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merrilyThe last entry should've read "I'm taking a break from lj.... just as soon as I post this here West Wing up-against-the-wall PWP."
There was an entire page of multi-fandom wallsmut, okay? I have no defenses against that, job-hunt or no job-hunt. It was like plot bunnies had invaded Toronto, and they knew I was hoarding carrots.
I'm taking the month off (mostly) from the interweb. Will be back, with pR0n, in September.
Title: Sailing off to a Warmer Country
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Length: ~2000 words
Feedback is the best thing ever.
No beta; all mistakes mine.
Set vaguely post-Noel, S2.
---
Josh has taken to standing against the wall in his office. The only clear spot is behind the door, so he’s also taken to putting a wire hanger on the outside doorknob before he stands against the wall, so Donna knows what he’s doing and doesn’t accidentally open the door and smack him in the face. Or let anyone else open the door and smack him in the face. Once was enough.
He thought about using his tie, first, after he almost broke his nose and became too hideous to embarrass himself on television for the White House. Almost everyone in the office lived in a college dorm at some point, though, or with a roommate in a too-small apartment—or both—and thus knew what a tie on the door really meant. The teasing would've lasted for days. A wire hanger, on the other hand, isn't part of traditional roommate code. It's ubiquitous. It could be there because Donna noticed he was wearing the same clothes for the last two days, and forced him to let her take his jacket to the dry-cleaner. He never actually uses one, otherwise—his coats get thrown over chairs, or puddle on the floor—but nobody notices that, except Donna.
So. Standing against the wall. Stanley—Dr. Keyworth—said it was supposed to be comforting, and it is, actually. In a clinical kind of way. Every once in a while when Josh is standing against the wall he thinks that a prescription of hugs would’ve been better, except that it would've also been lame. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t touch people. He touches people all the time. Everyone in the office touches people all the time. He’s getting his share of skin-contact. And Toby’s. Probably.
When Josh feels really angry, or really upset—usually not from the PTSD, usually because a bill didn’t pass, or because he made a joke and the media decided to pretend they didn’t notice the sarcasm, and suddenly it’s the secret plan to fight inflation all over again—he stands against the wall and puts his hands above his head and thinks about being braced from both sides, someone flush against him, holding his hands still. He thinks about having someone strong to push against.
Donna‘s not supposed to open the door when the hanger’s on the doorknob. She knows what it means. And, God, if anyone ever had his back more thoroughly than Donna – well, it would be Leo, Josh supposes, but that’s not what he means. He means Donna’s his better angel, all the time, and she knows what the hanger on the doorknob means, and she takes care of it.
She knows what it means, and Josh is in his office standing against the wall. It’s late. He didn’t even say hello to her when he stalked through the pen at eleven in the evening, coming back from a godawful hours-long meeting on the hill with three Democrats who’d decided that the latest concessions made to Republicans were too much, and they weren’t going to vote in favor of the Early Education Protection bill in its current form. They were right, of course: the bloat was ridiculous and the concession clauses had nothing to do with a guaranteed-funding bill for preschool. But there was nowhere else to get votes if Hanly, Cox and Gerrard weren’t onboard, no-one left to bargain with, and the bill wasn’t going to pass, it wasn’t, and it had taken weeks to put it together. For nothing.
So he hadn’t said hello, just head-down, chin-tucked zoomed into his office, grabbed the wire hanger from the coat-rack, put it on the knob, and slammed the door shut with a little too much force. The hanger had fallen off. He didn’t care. He didn’t take his trench coat off, either—just closed the door and pushed his back against the wall, hard.
And then he thunked his head a bit, experimentally, to see if it would help. It didn’t.
Putting his hands above his head against the wall didn’t, either.
“Hey.”
“You’re not supposed to come in.” Donna. She’s managed to open the door just enough to slink inside, not enough that he gets his nose flattened, but that isn’t the point.
“I’m not supposed to smack you in the face.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t.”
Josh opens his eyes a little. “I need a minute, okay? I’m, it’s just, damnit Donna! The hanger’s on the door!” He’s yelling, and he knows it’s dumb. Josh closes his eyes so he won’t see Donna roll hers.
“It fell off, actually.”
“Can you go, please?”
