Drabbletag; The West Wing, CJ/Carol
Title: Behind The Scenes
Prompt: "Tape", by faithinthepoor
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: CJ/Carol
Word Count: 250
Rating: So suitable for all, there's not even kissing I'm afraid...
Behind The Scenes
You help her with everything.
Without complaint, you stay late those nights when the world’s gone to hell and she needs your assistance in pretending that everything is under control. You pick up evening gowns from her apartment, search out bathrobes when she sits in wet paint, and you feed Gail. You pry the empty coffee cup gently from her hand when she falls asleep at her desk.
You are efficient and loyal, and your finger presses the 'hold' button when the guy from Reuters is being an ass.
You help her with what she needs, and she doesn’t need to know why you do.
Doesn’t need to know you caress the fabric of those evening dresses as you hang them up. How you take sly looks at her legs when she swings them onto the desk to read the Washington Post. How your hand lingers just above her hair when you remove the Starbucks debris.
Now, you’re watching her in the briefing. You know there are only three people in the room who realise why her suit jacket is fastened so high. You know those two blouse buttons came off as a result of Danny Concannon’s hands.
You also know that as you pressed sticky tape onto the gaping blouse to save her dignity, the side of your hand brushed her cotton tank and the curve of a breast.
And for the hundredth time, you wish you were Danny. Wish you were allowed to hinder her, just once.
Prompt: "Tape", by faithinthepoor
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: CJ/Carol
Word Count: 250
Rating: So suitable for all, there's not even kissing I'm afraid...
Behind The Scenes
You help her with everything.
Without complaint, you stay late those nights when the world’s gone to hell and she needs your assistance in pretending that everything is under control. You pick up evening gowns from her apartment, search out bathrobes when she sits in wet paint, and you feed Gail. You pry the empty coffee cup gently from her hand when she falls asleep at her desk.
You are efficient and loyal, and your finger presses the 'hold' button when the guy from Reuters is being an ass.
You help her with what she needs, and she doesn’t need to know why you do.
Doesn’t need to know you caress the fabric of those evening dresses as you hang them up. How you take sly looks at her legs when she swings them onto the desk to read the Washington Post. How your hand lingers just above her hair when you remove the Starbucks debris.
Now, you’re watching her in the briefing. You know there are only three people in the room who realise why her suit jacket is fastened so high. You know those two blouse buttons came off as a result of Danny Concannon’s hands.
You also know that as you pressed sticky tape onto the gaping blouse to save her dignity, the side of your hand brushed her cotton tank and the curve of a breast.
And for the hundredth time, you wish you were Danny. Wish you were allowed to hinder her, just once.