NOTES:
Author: Yana
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Minor, through Season Three
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters don’t belong
to me. I’m borrowing someone else’s property without telling them...shhh...
Archive: Please ask.
AN: So Bramble
made a comment about something in People Will Say, and I made an offhand
joke, which in turn became an idea...
It was probably the look Amy had thrown his way, right before she’d turned and stalked out of his office. He’d known then that he was going to be punished.
In retrospect, asking her to see Donna home safely probably hadn’t been the wisest idea. Most logical, from a purely dispassionate standpoint? Yes. Wisest? Probably not.
He had been momentarily impressed that she hadn’t slammed his office
door on her way out. When he got up the courage to peer out into the bullpen
and saw her lounging comfortably against Donna’s desk, though, something
had wrenched in his stomach.
That thick, twisting knot inside him still hadn’t relaxed, even now,
an hour later, as he lay on his own sofa alone in his own apartment.
She’d leaned down to murmur something in Donna’s ear as Donna sat at her desk. He wondered what she’d said to make Donna look up, startled, and laugh out loud like that. Then she’d folded her arms and jerked her head towards the door in an eerily familiar way, an eerily familiar half-smirk on her face.
No, it hadn’t been a wise idea.
Donna had grabbed her things in record time, her hands flying swiftly over her desk as she shut off her computer and piled her files neatly for the next day. Within two minutes of Amy leaving Josh’s office, they were out the door.
Damn, she was good. She’d skipped the petty emotions--irritation, resentment--and moved straight to the revenge.
And Donna had responded. As they’d left, Donna had thrown a glance over her shoulder and smiled ruefully at him as he stood at his door, watching them go. Then she’d walked away, saying something to Amy who in turn snorted with appreciative laughter.
They were probably still talking, making jokes at his expense, and if there was any alcohol at all involved, Amy was, in all likelihood, going to start in on his sexual prowess.
The idea of Amy and Donna getting along well together probably should have been reassuring, especially when he considered the alternative. He shuddered at the thought of all-out war between the two of them.
But of course, they wouldn’t fight over him. Of course they wouldn’t vie for his attention, compete for his favour.
Make him choose between them.
Force him to commit himself wholeheartedly to the thing--the woman--he wanted most.
That would have been the easy way out. For him. Because if it had come right down to it, he knew who he’d pick.
But without the fight, he didn’t have an excuse. He didn’t have a reason. He couldn’t just go up to her and say, “Stop this silly rivalry. It’s you I want. It’s always been you.”
No, the situation as it stood was much worse...for him. Because Amy and Donna would both be reasonable adults, and if he ever wanted to choose, he’d have to wade out into the middle of things and try to make his intentions known without offending either of them.
To be honest, he couldn’t see himself ever getting up the balls to do that. Or being able to protect his balls if he did.
And now Amy was taking things a step further into I-can-make-your-life-hell country, because she knew it would make him uncomfortable. She didn’t need him. She’d tacitly reminded him of that today. Not that Donna needed him either, not really, but she preferred to call him over anyone else when she was in trouble.
Thanks to him, the two women in his life were out together, no doubt talking about him: one an enthusiastic lover, who knew his body intimately; the other someone he’d only ever dreamed of making love to, who knew every other part of him intimately.
He reflected that it was strange he worried about Amy, when Donna undoubtedly knew more, had more power to do damage. He dismissed that idea; Donna never thought about him in those terms. She was still innocent, or modest, or both when it came to the power she exerted over his career, over his life. Last night had been a perfect illustration: she’d turned to him for help and had thought nothing of simply pressing a kiss to his lips when she wanted to say thank you.
He could still recall that brief, warm touch of her soft mouth as it brushed over his. Even the second kiss, in the middle of Leo’s office, had sent a warm streak through his body. She hadn’t seemed to notice, but he’d stopped breathing for a second. Fortunately Leo had kept on yelling, so he’d been able to distract himself from his body’s natural reaction.
The memory of the sensation stayed with him, though, and now that he was alone in his apartment, he wanted to savour the experience.
She’d leaned in quickly when they’d been sitting in the car, her hair falling straight over her shoulders and brushing his jaw ever so lightly. She’d smelled faintly sweet, elegant, clean, like she usually did. She’d taken in a little breath right before her lips had met his; he’d heard the air pass into her lips as her head had bent towards him. And she’d felt...good.. Soft, and perfect, and good.
And before he’d regained his senses, she’d pulled back, out of reach, and begun to get out of the car. It had all happened far too quickly.
Even now, his groin was tightening with an unsettling, unfulfilled ache. He wasn’t conscious of his right hand reaching down to undo his belt and fly, but it did, even as his left hand reached for his backpack and pulled out the tabloid magazine with the pictures that had caused them both so many problems today.
