NOTES:
Author: Yana
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 4 up to GO
Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing or any of its
characters.
Archive: Please ask.
AN: This is an immediate sequel to Stolen
Hour. You should probably be familiar with that to know where this
is coming from.
AN2: No happy fluffy smut here, much to my surprise.
He realized he’d never wanted Donnatella Moss as much as he did right at that moment.
Not the moment when he’d woken to the feel of her soft body clinging to him, her scent wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
Not the moment when, half-asleep, he’d lowered his mouth to hers and felt his heart flipflop as she stretched up to meet him, her lips parting in anticipation.
Not that moment of regret and anguish, just before their mouths met, when he’d woken up fully and realized what he’d--they’d--almost done.
No, it was the moment when she’d said, “Right. I better get back to work,” turned her expressive face away from him, and begun sifting through the papers scattered across the coffee table.
Right then, he wanted nothing more than to cross the room, haul her into his arms, and kiss her until she gasped for breath.
His brain screamed at him to go, to leave the room before he wrecked both their lives and the administration, and he did, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly. He looked down at his hand on the doorknob. It was shaking; his whole body was trembling with desire. He pressed his forehead against the door and squeezed the doorknob hard, trying to ground himself in reality, trying to make the pictures in his head go away.
At that moment, when she’d said those words, he had realized it with absolute certainty. There was regret on her face, and pain, poorly masked. But she understood the reality of the situation as well as he did and had let him go.
And now he was standing in his bathroom, forcing himself to stay put, shaking like a leaf and having what amounted to an epiphany:
Donna Moss wanted him too.
*****
It wasn’t fair. What he wanted to do was simple. He wanted to open that door--his hand tightened reflexively on the doorknob--cross the room, and sweep her off her feet. Carry her into his bedroom, lay her down on his bed, and peel her clothes off. Kiss her, and while he kissed her, explore her entire body with his hands. His mouth would follow his hands, tasting and caressing every inch of her soft, fair skin.
Then he’d enter her, slowly, letting his cock stretch the walls of her hot, tight passage as he sank himself into her body. And he’d stay inside her for the rest of the day, and for hour after hour he’d make her laugh with delight, scream with ecstasy, and weep with joy.
Then, if he was very, very lucky, he’d fall asleep inside her and wake up only to do it all again.
*****
There were so many things wrong with that scenario, he didn’t know where to begin.
First on the list, of course, was the assumption that having taken leave of common sense himself, she would be just as willing to do so. That wasn’t likely, even if she did want him.
He took another moment to savour that knowledge. She wanted him. It wasn’t just their almost-kiss: the night she’d just spent with him proved it. She was eager to feel his body wrapped around her, welcoming of his caresses, and if they hadn’t both woken up to reality at that precise moment, he would have found out exactly what she tasted like.
If he went out there right now, he could convince her.
His hand clenched around the doorknob again. A few words, a dramatic gesture or two...sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to his bed, for instance...he could pull it off. Within five minutes, against her better judgement, she’d be flat on her back with her legs spread for him, moaning his name, and he really would be able to fuck her senseless for as long as he liked.
That right there, he reminded himself, was the real reason he couldn’t leave the bathroom.
He had that much power over her. He already owned her for at least sixteen hours a day and demanded her body, mind, and soul during that time. Anything more would be the worst kind of slavery, but selfish bastard that he was, sometimes sixteen hours weren’t enough.
Sometimes he was seized by jealousy and couldn’t help but demand more of her. And when jealousy took hold, he could rationalize anything, even calling her late on a Saturday night and making her work. He’d slake his desire with a little power trip, asking her to come to him, watching her bring her soft, sleek body into his apartment, eat his food, sit on his furniture, and wait for him to tell her what he wanted her to do.
God knows why she’d decided to write that off as ‘quirky, demanding, brilliant boss’ behaviour rather than ‘demented, jealous, possessive stalker’ behaviour.
