He had been considering doing some last-minute tweaks to the Nicolas Cage sketch, even though the cast was already deep in the thick of dress rehearsal, but that would have to wait just a little bit longer, because Bad Community Theater was coming up next.

Matt shuffled out onto the balcony and leaned forward, resting his arms against the railing just as Harriet and Simon launched into the sketch. The jokes were visual as much as anything else, so Matt wanted to watch it with his own eyes to make sure that everything worked. And for a second he even believed that that was the only reason he was watching.

The sketch started out great, getting laughs everywhere it was supposed to, and Sim and Harry were clearly having fun with it, vamping their way through an over-the-top, low-budget version of A Streetcar Named Desire.

"A woman's charm is fifty percent delusion," Harriet purred, pursing her lips like a goldfish. The audience laughed obligingly.

Matt smiled, even as he realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he was becoming increasingly distracted by the way Harriet looked as she strutted around the stage. Half the joke was that everything in Bad Community Theater was ridiculously low-budget, so she was wearing a cheap, un-sexy nylon slip from Sears, but apparently Harry's body hadn't gotten the memo that it wasn't supposed to be erotic. The thin material clung to her lush frame in all the right places, accentuating the curve of her hip and hugging her ass just so. She was wearing a bra underneath for modesty's sake, but the slip still exposed more than enough of the creamy skin of her breasts to get Matt's imagination revving.

Matt licked his lips, remembering with brutal clarity how her skin tasted beneath his tongue: salty and sweet. He cursed himself for not being able to come up with a more original description, because Harry certainly deserved one.

How the hell had he allowed her to slip (no pun intended) away? Right then he truly couldn't remember.

He shook his head violently, trying to snap himself back to reality. You know why, he told himself sternly. He tried to picture Harriet having sex with Pat Robertson in an attempt to simultaneously remind him of her transgressions and completely gross himself out, but it didn't work, because he kept replacing his own head with Pat's, and boy there was so very many things wrong with that scenario he didn't even know where to start. He cleared his throat and glanced around to make sure no one was in the vicinity, worried that his sick thoughts might actually be palpable to those around him.

Satisfied that he was still alone, he resolutely turned his attention back to the stage. Instead of a delicate lady's handkerchief that might suit a wilting flower like Blanche DuBois, Harry was waving about a furry washcloth covered in yellow rubber ducks. It looked ridiculous, just like it was supposed to, but when Harry trailed the cloth down between her breasts, mock-seductively, Matt's lips went dry again.

And he was assaulted with memory, suddenly, a memory so vivid he couldn't believe he was experiencing it without the aid of pharmaceuticals.

As he stood under the warm spray of the shower, water pounding his aching back, Matt vigorously rubbed the washcloth over a bar of soap, working up a thick, bubbly lather. They were at Harry's place, so it was a fragrant soap -- Matt was pretty sure it was jasmine -- and the washcloth he held seemed to have an unusually high thread count. He wondered offhand just how much something like that cost, then decided this probably wasn't the time (although arguably the place) for such a question.

Harry was facing him in the spacious tub, her wet hair slicked back, her body studded with droplets of moisture. She was a veritable Venus -- all she needed was the clam shell. With a reverent touch, Matt swirled the washcloth over Harry's chest, leaving a swath of suds across her sternum, then trailing down to her stomach, tracing her navel with slow caresses. Finally he moved the washcloth to her breasts, anointing them with suds, watching as white bubbles collected around pale pink buds.

On stage, Harriet was vamping it up for Simon, running her hand down his shirt while Simon gave the camera an exaggerated sneer. Matt tried to imagine what Harry's slip would look like if she weren't wearing a bra, if her hardened nipples would strain against the thin fabric for all of America to see.

Harriet had been watching him silently all this time, her doe brown eyes simply monitoring his ablutions, but she sucked in a loud breath when he pinched her nipple through the washcloth. He grinned at her, then kept tweaking her with a steady rhythm, the roughness of the cloth at odds with the slickness of the suds, and he could see that it was getting to her, that the juxtaposed sensations were just as he'd imagined they would be.

Finally he couldn't resist anymore, and he leaned in to kiss her.

"I have always depended upon the kindness of stranglers, I mean, strangers," Harry cooed on stage, her eyelids now fluttering like bats out of hell. Simon melodramatically ripped open his shirt -- thank god it worked this time, in rehearsal he'd had some trouble -- then growled with manufactured desire as the audience howled with laughter.

Their bodies met in a swirl of suds and heat. Matt let the washcloth drop to the floor of the tub and cupped Harry's face with his hands as he kissed her long and hard. Her hands caressed his hips, traveled to his lower back, then cupped his ass.

"Delightful," Harry choked out.

Simon and Harry were now hurrying off stage to prepare for their next scene, and Matt realized he'd completely zoned out on the rest of the sketch. He also realized he was sporting a partial erection and prayed that no one raced up to join him with any notes just yet. Matt supposed there were more embarrassing things that could happen than his co-workers spotting him sporting a chubby, but he was having trouble coming up with any at the moment.