There’s silence for a second. Josh opens his eyes again. Donna’s still standing there, head cocked, looking at him calmly, considering. He’s not going to yell again, he isn’t, and this wall thing isn’t working at all.
Donna steps forward and puts her hands on his hips, under his coat. She pauses there, and looks at him. “I’m staying, okay?”
Josh blinks. Her face is a couple of inches from his. She hasn’t tried to pull him to her—she’s just standing there, holding him lightly. She’s as tall as he is; she could probably kick his ass if she wanted to, for all that she looks slender as a reed; she's holding him gently and his back is against the wall.
“Yeah,” Josh exhales, leans his head back, and closes his eyes again. “Okay.”
“Okay.” And she steps in closer, much closer, leaning so she’s flush against him, shoulders to hips, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist, tucking her head onto his shoulder, and wow. Wow. This is exactly what he needed. This is what Stanley should’ve told him to do, except he didn’t, of course, because who says “When you’re feeling panicky, get your assistant to push you up against the wall and snuggle you”? Crazy people, that’s who, but it was working, it was amazing, and –
“We should’ve done this sooner,” Josh murmurs without thinking, turning his head so he can rest his cheek on Donna’s beautiful hair. His body relaxes, all at once, Hanly-Cox-Gerrard forgotten. It's really, really nice, being held by Donna, and he kisses the top of her head, grateful.
Donna freezes, sort of—as much as she can while pressed immobile up against him—and pulls back to look at his face.
“Actually, I shouldn’t, this is really not—,” she stammers, and oh shit is written in her eyes plain for anyone to see. She's afraid of having done what she wanted to do, afraid that it's caught her out, and Josh can’t bear it, he can’t, so he brings his hands down to cup her face, and he kisses her mouth to stop whatever she's going to say.
And God, this is even better than snuggling, Stanley should’ve prescribed this, but Josh has no more time to think inane thoughts about the fine art of psychiatry because Donna’s making a broken half-gasp and kissing him back.
Oh, Josh thinks, dazed, and it’s like being caught in the tide. He’s moving helplessly to wrap one arm around her waist and to reach one hand to cradle her head, his fingers carding gently through her silken hair, loose for once and smelling like lavender. Donna reaches up to brace herself on his chest, one hand directly over his heart. Her mouth is hot and sweet and who the hell needs a wall when he can kiss Donnatella Moss instead?
Donna tears her mouth away, after a few minutes, gasping for breath. She isn’t trying to get away from him, though, so Josh turns them gently, pushes her against the wall and leans in to nuzzle her neck, which makes her breath hitch, which is the best sound Josh had heard ever.
“I want to, can I, is this okay?” He wants more of Donna making those noises, he wants her mouth on his again, he wants to touch all of that alabaster skin, and he finds his hands running gently up and down her sides, smoothing the curve under her breasts, palms rubbing slow circles to feel her nipples pebbling through her shirt, lingering at the waist of her skirt, fingers running under the band.
“God, Josh, please, anything…” and she looks as wrecked as he feels, her face flushed, her lips bitten, and Josh leans in to kiss her once more before dropping to his knees in front of her and nuzzling into the v between her legs.
“Oh!” Donna gasps, shocked and turned on, and Josh smiles up at her, dimples flashing, and pushes up her skirt.
“No pantyhose?”
“I ripped them this morning—CJ—a fireplace set from Montana for the President – the poker fell off—.” Donna pants, but Josh doesn’t reply, mouth busy ghosting over the tender skin on the inside of her thighs, tilting his head up to rub his nose against her panties, and there, that makes her do it again, that choked-off whine. Josh abandons the kitten-soft skin of Donna’s inner right thigh to kiss her there, on her cunt, through the thin cotton.
“Josh!”
“Yeah.”
“Josh, no –“
“God, Donna, I want to, you smell amazing, you’re gonna taste amazing, don’t say stop, don’t—“
“Not saying stop,” and she’s trying to pull him up a bit “Just, the doors, lock them?”
“Yeah,” and it’s terrible to move away from her, but he does it, standing and reaching out to get first the one to the bullpen then the one to the hallway, and then looks back to see her slumped, still panting, skirt rucked up above her waist, heels still on, blue cotton panties clearly wet from his mouth, pupils blown.