He could have let her sleep the night and called her in the early morning to ask for help. He could have got detailed instructions from her and collected everything himself. When she collapsed on his couch in exhaustion, still trying valiantly to work for him, he could have sent her home. Or driven her home. Or put her to bed.
Or in fact do absolutely anything besides watch her body slowly slide down the couch, then decide to tug her into his arms while he read, then decide that the best idea would be to drop his papers and enjoy the soft silk of her hair and the way her limbs slipped between his so easily.
She trusted him. She’d decided to let him have that power over her, and she trusted him with it. That was why he couldn’t go to her. Because he could convince her, and she’d trust that he’d know what he was doing with her--with them--the same way he knew what he was doing with work.
She’d let him call the shots, just like he did at work. They would slip into this thing where he would call her late on a Saturday night to come over for work and sex instead of just work.
And she’d do it. Work hard for him, then undress for him.
And he’d never know exactly why, not for sure.
Eventually, maybe, she’d get a clue, make a connection, and decide he was no better than her old boyfriend. If that happened, he’d have nothing. She’d be gone, slipped through his fingers. And if she left while they were still in the White House, he’d have even less chance than Doctor Freeride of winning her back, let alone have time to convince her to stay if she did return. Leo had lost Jenny for good that way.
He couldn’t do this.
But God, how he wanted to.
*****
Lost in thought, he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time, and was jolted when he heard the door to his apartment shut. She must have left.
Rubbing his hands over his face and hair, he took a deep breath, then quickly stripped. He turned the shower on full blast and stepped under the scalding spray. He looked down at his cock. Damn, it was a shame to waste a perfectly good erection like this. Right now, grasping himself gently, he felt like he could go for hours and hours, his will alone taking Donna to new heights of pleasure for days on end.
That was the second thing wrong with his whole seduction scenario. The long, slow lovemaking. Sure, he wanted to think that he could go for hours, but as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he’d be lucky...beyond lucky...to make her come the first time before he exploded inside her. He’d have to make sure that she was satisfied ahead of time.
It was a shame he was in the shower right now or else he would have made a note about that.
No he wouldn’t. Because he didn’t keep notes. Notes were for dorks, and...organized people. He’d know. The second she touched him he’d know he couldn’t go slowly and he’d make sure...very sure...that she’d had at least one good strong orgasm before he got inside her.
Because once he did...
He braced one arm against the shower wall and pumped himself briskly. Once he did...he thought of her blue eyes, her pale skin, her flaxen hair...he thought of her sweet smell, wreathing around him...of her soft, pliant body arching up towards him, taking him deeper...of her whimpers and moans as his cock massaged her inside and his fingers tweaked her nub...
It was a sin to waste this erection in his hand. As he stroked himself his body felt as though it could go forever, watching her, smelling her, feeling her, hearing her as he fucked her thoroughly. He wanted to dig into her until he’d made a place for himself inside her and then never leave.
His grip on his cock tightened and he picked up the pace. He shut his eyes and imagined what might have happened if they both hadn’t come to their senses that morning. He would have leaned down. She, curled around him, would have leaned up. Their first kiss would have been short and pleasant and almost platonic, if not for the crashing wave of desire surging up behind it.
Their second kiss would have been different. He would have demanded more, and she would have given it all back to him with interest. He would have fucked her on the couch. Right then, right there. No thought, no protection, no consequences. And then he would have carried her to his room and screwed her again until she screamed his name to the heavens.
The thought of how he could have had her twice by now finished him off. He muffled a groan of release as he spurted against the shower wall.
Thank God he had left the room.
******
When he emerged naked from the bathroom, hair still dripping and hand clutching his slept-in clothing, he caught sight of the note she’d placed in the middle of his now bare coffee table, informing him that she’d meet him at work. Wandering into the kitchen, he grabbed a piece of pizza, noting that she must have taken a couple of slices with her. He ate over the box, gobbling down one slice, then another.
