Compromising Positions
by Katrina McDonnell

He zipped up his pants, walked back and stared down at her prone position. "As much as I've missed you, I'm not up to a repeat performance. Yet."

Resting his hands either side of her head, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her nose. Only then did he notice her grimace. "CJ?"

She screwed her eyes shut for a moment. "My back's cramped."

"Can you move?"

"Yes, I can. I'm just lying on my desk with my skirt up around my ears for the good of my health." Her fist pounded on the wood, the vibration bouncing a stapler to the carpet. "Shit!"

"What can I do?"

"Nothing unless you have a bottle of muscle relaxants on you," she gasped.

He kneeled so his face was almost level with hers. "The First Lady's in the Residence, isn't she?"

"I can get up myself." Cursing interspersed the groans during her very short-lived attempt. "Just give me a few hours."

"Hey, it's just Abbey."

"And I'm the White House Press Secretary--"

Her glare hadn't worked on him in a long time. "Who so missed her handsome partner that she insisted on making what turned out to be back-breaking love in her office. I don't think she'll be shocked."


"CJ." He tapped his fingertips on the desk to highlight his points. "I'm an editor, not a member of the White House Press Corps. They know we live together. I escorted you to a State Dinner, and I don't think they bought your excuse when we came back here for twenty minutes. And they may even suspect that we have sex regularly. Now, are you going to lie here for the rest of the night or can I call Abbey?"

She blew a resigned sigh through her pursed lips. "Okay. But can you help me button my blouse and find my panties first?"

"You haven't got anything she hasn't seen before." While he was immune to her glare, the back of her hand on his head was a different matter. "Buttoning now."

With enough of her dignity restored, she gave him the go ahead to call the Residence. But the wrong Bartlet answered.

"Mr. President. Yes, Sir, I'm back. And CJ is very pleased."

Hands covering her face, she whimpered, "I'm going to hell."

Allowing himself a little grin at her discomfit, Danny tried to get his mission back on track. "Is Dr Bartlet available? I need some medical advice--I'd rather not, Sir."

Danny sighed, he was well aware that the President didn't like being kept out of the loop. "I really can't talk to you about it, Sir. It's kind of a 'need to know' thing."

Movement and muffled groans forced his attention back to the desk. With only one free hand, he couldn't do much more than let her use him as a support.

Finally in a position that could pass for standing up, CJ whispered in his ear, "Hang up."

"Ah, Mr. President, the medical problem is solved." He rolled his eyes. "Uh, no, Mr. President, I can't give you a hint. And no penicillin is needed."

CJ tugged at the phone cord.

"Uh, got to go, Sir. Sorry to have disturbed you." He cut off the President and dropped the receiver back in its cradle. Slipping both arms around her waist, he gently hugged her. "Do you think he'll send the Secret Service down here?"

"Oh, God. Grab my briefcase and shoes. The car keys are in my coat."

The security cameras recorded the fastest, slowest getaway in history.


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