“You’re just, Donnatella, you’re so…” He’s stammering.
“Yeah?” and she’s grinning at him, and he likes it, and she’s beautiful, she’s so beautiful, and he wants to see her come.
“So much better than the wall,” he gasps, moving over onto his knees in front of her again, reaching up to pull down her panties, and it’s ridiculous, it’s ridiculous that he’s just said that to her, but it’s okay, she gets it, she’s laughing, and there. Josh has pulled her panties down, and Donna’s stepped out of them, and she’s brought one leg up to curl over his shoulder, bracing herself, and God. Josh reaches up to spread her open so he can lick a broad swipe up the centre of her sweet dark red cunt, shockingly red against her pale hips, and she does taste amazing. She’s biting off a moan, and he wishes they were at his house, or hers, even with all the cats, somewhere that they didn’t have to be quiet, but this was going to have to do. He’s just going to have to do it fast so they can leave and he can make her come again, somewhere where he can hear her.
Josh sucks on his fingers, and then slides them into her firmly, three of them, and licks up to her clit, circling it persistently. He loves this, he’d always loved it, he’d do it for an hour if he could, but fast is the idea today, and Donna’s on board with fast, he can tell, glancing up–she’s biting her hand, her eyes closed, panting, flushed the most beautiful rose color from her hairline down her neck—and so he makes his licking even more deliberate, and twists his hand so he crook his fingers inside her. And that does it, Donna is suddenly tightening up, gasping, and then suddenly trembling hard against him. He can hear her keening behind her hand, and he moves closer to brace her, mouthing her clit gently as she comes down.
“Josh, oh…” and she’s trying to pull him up, so he stands and gathers her in and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.
“You,” she says, between kisses. “I should…”
“Not yet,” he says, smiling.
“But you, God, I want to, Josh!” Donna’s pleading, he can hear it, and he kisses her again, quick.
“At your house, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” and she’s smiling. “Better than the wall, huh?”
“Better than anything,” Josh says, seriously, and they leave together, and the wire hanger is retired, forever.
There was an entire page of multi-fandom wallsmut, okay? I have no defenses against that, job-hunt or no job-hunt. It was like plot bunnies had invaded Toronto, and they knew I was hoarding carrots.
I'm taking the month off (mostly) from the interweb. Will be back, with pR0n, in September.
Title: Sailing off to a Warmer Country
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Length: ~2000 words
Feedback is the best thing ever.
No beta; all mistakes mine.
Set vaguely post-Noel, S2.
---
Josh has taken to standing against the wall in his office. The only clear spot is behind the door, so he’s also taken to putting a wire hanger on the outside doorknob before he stands against the wall, so Donna knows what he’s doing and doesn’t accidentally open the door and smack him in the face. Or let anyone else open the door and smack him in the face. Once was enough.
He thought about using his tie, first, after he almost broke his nose and became too hideous to embarrass himself on television for the White House. Almost everyone in the office lived in a college dorm at some point, though, or with a roommate in a too-small apartment—or both—and thus knew what a tie on the door really meant. The teasing would've lasted for days. A wire hanger, on the other hand, isn't part of traditional roommate code. It's ubiquitous. It could be there because Donna noticed he was wearing the same clothes for the last two days, and forced him to let her take his jacket to the dry-cleaner. He never actually uses one, otherwise—his coats get thrown over chairs, or puddle on the floor—but nobody notices that, except Donna.
So. Standing against the wall. Stanley—Dr. Keyworth—said it was supposed to be comforting, and it is, actually. In a clinical kind of way. Every once in a while when Josh is standing against the wall he thinks that a prescription of hugs would’ve been better, except that it would've also been lame. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t touch people. He touches people all the time. Everyone in the office touches people all the time. He’s getting his share of skin-contact. And Toby’s. Probably.
When Josh feels really angry, or really upset—usually not from the PTSD, usually because a bill didn’t pass, or because he made a joke and the media decided to pretend they didn’t notice the sarcasm, and suddenly it’s the secret plan to fight inflation all over again—he stands against the wall and puts his hands above his head and thinks about being braced from both sides, someone flush against him, holding his hands still. He thinks about having someone strong to push against.