He spread the paper across his knees, folding it open to the photos of Donna and him talking together. His right hand slipped into his boxers, absently stroking as he contemplated the pictures.
Donna and he really did look intimate there. Anyone who hadn’t known them could easily have leapt to that conclusion.
His hand slid farther down to massage his balls and he shifted on the couch, edging his pants down over his hips, trying to find a more comfortable position. He chuckled at the quotes they’d picked, at how grossly out of context they were. ‘It’s going to take more than money to repay this,’ indeed. As if she’d ever have been intimidated by that. She’d have been more worried about having to stay late at work than dodging any sexual advance he could have made.
And she knew him too well. ‘Just wait ‘til I get you alone.’ Had he really said that? His fingers pressed the skin between his balls and cock, and he groaned suddenly. Yes, she knew him too well. If he’d ever asked her into his office and locked the door behind them, she wouldn’t have given the idea of harrassment a moment’s thought. She would have expected more work, in the form of some secret crisis.
His hand slid to his stiffening cock and he rubbed his palm over the tip. Better. But it was vaguely depressing to have a young, beautiful assistant who was entirely devoted to you, but who didn’t see you at all as a sexual option. Who probably thought she’d been giving you a sisterly kiss.
His left hand unfolded the paper and closed it, so that he could stare at the picture of them kissing on the front page. No. No matter how long he looked at it, he couldn’t say that the kiss looked sisterly. Or brotherly. It certainly hadn’t felt brotherly on his side.
It had all happened so quickly, though. Maybe he just couldn’t tell at this point--he’d analysed it too much.
He gripped his cock firmly and began to stroke himself with long, sure movements. In his mind he captured the brief, elusive feeling of her soft mouth and savoured it. Then he wondered how it would feel to have her mouth press other places on his body. That warm touch brushing the skin of his neck, or dotting its way across his chest. Or marking its way up his thighs.
He groaned and moved his hand faster up and down his cock. Her long hair would brush over his belly and groin as she brushed those feather light lips across his sex. He took a moment to picture it in his mind: he’d look down and see the top of her blonde head as she pressed those elusive kisses on his groin. Then she’d look up at him, innocently, having no idea of the effect she had on him.
No idea how much he wanted her.
He could show her. He could undress her slowly, then do the same thing to her as she’d done to him--press light, soft, insubstantial kisses over every inch of her naked skin. Maybe then she’d feel the same warm streak of arousal he had. Maybe then her pale, alabaster complexion would flush. Maybe then she’d want him as much as he wanted her.
He couldn’t get her wide eyes out of his head, and he couldn’t stop wondering what might have happened if he’d been quicker off the mark last night. If he’d had the presence of mind to reach out and pull her back into the car, rather than just saying, ‘you’re welcome.’
Photographer notwithstanding, of course. Though short of having sex right there in the car, they’d probably be hard-pressed to give anyone with a camera a better photo than the one he was holding right now.
It was the thought of sex in the car with Donna that finally finished him off. His cock strained in his hand as he imagined reaching for the release and sliding the driver’s seat all the way back and down, so that Donna could climb on top of him, writhe on top of him, straddle him. She'd tear open his pants to free his cock, then lift her skirt and put him inside of her.
He was close to completion when he dropped the tabloid and finally closed his eyes. He thought of Donna, riding him hard in the car, her breasts bouncing close to his face as she moaned with pleasure. He’d rub her clit as she encased him with her body and she’d come quickly.
He came in a rush, with a loud, involuntary groan, discharging himself all over his shirt and the couch.
That probably wasn’t the wisest thing he’d done that day, either.
******
She was never going to look at Josh the same way again. Not because of the fact he’d decided that as part of their stay-the-hell-away-from-each-other plan, he wouldn’t be giving her a ride home that night.
Not because of the fact that of all the people in the building he could have entrusted her safe trip home to, he’d picked Amy.
No, the change was in her, not him.
She’d enjoyed Amy’s company. Really enjoyed it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d mow Amy down with an AK-47 given a consequence-free half-chance, she’d actually have contemplated befriending her.
Finally, she had an inkling of that quality in Amy that had tied Josh up in knots.
Just an inkling, though. No need to do a complete about-face, she thought. Because frankly, the woman was a little disconcerting. Her walk, her smirk, her sarcastic sense of humour...her fuck-the-world,-I’m-right attitude...
A little disconcerting.
But all in all, Amy had charmed her into having a great night. She’d strode out of Josh’s office, spied Donna, and found a clear space on her desk to lean against.
“’Bout done?”
“Just about.”
Amy paused a moment, then bent towards her and murmured swiftly, “The world thinks you’re sleeping with Josh Lyman. I of all people know you need a drink right now.”
