, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Jackass."
A grin tugged at his lips.
"I'm the President of the United States, you know."
"God, really? Congratulations! When did that happen?"
"Yeah, I don't remember either."
"This calls for a celebration," she murmured in his ear.
"Yeah?" The hopeful, slightly-cautious one.
"Yes, indeed," her hands slid down his back, fingernails digging in slightly as they neared his ass.
A groan slipped out and he found her lips again as her fingers went for his belt.
She kissed back, then *stepped* back, smiling a little at his dismay and bewilderment.
"Yes. *Right* after you tell me what's got you so exhausted today."
"I'm the President of the United States," he whined a little, stepping toward her again.
She stepped back another pace, cocking her head and putting one hand on her hip.
"I'm the First Lady."
"Yes. You are, and that is why, even when you take into consideration that I am *the* most powerful man in the world... lemme pause for a minute, let you take that in."
She raised a brow in silence.
"No?" he ventured.
"By all means, continue. Patronization is sure to get you what you want."
Jed cleared his throat.
"*The* most powerful - ... even though *you* are the most brilliant, witty, and dare I mention beautiful..."
"Now you're getting the idea."
"... *because* you are the most brilliant, witty, and dare I mention beautiful, woman in all the world, a woman who could rival, nay, *supercede* Aphrodite herself..."
He paused, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and slowly removed her shoes.
She looked up.
"Go on."
He swallowed.
"Where was I?"
"Aphrodite," she said mildly.
"Aphrodite. Which, by the way, is from the Greek aphros, in case you were wondering. You know what it means?"
"Yes."
"Risen from foam."
"Thank you, Professor Superfluous."
"Because of the legend."
"I'm familiar."
"So I should just go back to..."
"Please do."
He cleared his throat again.
"And let's not stop at Aphrodite. There's also Diana - "
"Diana was *Roman* and the goddess of *chastity*," she reminded, voice rising.
"Ah, but she was *originally* the goddess of *fertility*. So I am not remiss in also comparing you to - " he sighed.
"Look... Abbey... can we just have sex?"
"Yes."
"Excellent."
He kicked off his shoes in the middle of the room and dashed for the bed.
Abbey held up a hand as he tried to move in for another kiss.
"Right after - "
He groaned.
"Right after you tell me what the hell happened today," she finished.
"Breckenridge."
"That's... your nominee for the Attorney General for Civil Rights?"
"*Assistant* Attorney General for Civil Rights," Jed grumbled.
"So? What's the problem?"
"He supports slavery reparations."
"He does?"
"Well. He doesn't *support* them as much as he wants to have the discussion."
"The discussion about what?"
"The *national* discussion."
"He wants a national discussion about forty acres and a mule."
"He does."
"Does he think that's going to accomplish anything?"
"I don't know."
"Do you?"
"Discussions are the root of true democracy. I don't know if it'll help, but I know *not* talking about it doesn't."
"So he gets to bring up slavery reparations."
"Yeah."
"And the Republicans will crucify him for it... he's not going to get confirmed."
"Probably."
"And you get to look like an idiot."
"Like that's new."
"But we get the discussion."
"Yeah," he studied his lap.
A beat of silence.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Do I get reparations now for having this conversation?"
"Yes," she said decidedly, loosening his tie. "Yes, Mr. President, I think we can manage to make that motion."
"Thank *God*," he flopped back on the bed, leaving the tie in her hand.
"This is an ugly tie," she mused.
"Abigail, I swear to God and all that is holy, you have five seconds to get out of that thing you have on or I'm going to tear it off."
She raised a brow at him again.
"That beautiful, stunning, and I'm sure very expensive dress."
She rolled her eyes, deftly sliding out of said garment, leaving it a puddle of green silk.
"I love that dress," he grinned as she climbed onto the bed, straddling him, tie still in hand.
She unbuttoned his pants and gave them a firm yank.
"It's a *very* beautiful dress. Where did you get that thing?"
"Shut up," she murmured, going in for another kiss.
Only forty years of knowing him made the slurred answer intelligible in spite of her tongue tracing its way over his.
"Yes, ma'am."
It's Never a Simple Dance They Do
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Jed/Abbey
Prompt: reparations
"You look like you've had a long day," Abbey said as Jed entered the bedroom and slung his jacket on the nearest chair.
