The West Wing (Josh/Donna)
Title: Mutable
Author: Anya (smut_queen)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Summary: We breathe, and things change.
Spoilers: Up to The Birnam Wood (6x02).
Betas: entropy84 & kika32.
Archive: Ask me first, please.
Feedback: smut.queen [at] gmail [dot] com
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
---
The lack of any actual discussion about it was making her nervous.
All the things she knew for certain could be counted on the fingers of one hand. She loved him - that was one. The feeling was reciprocated - that was two. She was alive - that was three. He was still breathing - that was four.
Everything else was conjecture.
They asked questions with long gazes. Offered unsatisfying answers with the briefest of touches. Apologies were presented with chaste kisses on neutral parts of each others’ bodies. Vows were made with cryptic exchanges, leaving the details in limbo. An intimacy had been achieved that surprised her, given that their lips had not met (yet), and neither of them had mentioned the word ‘love’.
They hadn’t even talked about it when she handed him her official resignation. Now it was halfway through her last two weeks on the job, and there was an uneasy tension between them, leaving her more uncertain then ever. He kept coming out of his office, looking as if he was going to say something to her, but then he’d retreat. The only sounds in the otherwise-empty bullpen came from her typing, paper sliding over paper, and her feet nervously tapping on the floor.
She walked to his door, lifting her hand up to the wood, but was unable to bring herself to knock. She spun on her heel, and then turned back around. As she raised her hand again, he chose that moment to open the door, his nose level with her fist.
“Hey.”
At that point, she realized she had no idea what she intended to say. “Uh … can we talk?”
“Sure.” He stepped aside. She made a conscious effort to disguise her limp, a ridiculous notion given that he had seen her in much worse condition than this.
There were other people who made fun of her, she knew.
Sitting in the chair in front of his desk, she waited until he shut the door and sat back down before she cleared her throat and spoke.
“Are we okay?”
The small smile that had been gracing his face disappeared. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be? Did I miss a memo?”
“I just didn’t expect to be working today. That’s all.”
“You’ve worked Sundays before. I know you didn’t request off.”
“It’s Sunday, December 26th, though. The day after Christmas.”
He looked confused, and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed what day it was. Work had been rough, rougher than usual, and she knew that her situation had made the past week even more difficult. But could he really have missed -?
“You … said you were just staying in town for the holidays, and I need to get these files organized before you leave. Really organized, as opposed to Donna-organization. I didn’t think you’d have a problem with working today. You’ve worked Sundays before.”
She looked down at her hands, picked at her cuticles. “I just wanted to make sure we’re okay. We … we didn’t … exchange gifts this year.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Well, I figured this year, I could combine your Christmas present with your going-away present, and I could save ten bucks. I was going to give it to you Friday.”
With her eyes trained on the floor, she saw his feet enter her frame of vision. “That doesn’t really … I’m not sure exactly …”
“Sure of what?” he prompted.
“I just need - I don’t really know what’s going on with us, Josh. I’m not sure where we stand.”
He brought his hand to his face, rubbing his mouth. Those lips had been on her cheeks, her forehead, her hand. “I thought I made that clear.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “When exactly did you do that? Because I wasn’t around.”
“Donna.”
“I just … need some reassurance, I guess.”
She rose from her chair, and he straightened suddenly, his expression making her think he expected her to slap him. Gently resting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned in just enough to brush her lips over his. It was tentative and fleeting, but she felt him kiss her back. For her, that was enough. She wasn’t crazy; he wasn’t changing his mind. She would walk out on Friday, leaving Donna the Assistant behind, and claim her place as Donna the Girlfriend. It was all she needed.
Apparently, though, he was unsatisfied.
She inhaled, breathing in his scent; then his hands were on either side of her face, and he was crushing his mouth to hers again. All hesitancy vanished. When she gasped, he took advantage, sliding his tongue between her lips. They were moving backwards and to the side, until she felt the door behind her. His hands moved down her neck, her arms, and finally wrapped around her waist. He groaned, tilting his head back; she realized she had been grinding her hips against his.
He mumbled something as he practically tore off her shirt.
“What?”
“Lock the door.” His voice was gruff and his hands were soft and then it hit her: he wanted to have sex right here. Some part of her mind told her she should protest; instead, she blindly groped the doorknob, managing to lock it on the third try. It was impossible to concentrate on the simple task with his mouth trailing a path across her skin. He pulled her close, his hands dancing over her back with increasing frustration.
“Clasp is in the front. What about the other -?”
“I hate these bras.” He stepped back, and she briefly wondered if her underwear was some sort of deal-breaker. But he was only making sure the room was secure. He locked the other doors with lightning speed, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. As she dropped her bra, he struggled to get out of his shirt - he had left his cuffs buttoned - and then tossed his undershirt to the ground.
