He needs her tonight.

He needs her tonight and he's pretty sure she knows it. They are careful
to ration out their time together; they know that for the time being, such
moments of weakness can only be few and far between, so as not to invite
suspicion. Most of the time they are able to keep their distance, to maintain
their professionalism. But they slip now and then, when one or the other
or both of them needs more. When the pull becomes unbearable.

Like tonight.

Josh has been dancing on the edge of the precipice all day, ever since they
lost the vote on environmental protections that afternoon. It makes him feel
helpless, and he can't help but wonder -- if he had worked just a little harder,
made a few more threats, proffered a few more promises – then maybe he
would be celebrating a victory rather than trying to shrug off a defeat.

And Donna has been sympathetic and understanding through it all and to
make matters worse she's wearing this short gray flannel skirt that's driving
him mad. He watches her sort through a pile of manila folders and all he
can think about is how he wants to bury himself inside of her. He wants to
lose himself in her, wants to shut out everything except her long, smooth
limbs and her silken hair.

He gets up from his desk and brushes past her, purposely sweeping his body
up against hers as he does so. On his way out of the office he looks back and
sees her watching him, and the answer he's been hoping for is in her eyes.
His groin tightens and his heart speeds up in anticipation.

He checks in with Leo, makes sure his boss doesn't need him for anything else
that evening, then makes his way back to the bullpen. Donna is seated at her
computer, fingers flying over the keys. He stops in front of her, waits for her
to finish typing.

"I'm gonna head out," he says with practiced nonchalance. Just another day
at the office. "Let's call it a night."

She nods and starts collecting her things without saying a word. He goes
back to his office, throws some files in his backpack, grabs his coat, and
then returns to Donna. She's holding her bag, waiting for him. She licks
her lips.

She takes her own car and meets him at his place. He gets there first and
is waiting for her when she arrives, and he barely takes the time to close the
door behind them before he starts kissing her. He pushes her up against the
wall in the entryway and covers her mouth with his own, unable to get enough
of her, wanting to swallow her whole. His hand steals to the hem of that damn
skirt and she gasps into his mouth, which only makes him want her more and
he hadn't thought that was possible.

"It's been a while," she whispers against his lips.

"Too long," he agrees.

She clasps his face with her hands, rains kisses on his jaw line, tender touches
against roughened skin. "I saw you staring at me all day. You're a sadist, Josh."

He almost laughs at that. "I'm the sadist? You're the one wearing this skirt," he
says, and slips his hand up underneath it to cup her ass for emphasis.

"It was on sale. I was trying to be thrifty."

"You were trying to make me crazy," he counters.

"And doing a pretty good job so far," she points out as he starts kissing her neck. She tastes so familiar, sweet and salty all at once. He flickers his tongue over her flesh, eliciting a soft moan from deep in her throat.

"I have to have you, Donna," he whispers against her skin.

"I know." She pushes him back slightly, then tugs on his tie and starts making
her way to his bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. By the time they reach his bedroom she is down to her bra and underwear, cream silk hugging ivory curves. He quickly takes off all of his clothing save his boxers, then pulls her close, running his hands over her breasts, her hips, teasing her nipples to hardness through the thin material of her bra. She takes a ragged breath and lowers her head to his chest, taking one of his nipples into her mouth and worrying at it lightly, her soft, pouty lips sucking the sensitive skin. He hisses and thinks he can't take much more, he has to have her soon or he's quite simply going to die.

He takes her by the waist and slowly turns her around so that her back is to him, then he undoes the clasp of her bra and slides the straps down her arms, letting the garment fall to the floor. He reaches around to cup her breasts in his hands, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the rosy nipples between thumb and forefinger. Her head falls back and he takes the opportunity to run his mouth up and down the smooth column of her neck as his hands continue his ministrations. When she starts making soft mewling sounds he releases her breasts, then slips her panties down her legs, watches as her manicured feet step out of that last scrap of clothing.

In one quick motion he pulls down his own boxers, then pulls her back against
him so that she can feel his erection hard against her back. He reaches around her, finds her clit and starts to stroke her there, but when she reaches up and twines her arms around his neck, pushing back into him, he reaches the breaking point. He turns her around almost roughly and pushes her down onto his bed so that she is lying on her back, her legs dangling off the lip of the mattress. She looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open, and she spreads her legs slightly, beckoning him.

He stands at the edge of the bed and takes hold of her legs, settling her knees
on either side of his hips, and then pushes into her little by little until he fills
her completely. Her back arches up and her ankles wrap tightly around his
back. He pulls out and then sinks into her again, his mind reeling at how hot
and wet she is, intoxicating warmth clamped around his cock, and he wonders
how he managed to make it through the entire day without being inside of her.

He grips her thighs more firmly and starts thrusting into her at a slow but steady
pace, mesmerized by the way her long, lean body stretches down onto the bed
before him, the way her golden hair fans out over the bedspread, the way her full lips part and her high, firm breasts bounce in time with his movements. Her arms are thrown up over her head, her eyes are closed and she lets out a blissful moan each time he pushes her deeper into the mattress. It is a position of complete surrender and trust and pleasure and the sight of it turns him on nearly as much as the sweet wet friction against his cock. His knees are starting to ache and his thighs are starting to tremble but he ignores the distractions, increasing the tempo of his thrusts, grunting with the effort, lifting her hips higher to find a deeper angle. It seems to work because she whimpers his name like a prayer.

"Touch yourself for me, Donna," he whispers. "Let me watch you."

She opens her eyes in surprise but obediently snakes one hand down to the
juncture of their bodies, and he whispers a continual stream of encouragement,
watching in fascination as she fingers her own clit, her hand moving in short,
quick strokes in time with the rise and fall of her hips. He desperately wants
her to come first, wants to feel her contract around him, wants to see her flush
and convulse beneath him.

He doesn't have long to wait. Soon her throaty gasps build to a high, frequent
pitch, and the movement of her fingers becomes frenzied, and then she is
pulsing around him, crying out, her back arched in a rictus of ecstasy as she
screams his name and God's in the same breath. He drives into her a few more
times before he finds his own obliterating release, spilling into her with
something resembling a sob and a feverish spasming of his hips.

He collapses on top of her, panting hard, and wraps his arms around her
possessively, his limbs relaxed and rubbery. She returns the embrace and
they shift so that they are finally lying completely on the bed, arms and legs
intertwined so tightly that he barely knows where he ends and she begins.
He cups her breast and nuzzles her earlobe as he waits for their breathing to
return to normal.

"You're like air," he whispers against her ear.

"What do you mean?" Her hand strokes his hair, the nape of his neck, her
fingers cool against his sweat-slicked skin.

He pauses before speaking again, wondering if this will make him sound
weak. "You're one of the basic necessities," he says softly. "Food, air,
water...Donna Moss. Everything I need to live."

He's not looking at her face, but he can feel her smile. "You make me sound
like something you take camping."

"We could go camping," he says sleepily into her neck, knowing they'll never
do so. "I'm an outdoorsman."

She lets out a low laugh that makes him shiver. "Making love under the
stars..."

"Lying next to a roaring fire..."

"Eating s'mores..."

He looks at her askance. "Where did that come from?"

"Basic necessities," she says teasingly. "Air, water, Josh...chocolate."

He grins and pulls her head over to his so that he can kiss her, and as their
lips meet he breathes her in. Like air.

It doesn't make him weak, he realizes, his needing her this way. She makes
him stronger.

End.