Work Text:
Donna’s pacing in her living room, staring at the phone, half wishing it would ring so something would snap her out of her torment.
Needless to say, the phone doesn’t cooperate.
She takes a deep breath, lifts the receiver, takes another deep breath, and hangs up again so hurriedly the cradle skids away from her.
She runs a hand over her face and digs out her cellphone. Opens a new text message, and then shakes her head in disbelief at her own silliness and tosses it on the couch.
If she can’t even decide on which mode of communication – although a text would be bad, a text stays there, she knows he’d never think to delete it – there’s no way she’s going to find the words to ask her boss, her best friend, if she can swing by his place so he can fuck her, ideally rather hard, preferably at least twice.
She doesn’t really know what’s gotten into her. She’s not even so much horny as she is restless – OK, she is horny, but only because she’s been thinking about what she’ll do with him if she ever plucks up the courage – and it’s not hormonal, and nothing bad’s happened.
And that’s the thing. They’ve had sex quite a few times now, but it’s always been because one of them’s been hurt or upset. A few of the nights of his recovery, the affection and intimacy had spilled over into touching and kissing, and she still can’t quite believe that a man who at that point couldn’t go outside or take a shower without assistance made her come harder than she ever had in her life, just with his hands. She’d told him that and he’d been in a good mood for three straight days, so much so that CJ had freaked out about his medication.
Then that awful Christmas… she doesn’t want to think about it too hard, but waking up tangled together every morning for a week had gone a long way to soothing their frayed souls.
She can’t bear to remember the day Mrs Landhingham died either, but that night will be seared in her mind forever, the roughest sex she’s ever had or ever wants to, but it was exactly what they both needed. The next day at the funeral, the scratches under her suit started to sting, and that was what finally pierced the numbness that had engulfed her.
She’d been expecting more of the same when he took her home after getting her diary back from Cliff, but he’d been so tender and attentive it had taken her breath away. She knew he was being territorial, asserting his primacy, but after a couple of hours of his skillful ministrations she’d stopped caring why at all.
And now she wants more, and she wants to take the time to learn how she can do the same for him.
And she suspects that all she has to do is ask, because the way he looks at her sometimes…
She grabs the phone.
And as soon as he picks up, it’s as natural as the million other conversations they’ve had, nearly every day and most nights for nearly four years now.
“’lo?”
“It’s me.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I was gonna come over, is that OK?”
It’s not unusual enough to be noteworthy, although she usually has a reason. He sounds slightly distracted but genuinely happy when he agrees.
“Yeah, sure. You want food?”
“That sounds good.”
She’s about to say she’ll bring beer, but wine suits her purposes better. She knows better than to mention that, though.
“You leaving now?”
“In a few minutes.”
“’Kay. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Simple as that.
She pulls off her robe as she pads through to her bedroom. She’s recently indulged in some new lingerie, so at least she doesn’t have to agonize over that decision, and there’s one particular pair of jeans that practically makes him go cross-eyed - and this butter-soft grey sweater he literally cannot keep his hands off. She decides against makeup and is careful to keep her perfume really light. At the last minute she pulls the band out of her hair and runs her fingers through it, but resists the urge to check the mirror before she goes.
Telling herself she’s tempting fate, she tosses a spare pair of underwear and a toothbrush in her purse and then grabs a bottle of white wine from her refrigerator and rushes out before she can change her mind about any of it.
She hails a cab. She’s too wound up to drive, and in any case she’s planning to get drunk, whatever happens.
She lets herself in, wanting to stay in control as much as possible, and is relieved to see the food has already arrived: no interruptions. He calls out a greeting from where he’s bent over his laptop and she hopes and prays there’s nothing urgent. She slips off her shoes and busies herself digging through the takeout boxes. Thai, unusual for him. She wonders if it means anything and then chastises herself for being ridiculous. He’s probably just sick of Chinese.
Then she hears the telltale sound of his computer powering down, and relaxes slightly. Not too much work to worry about, then.
A quick glance tells her the couch and coffee table are a disaster area, completely buried under half-read newspapers and haphazardly stacked folders. She wills herself to ignore it and just sets the food up on the kitchen counter instead, waiting for him to join her.