They each found the other’s scar at the same time, both of them exhaling in unison. She gingerly touched his, and he mimicked her actions with hers. When she glanced up at him, his eyes were shining. So she caressed his face and brought their lips together again. Once her breasts made contact with his chest, she was sure death was the last thing on his mind.
“So soft,” he whispered as she kissed his neck. He tried to undo the zipper on her skirt for several seconds before he seemed to decide that hiking it up was easier. His rough fingers yanked down her underwear, and before it even hit the floor, he was rubbing her slick flesh. All thoughts of stripping him naked vanished. The tension in her body waned, only to be gathered and focused in the center of everything. She whimpered, her head buried in the crook of his shoulder. It was incredible and amazing and she would have jumped him right there if it weren’t for her leg.
“Not against the wall,” she managed to gasp out.
“Right.” He tried to turn her around, but she wouldn’t let him. Instead, she guided him back until his knees hit his chair. His hands flew to his fly, but before he could unzip it, she hauled him back up. She ignored his surprised yelp, dragging him in front of the desk and plopping him down in the other chair.
“What was wrong with that one?”
“It had armrests.”
He looked down at where his arms hung, unobstructed. “Oh.”
“You were working on your pants.” She supposed she looked silly, standing in front of her boss with her skirt around her waist, essentially ordering him to whip it out, but he didn’t seem to care, so she really didn’t, either. He shimmied his pants and his boxers down to his knees; as she stepped forward, he put his hands on her thighs to stop her.
“Do we -?”
“No.”
“Is your le -?”
“Yes.”
“Would you stop doing that?”
“No.” And with that, she straddled his legs, lowering herself onto his lap. As if he sensed that she had never done this before, he slumped slightly, and held her hip with one hand, gripping himself with the other. He inhaled as she exhaled; they moved against each other until he was inside her.
He was the one who began to move first. His hips were thrusting against her just a bit too quickly for her taste, so she started to shift against him, slowly, and he got the message. Their rhythm wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t matter. He eased slightly out of her as she arched her back, and then he pushed into her as she rocked back against him. His hands roamed over her back; she just held onto his shoulders and tried to ignore the touch of pain building up in her leg.
“God, you’re tight,” he groaned. The men in her life always said that to her, at some point. She supposed it was either some requirement in the How to Make Love to Your Woman handbook, or maybe she just had a really small -
“Oh, God.” He had found her clit, pinching it experimentally. The sensation overwhelmed her, and she stopped moving, stopped the flow of air to her lungs. She was actually rather impressed that he managed to multitask; his hips shifted easily as he rolled the little bundle of nerves between his finger and thumb. With his shoddy posture and her back erect, he was gazing up at her, his expression a mirror of the look she had woken up to in Germany.
The only word she could utter was his name, and she breathed it with reverence as the pleasure fluttered throughout her body. The third time it fell from her lips, her voice broke and she heard him gasp. There were tears in his eyes that she didn’t understand, until she remembered cutting through a fog of pain and confusion, and pleading for him when she was convinced that she had awoken alone.
“I’m still here,” she whispered.
“We both are,” he promised her.
He leaned up and kissed her, his lips moving sloppily over hers. She started to move again, this time with more ferocity, less finesse. Their balance seemed off, and she could hear the chair moving along the floor, but she trusted him to keep her from falling. As he moved down her neck, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly.
“Donna, I can’t -”
“It’s okay.” And with that, she heard him grunt, felt the fingers of his free hand gouge into her back. Even as he came, he kept thrusting into her, clumsily working her clit. She exhaled and everything exploded, her body tingling, her mind reeling. Although he was softening inside her, he didn’t stop; her orgasm faded, but wouldn’t die completely. Just before the sensation edged over into discomfort, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it from where they were joined. They both fell still, clinging to each others’ bodies.
With every breath, all she could manage to say was his name.
“This is why I didn’t want to kiss you.” His tongue traced the crease where her neck met her shoulder. “At least not while you were my employee.”
“Friday,” she offered him. She leaned back, cupping his cheeks and resting her forehead against his. “Maybe you should leave, too.”
Her suggestion seemed to take him by surprise; truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure where it had come from. “My legs are starting to go numb.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
They dressed in silence. As she smoothed down her skirt, wondering if her comment had ruined everything, he startled her by snaking an arm around her waist from behind.
“I can’t leave them,” he murmured in her ear. “Especially not after Leo.”
“I know.”
More silence. His cheek burned her skin.
“Would you have left me, even if we weren’t … you know?”
“I’m leaving the job, Josh, not you.”
He kissed down her jaw line, stopping just shy of her lips. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah,” she said finally. “I would have. This place - ”
“I know.” Now it was his voice that was small and broken.
“I love you.”
With his hand on her chin, he turned her head around so she could see his eyes. She kissed his thumb as his mouth moved noiselessly, as air escaped his lips.