She couldn’t have choked back her surprised laugh if she’d wanted to.
She looked up at Amy, who raised her brows and nodded in the direction of the door. “I’m buying.”
And that’s when she decided that after all that had happened in the last twenty four hours, she did, in fact, need a drink.
He’d seemed a little...apprehensive, maybe, as he leaned against his office doorway and watched them leave. She’d smiled at him, and he’d suddenly looked lonely, like he was being forsaken.
She hated that--seeing him vulnerable, sad. She was much more comfortable when he was being arrogant and spouting off. So she’d turned away and cracked a weak joke with Amy.
“You’ve known him longer, you probably need that drink more than I do.”
Amy had laughed, and Donna had resisted the urge to look back at him. Now he’d decide they were going to talk about him for the rest of the night, engage in some good old-fashioned male-bashing.
He’d be anxious. Maybe angry. But that was something he could deal with. He wouldn’t feel adrift tonight, or lonely without her company.
And, of course, they hadn’t talked about him. Well, maybe they had, at first, just to get the ball rolling. But they’d spent the better part of their first drinks debating the practicalities of compromise, and from there had moved on to arbitration as a tool to resolve labour disputes, then to international law, and by the time they’d downed their third round, they were discussing the causes of war.
Trying to wade through the little she remembered of her European history, she reflected that it was just as well they were drinking, or the topic would have been far too depressing.
She realized that underneath the cynicism, Amy was an idealist, in a freedom-fighter sort of way. Which was why Josh liked her: she got to say the things, do the things he couldn’t do. Not that he didn’t believe his way was best; he’d always known how he wanted to accomplish his goals. But when he was frustrated with the channels he worked, he envied Amy her freedom.
Donna hadn’t realized that about him before.
She was sure, though, that once the alcohol had worn off, that particular revelation would slip away from her, out of her tenuous grip.
Not unlike Amy. Amy was petite, and fine-boned, and couldn’t hold her liquor the way a doughty, milk-fed farm girl like herself could.
And so Donna had ended up half dragging, half carrying Amy to her car and driving her home. Amy had insisted on waiting at the curb for a taxi and paying in advance for Donna’s ride back to her own apartment. Donna hadn’t even bothered to protest.
She’d let herself into her apartment and gone straight to the kitchen without turning on the lights, pouring herself a large glass of water to counteract the effects of the alcohol. As the cool water slipped down her throat, she suddenly felt relaxed, as though all the tension had seeped out of her. She took that as a sign she was tired and decided to get ready for bed.
Except that her hair stank of smoke. She hated that. And if she didn’t wash it now, her pillow would smell tomorrow. So she shucked off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor, and stepped under the hot water.
Her relaxed feeling deepened as the water streamed over her face, down her throat, around the swell of her breasts, and trailed over her flat stomach to her sex. She noted that her sex was particularly sensitive tonight to the rivulets of hot water wending their way between her legs, and rocked her hips forward a bit, so her whole pelvis could get the benefit of the shower head.
She stretched her arms up over her head and arched her back. The heat was putting her to sleep and she moved quickly to wash the stink out of her hair. Then she stood, eyes closed, under the stream of hot water, and let her mind wander.
She contemplated the question he hadn’t asked earlier. Why had she kissed him?
It had seemed like the most natural impulse, but something had twitched inside her when her lips had touched his. She’d pulled back and maintained her composure, though. Which was just as well, since he’d looked shocked for a second.
Why had she kissed him the second time, though? Again, it had seemed like an impulse. Leo had been insinuating things, and she’d seized on the idea that a brief demonstration was the best way to clear the matter up. What had she been thinking? Obviously, she hadn’t. It must have been that same impulse that had seemed so innocent the night before. But the experience had been nearly identical. A quick kiss on his lips, the twitch in her gut, the look of utter shock on his face.
She was embarrassed about that. Also embarassed at the realization that hit her soon afterward: that she would have preferred to touch his lips properly, to steal even a brief taste of his mouth.
Her hands slipped up her wet, steaming skin to her breasts and she palmed her nipples, squeezing gently. That would have been nice, she thought. Of course, CJ and Leo would have killed them both on the spot.
But it would have been nice. She chuckled at the thought of grabbing him, right there in the middle of the COS’s office, saying, “See, Leo? It was nothing. Just like this...” then dipping Josh over her arm and bending to cover his mouth with hers, thrusting her tongue inside.
Very funny. She shut off the shower and slipped into the cooler air, and her nipples tightened into points. She dried herself quickly, then, towelling her hair, she wandered through her apartment naked, checking the door and windows, shutting off lights for the night.