Donna‘s not supposed to open the door when the hanger’s on the doorknob. She knows what it means. And, God, if anyone ever had his back more thoroughly than Donna – well, it would be Leo, Josh supposes, but that’s not what he means. He means Donna’s his better angel, all the time, and she knows what the hanger on the doorknob means, and she takes care of it.
She knows what it means, and Josh is in his office standing against the wall. It’s late. He didn’t even say hello to her when he stalked through the pen at eleven in the evening, coming back from a godawful hours-long meeting on the hill with three Democrats who’d decided that the latest concessions made to Republicans were too much, and they weren’t going to vote in favor of the Early Education Protection bill in its current form. They were right, of course: the bloat was ridiculous and the concession clauses had nothing to do with a guaranteed-funding bill for preschool. But there was nowhere else to get votes if Hanly, Cox and Gerrard weren’t onboard, no-one left to bargain with, and the bill wasn’t going to pass, it wasn’t, and it had taken weeks to put it together. For nothing.
So he hadn’t said hello, just head-down, chin-tucked zoomed into his office, grabbed the wire hanger from the coat-rack, put it on the knob, and slammed the door shut with a little too much force. The hanger had fallen off. He didn’t care. He didn’t take his trench coat off, either—just closed the door and pushed his back against the wall, hard.
And then he thunked his head a bit, experimentally, to see if it would help. It didn’t.
Putting his hands above his head against the wall didn’t, either.
“Hey.”
“You’re not supposed to come in.” Donna. She’s managed to open the door just enough to slink inside, not enough that he gets his nose flattened, but that isn’t the point.
“I’m not supposed to smack you in the face.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t.”
Josh opens his eyes a little. “I need a minute, okay? I’m, it’s just, damnit Donna! The hanger’s on the door!” He’s yelling, and he knows it’s dumb. Josh closes his eyes so he won’t see Donna roll hers.
“It fell off, actually.”
“Can you go, please?”
There’s silence for a second. Josh opens his eyes again. Donna’s still standing there, head cocked, looking at him calmly, considering. He’s not going to yell again, he isn’t, and this wall thing isn’t working at all.
Donna steps forward and puts her hands on his hips, under his coat. She pauses there, and looks at him. “I’m staying, okay?”
Josh blinks. Her face is a couple of inches from his. She hasn’t tried to pull him to her—she’s just standing there, holding him lightly. She’s as tall as he is; she could probably kick his ass if she wanted to, for all that she looks slender as a reed; she's holding him gently and his back is against the wall.
“Yeah,” Josh exhales, leans his head back, and closes his eyes again. “Okay.”
“Okay.” And she steps in closer, much closer, leaning so she’s flush against him, shoulders to hips, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist, tucking her head onto his shoulder, and wow. Wow. This is exactly what he needed. This is what Stanley should’ve told him to do, except he didn’t, of course, because who says “When you’re feeling panicky, get your assistant to push you up against the wall and snuggle you”? Crazy people, that’s who, but it was working, it was amazing, and –
“We should’ve done this sooner,” Josh murmurs without thinking, turning his head so he can rest his cheek on Donna’s beautiful hair. His body relaxes, all at once, Hanly-Cox-Gerrard forgotten. It's really, really nice, being held by Donna, and he kisses the top of her head, grateful.
Donna freezes, sort of—as much as she can while pressed immobile up against him—and pulls back to look at his face.
“Actually, I shouldn’t, this is really not—,” she stammers, and oh shit is written in her eyes plain for anyone to see. She's afraid of having done what she wanted to do, afraid that it's caught her out, and Josh can’t bear it, he can’t, so he brings his hands down to cup her face, and he kisses her mouth to stop whatever she's going to say.
And God, this is even better than snuggling, Stanley should’ve prescribed this, but Josh has no more time to think inane thoughts about the fine art of psychiatry because Donna’s making a broken half-gasp and kissing him back.
Oh, Josh thinks, dazed, and it’s like being caught in the tide. He’s moving helplessly to wrap one arm around her waist and to reach one hand to cradle her head, his fingers carding gently through her silken hair, loose for once and smelling like lavender. Donna reaches up to brace herself on his chest, one hand directly over his heart. Her mouth is hot and sweet and who the hell needs a wall when he can kiss Donnatella Moss instead?