“I know,” she said, because it was true.
(fin)
Author: Anya (smut_queen)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Summary: We breathe, and things change.
Spoilers: Up to The Birnam Wood (6x02).
Betas: entropy84 & kika32.
Archive: Ask me first, please.
Feedback: smut.queen [at] gmail [dot] com
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
---
The lack of any actual discussion about it was making her nervous.
All the things she knew for certain could be counted on the fingers of one hand. She loved him - that was one. The feeling was reciprocated - that was two. She was alive - that was three. He was still breathing - that was four.
Everything else was conjecture.
They asked questions with long gazes. Offered unsatisfying answers with the briefest of touches. Apologies were presented with chaste kisses on neutral parts of each others’ bodies. Vows were made with cryptic exchanges, leaving the details in limbo. An intimacy had been achieved that surprised her, given that their lips had not met (yet), and neither of them had mentioned the word ‘love’.
They hadn’t even talked about it when she handed him her official resignation. Now it was halfway through her last two weeks on the job, and there was an uneasy tension between them, leaving her more uncertain then ever. He kept coming out of his office, looking as if he was going to say something to her, but then he’d retreat. The only sounds in the otherwise-empty bullpen came from her typing, paper sliding over paper, and her feet nervously tapping on the floor.
She walked to his door, lifting her hand up to the wood, but was unable to bring herself to knock. She spun on her heel, and then turned back around. As she raised her hand again, he chose that moment to open the door, his nose level with her fist.
“Hey.”
At that point, she realized she had no idea what she intended to say. “Uh … can we talk?”
“Sure.” He stepped aside. She made a conscious effort to disguise her limp, a ridiculous notion given that he had seen her in much worse condition than this.
There were other people who made fun of her, she knew.
Sitting in the chair in front of his desk, she waited until he shut the door and sat back down before she cleared her throat and spoke.
“Are we okay?”
The small smile that had been gracing his face disappeared. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be? Did I miss a memo?”
“I just didn’t expect to be working today. That’s all.”
“You’ve worked Sundays before. I know you didn’t request off.”
“It’s Sunday, December 26th, though. The day after Christmas.”
He looked confused, and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed what day it was. Work had been rough, rougher than usual, and she knew that her situation had made the past week even more difficult. But could he really have missed -?
“You … said you were just staying in town for the holidays, and I need to get these files organized before you leave. Really organized, as opposed to Donna-organization. I didn’t think you’d have a problem with working today. You’ve worked Sundays before.”
She looked down at her hands, picked at her cuticles. “I just wanted to make sure we’re okay. We … we didn’t … exchange gifts this year.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Well, I figured this year, I could combine your Christmas present with your going-away present, and I could save ten bucks. I was going to give it to you Friday.”
With her eyes trained on the floor, she saw his feet enter her frame of vision. “That doesn’t really … I’m not sure exactly …”
“Sure of what?” he prompted.
“I just need - I don’t really know what’s going on with us, Josh. I’m not sure where we stand.”
He brought his hand to his face, rubbing his mouth. Those lips had been on her cheeks, her forehead, her hand. “I thought I made that clear.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “When exactly did you do that? Because I wasn’t around.”
“Donna.”
“I just … need some reassurance, I guess.”
She rose from her chair, and he straightened suddenly, his expression making her think he expected her to slap him. Gently resting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned in just enough to brush her lips over his. It was tentative and fleeting, but she felt him kiss her back. For her, that was enough. She wasn’t crazy; he wasn’t changing his mind. She would walk out on Friday, leaving Donna the Assistant behind, and claim her place as Donna the Girlfriend. It was all she needed.
Apparently, though, he was unsatisfied.
She inhaled, breathing in his scent; then his hands were on either side of her face, and he was crushing his mouth to hers again. All hesitancy vanished. When she gasped, he took advantage, sliding his tongue between her lips. They were moving backwards and to the side, until she felt the door behind her. His hands moved down her neck, her arms, and finally wrapped around her waist. He groaned, tilting his head back; she realized she had been grinding her hips against his.
He mumbled something as he practically tore off her shirt.
“What?”
“Lock the door.” His voice was gruff and his hands were soft and then it hit her: he wanted to have sex right here. Some part of her mind told her she should protest; instead, she blindly groped the doorknob, managing to lock it on the third try. It was impossible to concentrate on the simple task with his mouth trailing a path across her skin. He pulled her close, his hands dancing over her back with increasing frustration.
“Clasp is in the front. What about the other -?”
“I hate these bras.” He stepped back, and she briefly wondered if her underwear was some sort of deal-breaker. But he was only making sure the room was secure. He locked the other doors with lightning speed, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. As she dropped her bra, he struggled to get out of his shirt - he had left his cuffs buttoned - and then tossed his undershirt to the ground.