In her room she lay down on top of her covers and let her hands roam over her body. Maybe that little impulse to kiss him was more dangerous than it appeared. Maybe that was why she was fantasizing about tongue kissing him in Leo’s office, then pushing him to the floor and landing on top of him.
Oh god. Where exactly were CJ and Leo in this fantasy? She couldn’t seem to make them leave the room. That worried her. Was she secretly an exhibitionist? Then, on cue in her mind’s eye, Margaret came over, still holding the mirror Leo had been using for his cowboy getup, and angled the glass so that Donna could see herself on Josh.
She tried to stop the daydream there and start again, in Leo’s *empty* office. Grab Josh, push him onto the floor, cover his body with hers...
Then Leo turned up again. He sat on the couch and watched them. CJ too, claiming she had to know exactly what happened so she could spin it for the press. Margaret appeared, holding the mirror, so “you can see how you’re doing, Donna...” And as the final piece de resistance, Toby and Sam were suddenly watching from the door to Margaret’s office.
Screw it, she thought, it’s just a fantasy. She wondered how Josh would react to the idea of having sex with her in front of the entire Senior Staff. Apparently Fantasy Josh didn’t mind, because he let her tear open his shirt and pants and pull out his cock.
She’d never actually seen it, but in this dream, it was big and thick and glistening, ready for her. All it took was a few strokes with her hand to have him swelling to just the right length. Then she hiked her skirt up, straddled him, and sank slowly down.
Her hand was separating her folds now, as she took a moment to construct the fantasy of a big, hard cock inside her as she slipped two fingers into herself. She’d rock on it, fast and desperate, forsaking rhythm in her hurry to bring herself to orgasm. He’d lay underneath her, eyes wide, while she rode him up and down, back and forth. When she finally came, she’d wait only a moment before rocking herself into a second orgasm.
Her thumb moved to her clit and she imagined Margaret moving the mirror so she could see herself riding Josh. She wasn’t even sure why. In her fantasy, the Senior Staff were silent, studying her as she brought herself to orgasm again and again on his cock.
It was imagining his eyes, wide open, filled with amazement and watching her, that finally pushed her over the edge. She flung her head back, arching her body, and the world went dark. She came quickly and hard, picturing his eyes in her mind.
The last twinges of pleasure were still rippling through her as she climbed under the covers. Her hand found her clit again, and she stroked it idly as she began to drift off.
Hovering on the edge of sleep, she realized that in her fantasy, Josh hadn’t come. It was difficult to imagine, now that she thought about it. He’d been utterly passive, following her lead, watching her with big eyes as she rode him.
Her fingers played with her folds and she shut her eyes, smiling at the now gentle sensation of pleasure. What could have made him come as he lay there, his closest colleagues watching as she fucked him?
Amy.
She was suddenly in Donna’s fantasy, too, watching from the other door as Donna rocked back and forth on Josh’s cock. Josh’s dark, liquid eyes shifted away from Donna’s face to rest on Amy, and hardened.
Before she knew what was happening, Josh had seized her by the hips, stopping her motion, and rolled her under him. CJ shouted something encouraging from her vantage point, while Leo looked on approvingly. Sam and Toby exchanged smiles and Sam gave them a thumbs up.
Josh’s body came down firmly on hers as he took the initiative, spreading her thighs impossibly wide and pinning her hips down while he thrust into her again. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and stilll he moved, driving into her over and over.
Once he was satisfied that she was completely focused on the sex, he turned his head and looked at Amy, who was still standing by the door. Amy returned his stare impassively, watching him fuck Donna hard without giving any sign of emotion, positive or negative.
Then Margaret was there, standing in front of Amy and blocking Josh’s view of her with the mirror. All he could see was a reflection of himself in the glass, no matter how hard he tried to crane his neck past Margaret.
So he turned back to Donna, and she smiled at him as he plunged into her over and over like a man possessed.
She came again, softly, imagining him crying out her name before collapsing on top of her, spent.
******
In the morning, Donna reflected it was damn depressing when Amy started showing up in her sexual fantasies. She wrote it off to spending those hours at the bar with her, drinking and talking, and wondered if she’d be uncomfortable when she saw Amy at the office.
Realizing she needed another shower before going to work, she shrugged off her dream and got out of bed. Crossing to the phone, she dialed Josh.
“You up?” she asked when he answered the phone.
In his apartment, he looked down at his cock and frowned. It had started to stiffen at the sound of her voice. She wasn’t talking to you, he told it silently.
“Josh?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. See you in twenty.” She dropped the receiver in its cradle and headed to the shower.
“Right.” He hung up and grabbed his erection, collapsing on the bed.
Pumping his hand quickly, he came, imagining her moans of pleasure. Then
he rolled off the bed and headed for the shower too.
THE END
OR
No, no, no! That's not what happened, was it?
Donna's not really that warped...