When he does, he tugs lightly on her hips as he passes her, and she has to fight to keep her breath from hitching. He raises his eyebrows when she hands him a healthy measure of wine but doesn’t comment, and she manages not to blush when they clink glasses.
They eat in companionable quiet, passing containers back and forth, and it isn’t until they’re clearing up dishes and setting aside leftovers that he expresses any curiosity about her presence.
She refills their glasses.
“Did you come over to get me drunk?”
She searches his face for any clue about how he might react to being brazenly propositioned. He looks totally relaxed – and completely irresistible in a black t-shirt and faded jeans. She falters, but only for a moment.
“Kind of.”
She actually enjoys the rare chance to catch him off guard. She swallows a large mouthful of wine and then sets her glass down.
“We’ve, uh…” She knew she’d lose her nerve at this point, and she can feel her toes clenching on the tiles. She makes herself look him in the eye.
“We’ve spent the night together a few times now, but it’s always been because something awful has happened. And I was just wondering, what it would be like on a normal day like this…. That is, if you’d be interested in…”
He’s on her before she can even get the words out, one hand in her hair, the other grabbing her by the waist, his lips warm and soft against hers, and any thought of taking it slow, of seducing him, is gone in a flash. She pushes her tongue into his mouth and clings to his back. By the time they pull apart, gasping for breath, they’re grinding into each other and he’s full and hard against her.
“I was…” He heaves another deep breath and tries again. “For a minute there I was going to ask whether I’d jumped the gun, maybe, that you meant hypothetically, but…”
He shoots her a devilish grin and she shakes her head, still trying to catch up, not sure whether she wants to try and regain the upper hand or just let things develop. He makes the decision for her, lifting her onto the counter and settling happily between her legs, nuzzling the curve of her neck.
“You are so sexy,” he murmurs. Most men tell her she’s cute or pretty. Josh has told her before that he thinks she’s one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen – which made her cry the first time he said it – and now he seems determined to express to her just how much she inflames him. His hands are everywhere, lifting her legs to hook around his hips, running up her back and along her arms, stroking her hair and gently tracing the contours of her face. When he stills, his fingers are splayed at the top of her thighs, his thumbs lightly stroking the skin above the waistband of her jeans. “Your hips… God, Donna, I could watch you walking around all day.”
She shifts under his grip, delighting in the pressure of his hands on her.
“You do watch me walking around all day.”
He chuckles.
“I’m the luckiest man in the West Wing.”
“Just the West Wing?”
For a moment he turns serious.
“If I didn’t work in the West Wing we could… this could be…”
She hushes him with a kiss. She doesn’t want to think about that tonight. She threads her fingers through his belt loops and tugs, hard. He moans as their hips collide and she wriggles against him.
“Here?” he gasps.
She nods firmly, and he practically tears her clothes off, tossing her sweater aside and lifting her so he can pulls her jeans down. She kicks them away and he drops to his knees, still fully clothed, nuzzling her through her underwear. She thinks about stopping him, encouraging him to fuck her instead, but he’s so good at this… she leans back, supporting herself with one hand, the other tangled in his hair, lifting her legs over his shoulders. He absolutely goes to town, licking and nipping and sucking until she can’t bear even the tiny scrap of lace between his lips and her swollen, soaking folds. She’s about to beg him to take her panties off, or just rip them, when he tugs them out of the way unprompted. When his lips close around her clit she squeals and sits straight up, both hands on his head now, pushing him hard against her. He chuckles, which makes her whimper, and then starts to suck. She practically levitates off the counter.
“Fuck, Josh…”
“In a minute,” and his tone is so even she bursts out laughing and that’s when he pushes his tongue inside her as far as he can and then sweeps it around in a kind of circular motion and she comes screaming his name, her whole body convulsing as wave after wave of contractions crash through her. He keeps going until she feels an unfamiliar surge deep inside her, and her legs tighten around his head as her sex gushes into his mouth. He moans as he laps it up, savoring the aftershocks as she gasps and trembles above him.
“Oh my God…”
He nods and she pulls his hair, overwhelmed now, and as he stands she flops against him. Peppering kisses all over her face and shoulders, he takes her weight, giving her time to find her feet before letting her go so he can pull his shirt off. When he reaches for the buttons on his jeans she stops him and takes over, and he groans loudly as she makes quick work of them and slips her hand through the opening, stroking him lightly, still breathing hard. He shifts his hips and his jeans slide down, and after giving him a gentle squeeze she helps him out of them.