As he paused to wipe his hands across his slept-in sweatpants, he caught sight of his stomach. He did, in fact, have the tiniest bit of a paunch. That hadn’t always been the case; before the shooting he’d been naturally well-muscled and fairly fit, able to run or play a pick-up game whenever he wanted. But since the shooting, he’d been letting things slip. Now he had to exercise regularly to stay fit and because he had to, perversely, he didn’t want to. He had done the bare minimum the physiotherapist had prescribed to bring himself back to his pre-shooting strength, but no more. Of course, the farther he got into this job, the busier his office became, so there was always the excuse of work. But he didn’t make time for it anymore, and he should.
He thought back to one of his more desperate fantasies of Donna...one he’d had right after he’d found out about Cliff, before Donna had ever lied to Congress.
The pain in his chest had refused to go away; no matter what he did, the slow burning ache of betrayal had stayed inside him for days. He’d gone home one night and stared at his empty apartment. Out of self-preservation, he’d let the lust he usually kept under control rise up and blind him. Consumed by it, he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the hard, knotted pain in his chest. He had been seized by an urge to fuck her--not in itself an original fantasy. But he’d suddenly wanted to do it everywhere in his apartment.
He’d start as soon as they got inside. He’d back her up against the door, peel off her clothes, taste her body with his mouth, then lift her leg over his hip and push into her. Eventually he’d pick her up completely, letting her weight sink down onto his cock, her legs wrapped around his hips. He’d carry her to the kitchen, perch her on the counter, and fuck her there for a while. Then sit down in one of his kitchen chairs and have her ride him.
Before they were done he would have fucked her on his coffee table, on his couch, on the floor in front of his TV. Then he would lift her up, still impaled on his cock, and carry her to the bedroom, pausing only to press her up against a wall, readjust his grip on her ass, and fuck her there for a few moments. After he’d fucked her on his bed, he’d pick her up and carry her around his apartment again, asking her to pick things she wanted to be fucked on. In his mind they’d used every flat surface--vertical and horizontal--in his apartment.
It was primitive, and it was possessive, and it fit his pain perfectly. The intimacy they’d shared in his office the night she’d told him about Cliff, her warm fingers brushing his throat as she tied his tie and teased him, was all a lie. She’d slipped through his fingers and he’d wanted to yank her forcibly back and never let her out of his sight ever again.
Or perhaps the fault lay with him; he’d obviously read more into their time together than she had. He’d thought that he’d lost her, but then realized the situation might be even worse: he may never have had her to begin with.
It was so damn hard to wrap his mind around that possibility. In the years since he’d met her, he’d let himself be convinced that they had reached an unspoken understanding. He loved her; he’d accepted that fact within weeks of getting into the White House. And before he loved her, he’d respected her: her work, her ideals, her ways. Before the love, and long before the respect, though, had been an almost overwhelming lust for her.
The lust had come on gradually...a little twist in his gut when she smiled at him for the first time, accepting his ID card, a little tightening in his groin when she’d first gotten up the nerve to argue with him, tossing her hair and taking him to task. When she’d come back to him, though, leaving her old boyfriend for good and appearing at his office door, his mouth had gone dry and his penis had awoken. He’d known then, even as he sent her straight back to work, that what he wanted most from her was something he couldn't have.
Now he loved her and respected her and lusted for her in ways that surpassed description. And, fool that he was, he had assumed that she would know all that instinctively, and that she loved him and respected him and wanted his body every bit as much as he wanted hers. Every kind word she’d said, every caring gesture, every unspoken act had fed his delusion as, month after month, year after year, he began to believe it the truth.
And then goddamn Joey Lucas had come along and said it out loud. His already fairly firm ideas about the silent understanding he’d thought he had with Donna had solidified into stone.
Finding out not only that she had had a date, but that she’d been unable to resist seeing the man again, risking everything she had for another night with him... She’d attacked his stone-solid misconceptions with a sledgehammer, crumbling everything he’d built into pebbles and dust in under ten seconds.
And she didn’t even know what she’d done. She didn’t know why he was silent and withdrawn; she assumed he was upset for political, not personal, reasons. So he couldn’t be mad at her. He couldn’t punish her for breaking something she hadn’t known existed and hadn’t known she’d destroyed. In this one case, ignorance was a valid excuse for her actions.