Donna tears her mouth away, after a few minutes, gasping for breath. She isn’t trying to get away from him, though, so Josh turns them gently, pushes her against the wall and leans in to nuzzle her neck, which makes her breath hitch, which is the best sound Josh had heard ever.
“I want to, can I, is this okay?” He wants more of Donna making those noises, he wants her mouth on his again, he wants to touch all of that alabaster skin, and he finds his hands running gently up and down her sides, smoothing the curve under her breasts, palms rubbing slow circles to feel her nipples pebbling through her shirt, lingering at the waist of her skirt, fingers running under the band.
“God, Josh, please, anything…” and she looks as wrecked as he feels, her face flushed, her lips bitten, and Josh leans in to kiss her once more before dropping to his knees in front of her and nuzzling into the v between her legs.
“Oh!” Donna gasps, shocked and turned on, and Josh smiles up at her, dimples flashing, and pushes up her skirt.
“No pantyhose?”
“I ripped them this morning—CJ—a fireplace set from Montana for the President – the poker fell off—.” Donna pants, but Josh doesn’t reply, mouth busy ghosting over the tender skin on the inside of her thighs, tilting his head up to rub his nose against her panties, and there, that makes her do it again, that choked-off whine. Josh abandons the kitten-soft skin of Donna’s inner right thigh to kiss her there, on her cunt, through the thin cotton.
“Josh!”
“Yeah.”
“Josh, no –“
“God, Donna, I want to, you smell amazing, you’re gonna taste amazing, don’t say stop, don’t—“
“Not saying stop,” and she’s trying to pull him up a bit “Just, the doors, lock them?”
“Yeah,” and it’s terrible to move away from her, but he does it, standing and reaching out to get first the one to the bullpen then the one to the hallway, and then looks back to see her slumped, still panting, skirt rucked up above her waist, heels still on, blue cotton panties clearly wet from his mouth, pupils blown.
“You’re just, Donnatella, you’re so…” He’s stammering.
“Yeah?” and she’s grinning at him, and he likes it, and she’s beautiful, she’s so beautiful, and he wants to see her come.
“So much better than the wall,” he gasps, moving over onto his knees in front of her again, reaching up to pull down her panties, and it’s ridiculous, it’s ridiculous that he’s just said that to her, but it’s okay, she gets it, she’s laughing, and there. Josh has pulled her panties down, and Donna’s stepped out of them, and she’s brought one leg up to curl over his shoulder, bracing herself, and God. Josh reaches up to spread her open so he can lick a broad swipe up the centre of her sweet dark red cunt, shockingly red against her pale hips, and she does taste amazing. She’s biting off a moan, and he wishes they were at his house, or hers, even with all the cats, somewhere that they didn’t have to be quiet, but this was going to have to do. He’s just going to have to do it fast so they can leave and he can make her come again, somewhere where he can hear her.
Josh sucks on his fingers, and then slides them into her firmly, three of them, and licks up to her clit, circling it persistently. He loves this, he’d always loved it, he’d do it for an hour if he could, but fast is the idea today, and Donna’s on board with fast, he can tell, glancing up–she’s biting her hand, her eyes closed, panting, flushed the most beautiful rose color from her hairline down her neck—and so he makes his licking even more deliberate, and twists his hand so he crook his fingers inside her. And that does it, Donna is suddenly tightening up, gasping, and then suddenly trembling hard against him. He can hear her keening behind her hand, and he moves closer to brace her, mouthing her clit gently as she comes down.
“Josh, oh…” and she’s trying to pull him up, so he stands and gathers her in and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.
“You,” she says, between kisses. “I should…”
“Not yet,” he says, smiling.
“But you, God, I want to, Josh!” Donna’s pleading, he can hear it, and he kisses her again, quick.
“At your house, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” and she’s smiling. “Better than the wall, huh?”
“Better than anything,” Josh says, seriously, and they leave together, and the wire hanger is retired, forever.
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LOVED IT!!!!
Date: 2007-07-24 07:36 pm (UTC)JENNIFER