“No boxers?”
“I didn’t know I was going to have company.”
“Would you have put on underwear if you knew I was coming over?”
“Not if I’d known we were going to be doing this.”
She giggles, and he pulls her tight against him, quickly unfastening her bra. Her nipples are possibly his favourite part of her body, pink and plump and oh-so-sensitive. He spins her around, and nudges her forward until she’s leaning over the countertop in front of her, rising up on her toes, her hips perfectly positioned. He was planning to gauge her comfort level before going any further, but the look on her face when she glances back at him is pure heat, and when she grips the opposite edge of the counter and shimmies exaggeratedly he forgets any concerns about her hesitation.
“You’re still on the pill, right?”
“I actually get shots now, but we’re good.”
He makes a mental note to ask her about that later. Then she spreads her legs slightly, and all coherent thought leaves his mind.
He runs his fingertips down her back, enjoying the ripples of her muscles under his touch and the shiver that courses through her. She giggles when he squeezes her ass, quieting only when he leans forward, blanketing her with his body, and starts retracing the path of his fingers with his lips. When he gets to the spot between her shoulder blades he reaches around to cup her breasts, massaging them with his thumbs, smiling against her skin as they pucker and stiffen. He pinches, gently and then harder, and when she starts squirming he moves one hand down to position himself at her center.
Once he’s eased the tip of his cock into her he returns his attention to her nipples and lets her body’s response to his touch guide him further in. It’s not long before he’s sheathed in soft, wet heat and she’s bucking against him. He kisses her shoulder before straightening his back, placing his hands over hers on the edge of the counter, positioning himself to drive deep and hard. She flexes her fingers and interlaces them with his.
“That feels really good, Josh…” Her voice is low and breathy and he knows it’ll haunt his dreams – and worse still, his waking moments – but he doesn’t care, it’s all worth it.
He pulls back, slowly, every inch of friction inflaming him further, and then pauses. He needs the moment to collect himself, but when she starts pleading he gives up on that idea because it’s all so utterly intoxicating, her incoherent, breathless urging, her feet scrabbling on the floor, trying to get the traction to push back against him. He thrusts all the way in one smooth stroke and she moans wildly, the muscles of her core fluttering around him already. When he repeats the motion his name spills from her lips in a squeal and he completely loses it, pounding into her as hard as he can, his one remaining shred of awareness guiding his hands to protect her hips from hitting the hard edge of the counter.
“Oh… oh… oh!” She comes with another rush of velvety warm wetness and he tumbles after her, prolonging her orgasm as his cock pulsates inside her. Her whole body shakes as her muscles spasm around him and he grunts and holds on tight even as his legs start to give out.
He slumps on top of her, and she giggles as he mumbles inaudibly in the general vicinity of her ear.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “That was exactly what I wanted.”
“I…” He chuckles. “Please say that again.”
She shoves him, not terribly gently, but he just hugs her and nuzzles her neck.
“I’m always ready to be taken advantage of,” he murmurs, and she’s about to tease him, but he adds an unexpected endearment. “…my love.”
They both freeze for a moment, and he drops his head, resting his forehead on her shoulder. As gently as she can, she straightens up, nudging him back, stifling a hiss of discomfort as he slips out of her. When they’re both upright she pauses and takes a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of him leaning lightly against her, and then turns around and lays her hands on his cheeks. They search each other’s faces, breathing in sync, and when she leans in and kisses him quickly he smiles against her lips.
“I’m not gonna take it back.”
“Good.”
“I do--”
“Shhhh. Not now, ‘kay?”
His lips quirk in resignation.
“I know.”
She nods, once, decisively, and starts stroking his jaw, watching as his expression relaxes and brightens, making sure he’s focusing on her face and then giggling as she takes him by surprise and tickles his ears, making him shiver. He stills her hands after that, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close for a long, leisurely kiss. She tangles her fingers in his hair and massages his scalp until he’s too distracted to do anything more than breathe against her skin.
“Let’s go take a shower.”
“That’s a really, really, excellent idea.”
She pushes him towards the bathroom.
“I know.”