It had taken him a long time to climb back from that. Her work with the sledgehammer had left him reeling, stumbling, looking for something, somewhere to hold on to.
Then he’d realized that the answer was painfully simple. He had to get over her. It would be a long, agonizing road, but he had to do it. They weren’t together. He had to stop thinking that they were, and that meant rewriting their entire relationship in his head.
He had come so close to being successful. If anyone had asked him about Donna that summer, while he was with Amy, he would have admitted to only a fleeting attraction to his assistant, then followed his words with a long, loving look at Amy that would have left no doubt in anyone’s mind about the feelings in his heart.
When it turned out that he and Amy were never going to work, though, he didn’t mind so much. His relationship with her had allowed his poor, delusional brain to think about something--anything--other than Donna. It was almost like a vacation from the hell of unrequited love he’d let himself wallow in for four years.
There were still things, though, little annoying incidents and words and gestures, that betrayed him to himself. He was still jealous when she mentioned dating someone else. His cock still twitched with arousal when she walked by him wearing a new outfit. He still couldn’t keep from touching her all the time, taking her arm or placing his hand on the small of her back whenever she was near him. And he was still too much of a selfish, possessive bastard to allow her a life of her own.
He still thought about fucking her all over his apartment, though he’d almost managed to convince himself that his fantasy was now simply a normal, healthy reaction for a straight, single male to have for a young, attractive woman with whom he worked very closely.
And his fantasy wasn’t the desperate, repeated bouts of fucking, of possessing her, of branding her body and soul with his...Well, actually it was. But he wasn’t as desperate now as before, and the pain was almost gone.
He wandered into his bedroom, tossing aside his sweats in favour of work clothes. As he buttoned his trousers over the little paunch of his belly, though, he reminded himself yet again that he hadn’t been keeping up with his physio. Donna wanted him, he told himself. But if he was ever presented with the opportunity to carry her around his apartment, fucking her against walls and tables and furniture, he probably wouldn’t be able to do it.
*****
She’d left his backpack by the door, packed and ready to go, and he grabbed it as he ran out to his car. He drove to work quickly, glad of the light Sunday morning traffic, and formed a plan of action as he did so.
He’d had his epiphany. It wasn’t delusion this time, or wishful thinking. She’d wrapped her body around his and stretched up to kiss him. When she’d realized she couldn’t, she’d felt pain.
And knowing, finally, that the feelings between them were mutual, he’d be damned if he let her go.
It was time to rewrite their relationship again, but this time he wasn’t going to do it alone. He was going to let her know what he was thinking--subtly, of course, so that they both still had deniability--but he was going to make sure that she had no doubts as to his feelings.
Then he was going to push the envelope far enough to find out what she was thinking, too, and when he did, she would find him treasuring and nurturing her desire for him.
It would be hard work, and it would require finesse...far more finesse than anything he might have used this morning to convince her to fuck him...because this time, he intended to build something so strong that neither of them could tear it down.
What he needed was a plan. If everything was going to be perfect when they could finally be together...four years from now...he needed to begin right away. There wasn’t much he could do to directly advise her of his intentions, of his love for her, or of the fact that he really, really wanted to fuck her senseless. But he could make a plan and work it so that eventually she’d instinctively know all those things.
Which would pay dividends in the long run, because “Hey baby, I wanna fuck you senseless” wasn’t the greatest opening line.
He was setting himself a mammoth task, and he took a bit of time to think about it as he swerved into a parking spot and headed into the building. Given the raging lust he’d been squashing down all morning, though, it wasn’t difficult for him to decide where to start.
He swung his backpack onto his desk and opened it. Everything he needed for the day was inside, and a faint warmth spread through his chest. She always took care of him, even this morning, after what had almost happened between them.
He could do nothing less for her. All he had left to offer her was his body...she already had everything else, whether she knew it or not. If, a few years from now, she wanted to fuck him on every flat surface in their apartment, he should really be able to do that for her.