They each found the other’s scar at the same time, both of them exhaling in unison. She gingerly touched his, and he mimicked her actions with hers. When she glanced up at him, his eyes were shining. So she caressed his face and brought their lips together again. Once her breasts made contact with his chest, she was sure death was the last thing on his mind.
“So soft,” he whispered as she kissed his neck. He tried to undo the zipper on her skirt for several seconds before he seemed to decide that hiking it up was easier. His rough fingers yanked down her underwear, and before it even hit the floor, he was rubbing her slick flesh. All thoughts of stripping him naked vanished. The tension in her body waned, only to be gathered and focused in the center of everything. She whimpered, her head buried in the crook of his shoulder. It was incredible and amazing and she would have jumped him right there if it weren’t for her leg.
“Not against the wall,” she managed to gasp out.
“Right.” He tried to turn her around, but she wouldn’t let him. Instead, she guided him back until his knees hit his chair. His hands flew to his fly, but before he could unzip it, she hauled him back up. She ignored his surprised yelp, dragging him in front of the desk and plopping him down in the other chair.
“What was wrong with that one?”
“It had armrests.”
He looked down at where his arms hung, unobstructed. “Oh.”
“You were working on your pants.” She supposed she looked silly, standing in front of her boss with her skirt around her waist, essentially ordering him to whip it out, but he didn’t seem to care, so she really didn’t, either. He shimmied his pants and his boxers down to his knees; as she stepped forward, he put his hands on her thighs to stop her.
“Do we -?”
“No.”
“Is your le -?”
“Yes.”
“Would you stop doing that?”
“No.” And with that, she straddled his legs, lowering herself onto his lap. As if he sensed that she had never done this before, he slumped slightly, and held her hip with one hand, gripping himself with the other. He inhaled as she exhaled; they moved against each other until he was inside her.
He was the one who began to move first. His hips were thrusting against her just a bit too quickly for her taste, so she started to shift against him, slowly, and he got the message. Their rhythm wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t matter. He eased slightly out of her as she arched her back, and then he pushed into her as she rocked back against him. His hands roamed over her back; she just held onto his shoulders and tried to ignore the touch of pain building up in her leg.
“God, you’re tight,” he groaned. The men in her life always said that to her, at some point. She supposed it was either some requirement in the How to Make Love to Your Woman handbook, or maybe she just had a really small -
“Oh, God.” He had found her clit, pinching it experimentally. The sensation overwhelmed her, and she stopped moving, stopped the flow of air to her lungs. She was actually rather impressed that he managed to multitask; his hips shifted easily as he rolled the little bundle of nerves between his finger and thumb. With his shoddy posture and her back erect, he was gazing up at her, his expression a mirror of the look she had woken up to in Germany.
The only word she could utter was his name, and she breathed it with reverence as the pleasure fluttered throughout her body. The third time it fell from her lips, her voice broke and she heard him gasp. There were tears in his eyes that she didn’t understand, until she remembered cutting through a fog of pain and confusion, and pleading for him when she was convinced that she had awoken alone.
“I’m still here,” she whispered.
“We both are,” he promised her.
He leaned up and kissed her, his lips moving sloppily over hers. She started to move again, this time with more ferocity, less finesse. Their balance seemed off, and she could hear the chair moving along the floor, but she trusted him to keep her from falling. As he moved down her neck, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly.
“Donna, I can’t -”
“It’s okay.” And with that, she heard him grunt, felt the fingers of his free hand gouge into her back. Even as he came, he kept thrusting into her, clumsily working her clit. She exhaled and everything exploded, her body tingling, her mind reeling. Although he was softening inside her, he didn’t stop; her orgasm faded, but wouldn’t die completely. Just before the sensation edged over into discomfort, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it from where they were joined. They both fell still, clinging to each others’ bodies.
With every breath, all she could manage to say was his name.
“This is why I didn’t want to kiss you.” His tongue traced the crease where her neck met her shoulder. “At least not while you were my employee.”
“Friday,” she offered him. She leaned back, cupping his cheeks and resting her forehead against his. “Maybe you should leave, too.”
Her suggestion seemed to take him by surprise; truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure where it had come from. “My legs are starting to go numb.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
They dressed in silence. As she smoothed down her skirt, wondering if her comment had ruined everything, he startled her by snaking an arm around her waist from behind.
“I can’t leave them,” he murmured in her ear. “Especially not after Leo.”
“I know.”
More silence. His cheek burned her skin.
“Would you have left me, even if we weren’t … you know?”
“I’m leaving the job, Josh, not you.”
He kissed down her jaw line, stopping just shy of her lips. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah,” she said finally. “I would have. This place - ”
“I know.” Now it was his voice that was small and broken.
“I love you.”
With his hand on her chin, he turned her head around so she could see his eyes. She kissed his thumb as his mouth moved noiselessly, as air escaped his lips.
“I know,” she said, because it was true.
(fin)