"Yeah," was the answer - the slightly drawn out, thank-you-for-noticing-the-obvious one.
"Are you feeling alright?"
That garnered a sigh and an eyeroll.
"Abigail..."
"I was just *asking*," she sidled over and dealt him a firm kiss, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Jackass."
A grin tugged at his lips.
"I'm the President of the United States, you know."
"God, really? Congratulations! When did that happen?"
"Yeah, I don't remember either."
"This calls for a celebration," she murmured in his ear.
"Yeah?" The hopeful, slightly-cautious one.
"Yes, indeed," her hands slid down his back, fingernails digging in slightly as they neared his ass.
A groan slipped out and he found her lips again as her fingers went for his belt.
She kissed back, then *stepped* back, smiling a little at his dismay and bewilderment.
"Yes. *Right* after you tell me what's got you so exhausted today."
"I'm the President of the United States," he whined a little, stepping toward her again.
She stepped back another pace, cocking her head and putting one hand on her hip.
"I'm the First Lady."
"Yes. You are, and that is why, even when you take into consideration that I am *the* most powerful man in the world... lemme pause for a minute, let you take that in."
She raised a brow in silence.
"No?" he ventured.
"By all means, continue. Patronization is sure to get you what you want."
Jed cleared his throat.
"*The* most powerful - ... even though *you* are the most brilliant, witty, and dare I mention beautiful..."
"Now you're getting the idea."
"... *because* you are the most brilliant, witty, and dare I mention beautiful, woman in all the world, a woman who could rival, nay, *supercede* Aphrodite herself..."
He paused, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and slowly removed her shoes.
She looked up.
"Go on."
He swallowed.
"Where was I?"
"Aphrodite," she said mildly.
"Aphrodite. Which, by the way, is from the Greek aphros, in case you were wondering. You know what it means?"
"Yes."
"Risen from foam."
"Thank you, Professor Superfluous."
"Because of the legend."
"I'm familiar."
"So I should just go back to..."
"Please do."
He cleared his throat again.
"And let's not stop at Aphrodite. There's also Diana - "
"Diana was *Roman* and the goddess of *chastity*," she reminded, voice rising.
"Ah, but she was *originally* the goddess of *fertility*. So I am not remiss in also comparing you to - " he sighed.
"Look... Abbey... can we just have sex?"
"Yes."
"Excellent."
He kicked off his shoes in the middle of the room and dashed for the bed.
Abbey held up a hand as he tried to move in for another kiss.
"Right after - "
He groaned.
"Right after you tell me what the hell happened today," she finished.
"Breckenridge."
"That's... your nominee for the Attorney General for Civil Rights?"
"*Assistant* Attorney General for Civil Rights," Jed grumbled.
"So? What's the problem?"
"He supports slavery reparations."
"He does?"
"Well. He doesn't *support* them as much as he wants to have the discussion."
"The discussion about what?"
"The *national* discussion."
"He wants a national discussion about forty acres and a mule."
"He does."
"Does he think that's going to accomplish anything?"
"I don't know."
"Do you?"
"Discussions are the root of true democracy. I don't know if it'll help, but I know *not* talking about it doesn't."
"So he gets to bring up slavery reparations."
"Yeah."
"And the Republicans will crucify him for it... he's not going to get confirmed."
"Probably."
"And you get to look like an idiot."
"Like that's new."
"But we get the discussion."
"Yeah," he studied his lap.
A beat of silence.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Do I get reparations now for having this conversation?"
"Yes," she said decidedly, loosening his tie. "Yes, Mr. President, I think we can manage to make that motion."
"Thank *God*," he flopped back on the bed, leaving the tie in her hand.
"This is an ugly tie," she mused.
"Abigail, I swear to God and all that is holy, you have five seconds to get out of that thing you have on or I'm going to tear it off."
She raised a brow at him again.
"That beautiful, stunning, and I'm sure very expensive dress."
She rolled her eyes, deftly sliding out of said garment, leaving it a puddle of green silk.
"I love that dress," he grinned as she climbed onto the bed, straddling him, tie still in hand.
She unbuttoned his pants and gave them a firm yank.
"It's a *very* beautiful dress. Where did you get that thing?"
"Shut up," she murmured, going in for another kiss.
Only forty years of knowing him made the slurred answer intelligible in spite of her tongue tracing its way over his.
"Yes, ma'am."