So the first part of his plan was to get his arms in shape, so that he could lift her up. And his back, too, now that he was thinking about it, so that he could carry her. And lose the paunch...he wasn’t an old man yet.
******
No sooner had he decided on the plan than he began putting the first phase of it into action. He hailed Sam as they both strode towards Leo’s office.
“Sam!”
“Hey Josh.”
“Sam, are you still going to the gym at lunch?”
Sam gave him a quizzical look. “Well, yeah. When I can...not regularly. You wanna go?”
“Yeah,” said Josh, relieved at the offer. “I want to start with my arms again. They aren’t as strong since...”
Sam interrupted, uncomfortably, “You had physio, right?”
“Yeah, no, nothing to do with that,” Josh said hastily, just as eager to avoid any mention of the shooting. “It’s just, I want to be able to lift things, like...” He mimed scooping something up with both arms.
“You’ll need your back, then, too,” Sam observed. “And if you’re doing your back, you’ll want to do your abs as well.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I know a guy,” Sam assured him as they entered Leo’s empty office.
“A guy?”
“He’s amazing,” said Sam. “He can take six pounds of fat off your lower torso and then turn around and put four pounds of muscle on your arms and shoulders. Or wherever you want. But you’d have to make time for it, even if you can’t do it every day. And you’d need to eat differently...not that that’s a problem, you can just give the restrictions...”
“To Donna,” Josh finished. Another step in his subtle plan fell into place. He grinned. “Excellent. Set me up, will you?”
“No problem.”
Focused on the idea of making his fantasy come true, another thought occurred to him. He had no idea how much Donna weighed. “Say, Sam, how much do you lift?”
“At the gym? I work around a plate.”
“One thirty-five? Okay.”
“I can bench more, but I usually start low and work up to that on a normal day...”
He tuned Sam out. He was pretty sure Donna weighed less than that. But maybe not. She was tall, and if those curves he saw on her were muscles... If she were like CJ, for instance, who was quite slim but who definitely had muscles... Hmm. CJ was six feet tall, Donna was five ten. But maybe they were in proportion. If he could figure out what CJ weighed, he’d be able to guess how much Donna was, based on their heights.
The words came out before he could stop them. “How much do you think CJ weighs?”
Sam looked up from his briefing memo and paled.
“What?” He saw Sam looking past his shoulder and turned around slowly, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach.
He’d never realized just how white and shiny CJ’s teeth looked when she smiled.
Remarkably, he managed to switch into damage control mode immediately. “Oh, hey CJ,” he said cheerfully.
Her friendly smile remained in place, though the impression of toothiness didn’t go away.
“Hey Josh,” she said. “So, what are we talking about?”
He decided to go with as much truth as possible without bringing Donna’s name into it. “I was wondering how much you weighed,” he said, trying for innocence.
Her smile widened. “Josh, didn’t your mother ever tell you...”
“Never ask a woman her age or her weight,” he finished. “Yes.”
“You know how old I am, jackass.”
He felt what little control he had of the conversation slipping away and struggled to regroup. “Yes, yes I do. It’s just that Sam and I,” he gestured at Sam, who went even paler, “were talking about lifting weights at the gym, and I asked how much he could press...” He let his voice trail off, hoping she would fill in the blanks for herself. Erroneously.
Her smile changed, making her seem as if she were amused by a private joke as she pointed out, “You’ve picked me up before, Joshua. You know how much I weigh.”
“Yes, that’s true!” Josh pounced on that statement. “But I really only lifted you once, briefly, and spun you around, and we were celebrating, so there was a lot of adrenaline flowing...”
He trailed off again, but this time she didn’t reply. “I don’t think I could,” he cleared his throat, “carry you any distance.”
Her smile became more inscrutable as she asked, “Were you planning on carrying me any distance?”
“No!” he yelped.
Her lips pressed together tightly as her poker face began to slip. “Josh?” she asked kindly.
He tried the innocent routine again. “Yes, CJ?”
“Do you need help disposing of a body?”
“No.” He managed to take in a breath, hoping like hell he’d managed to move past the part of the conversation where she smacked him upside the head with her briefing memo.
“Moving heavy furniture?”
“No.”
“Are you planning on carrying some other woman around?”
“No!” Possibly the way he had squeaked out that last answer hadn’t helped his credibility.
“Josh...” CJ began, slinking towards him like a jaguar moving in for the kill.
“No,” he managed in a more normal tone. “I have no plans to carry anyone, living or dead, in the near future,” he said flatly.
“Really.” CJ stepped even closer to him.
“Yes,” he said, doing his best not to flinch. “I just wanted to get...an idea...of my strength...”
CJ’s smile widened again. He wondered if the Angel of Death had a grin like this. “Okay,” she said softly, moving away.
She wasn’t going to let this go. He could tell--mostly by the way she’d given in without smacking him with her briefing memo. He was going to be seriously, seriously screwed if he wasn’t careful.
******
He was in more trouble than he realized. Soon after he returned to his office, Donna strode in and slammed the door behind her.
He looked up. “Hey,” he said softly. She looked good. Not that she didn’t always look good, but the afternoon sun and the roomy blue sweater she was wearing brought out the colour of her eyes.
He was such a goner. It was imperative that he not screw this up.
“You told people?” she demanded.
He frowned. “Told people what?”
“That we slept together!”
“We what?” he squeaked.
“Josh!” she cried, exasperated. “I get here and there’s this rumour going around that you are trying to pick up women. Not ‘pick up’ pick up but actually, y’know, pick them up!”
He sighed. “CJ...I knew...”
“You told CJ?” Her voice got even higher.
“NO!” he shouted. “No,” he repeated in a more normal tone. “I was talking to Sam about going to the gym, and then I asked him how much weight he used, and then asked about how much CJ weighed, because I picked her up once, and...” He trailed off, hoping that for once that tactic would actually work.
“She overheard you,” Donna guessed.
“Yes,” he sighed, relieved that he’d still be able to use the ‘trailing off’ thing somewhere.
“And she punished you.”
“I don’t know if the past tense is appropriate there, Donna.”
Donna grinned, then suddenly seemed to remember why she had come in. “Wait.” Her face became stern again.
“Hmmm?” He did his best to appear nonchalant.
“Why were you talking about lifting weights at the gym?” she demanded.
“Ah. Well...” Damn. “I was just thinking...”
“No you weren’t,” she interrupted. “This is my fault.”
“No, Donna...”
“I’m too heavy for you!”
“Donna!” He reddened, realizing that whatever she was going to say next wasn’t going to be anywhere close to the sordid truth.
“I trapped you on the couch. You couldn’t get up!”
“Donna! You didn’t trap me. If I thought you were too heavy, I would’ve woken you up.”
“I...oh.”
He tried to regain some more ground. “And if I were going to carry you anywhere, it would have been to bed.”
She blushed at the implication. “Josh...”
“Because the bed’s more comfortable than the couch,” he explained hastily.
“Oh.” She tried her best to keep a bland face, but he could have sworn he saw a little disappointment there.
Maybe he was imagining things again; it was so easy to do. But that didn’t matter. It was time to subtly advise her of his plan of action.
He had her sixteen hours a day, and that was fine. But if, sometime in the future, she wanted to be with him more than that, she needed to know he wanted her too. “You’re welcome at my place anytime, Donna, you know that. I don’t mind at all if you fall asleep there. In fact, I kind of like it.”
Her blush deepened, and she said in a warning tone, “Josh...”
“Because when I wake up, my living room’s clean and my backpack’s ready to go.”
“Hey!” she said with mock outrage.
“I’m just saying, a guy could get used to that,” he teased.
Grinning, she said, “Pig,” then turned and headed for the door.
Just as she reached it, he said quietly, “And you make a pretty good blanket.”
She paused and glanced back at him briefly before opening the door and walking out of the office. “So do you.”
He sat back and allowed himself to smile. This time, they were in it
together.
THE END