He also realized, as the eroticism of his memory was forcefully pushed away in the hopes of bringing his body a little more under control, that just as vividly as the sexplay in the shower, he remembered what had happened afterward: the two of them giggling madly in bed when Harry decided to spend the rest of the morning talking like Julia Child. He was pretty sure they'd managed to cover every possible innuendo that could be derived from the term "rump roast." It had also been difficult to remember that morning -- and now -- the last time he'd laughed so hard.

God, he missed her. And that was the problem, the simple fact that he tried his best to ignore. He didn't just miss the sex -- although god, did he miss the sex -- or the idea of her, or the comfort and security of being in a long-term relationship.

He missed her. He missed the woman who'd just made an audience roar with laughter, armed only with a polyester slip and a rubber duckie washcloth. He missed the person who'd reduced him to a heap of helpless giggles while talking to him about basting methods in a funny French accent. He missed the person who'd wrapped her arms and legs around him afterward like something out of a Lennon/Ono photo shoot.

He missed the person that she was, not the person he'd tried to convince himself that she was.

"I'm so screwed," he muttered to himself. He suddenly craved a cigarette, wanted nothing more than to draw smoke into his lungs and savor the burn. Anything to stop feeling like this.

"We're gonna have to cut 20 seconds in the cold open," Danny said from behind him, and Matt stifled a sigh.

A smoke, like so many other things in Matt's life right now, was just going to have to wait.

End.

Sara stands in the center of the room, in what little room there is in this shabby motel, her arms folded over her chest and her posture straight. She looks pale and worn and the oversized sweater she's swimming in makes her look more vulnerable than usual.

She also looks very, very angry.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately, hoping to cut the worst of it off at the pass.

"Two days," she says, and her voice is colder than the chill wind outside. "You left me here for two days, Michael. You said you'd be gone for eight hours at most."

"There were complications --"

"There are always complications," Sara says, and she looks up at the ceiling, a gesture that Michael has come to recognize as a sign that she's trying not to cry or kill him, one or the other.

"I know," he says. He tentatively takes a step toward her. "And I'm always sorry. None of this -- things aren't going exactly as I planned." He doesn't point out that a key reason things are not going as planned is that he had never planned on her being with him, had never planned on developing feelings for the woman who was supposed to be little more than a mark inside prison walls. Had never planned on needing to take care of anyone on the outside other than his brother.

Had never planned on Sara being Sara.

He suppresses a shiver -- Christ, he's freezing, and would do anything to get out of these wet clothes -- and takes another step toward her. She doesn't move away, which he hopes is a good sign. "Are you all right?" he asks. "Did anything happen while we were gone?"

"I'm fine," she says, but her voice is still hard. "Nothing happened. I watched an I Dream of Jeannie marathon on TV. The only danger I was in was possibly dying of boredom."

"Good," he says in relief. "I mean, not good that you were bored, but --"

"I don't even know why we're talking about this," she says, and retreats, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It doesn't matter what I did. It only matters what you did. So whatever you had to do -- did you do it? Did everything go," and her next two words sound like she can barely stand to form them, "as planned?"

Michael's body gives in and starts shivering, and he can't seem to stop it. "Yes," he says. "But how can you say that what you do doesn't matter? I--" He breaks off, because he can't stand being in his own skin anymore.

He heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and turns on the shower full blast, at full heat, desperately trying to warm up. He unbuttons his shirt and strips it off and then just stands there for a moment, willing the heat to rise, needing the warmth to penetrate his skin.

There is an icy breeze as the bathroom door opens and Sara steps inside and closes the door again.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Just cold," he says, and at the word another shiver runs through him.

She reaches out and presses her palm against his bicep. "You're freezing," she murmurs. "You should get out of the rest of those clothes."

Despite their current acrimony he can't help but give her a lascivious grin.

She almost laughs, he's certain of it. "I'm speaking strictly as a doctor," she insists.

"Well, that's disappointing." Still, he kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, then pulls off his pants, and he has to admit he feels better. He leaves his boxers on, though, feeling that nudity is somehow inappropriate at the moment. He chances a look at her, and when their eyes meet she looks away.

"God, Michael," she says with a sigh. "What am I doing here?"

"Being with me," he says, softly, stubbornly. It's never truly occurred to him that she would do otherwise.

She leans back against the tiled wall. "If I'm going to be with you, then I should be with you," she says.

He shakes his head; it's an old argument already, even though she hasn't been with him that long. "Not when it's too dangerous for you to come along," he says.

"You don't get to decide --"

"Sara," he says, and his voice almost breaks at the end of it. "You have to let me keep you safe. It's the least I can do for you after...after all that I've done."

Her face softens at that, but she doesn't respond.

The bathroom is now thick with steam and heat and Michael feels the chill finally leaving his bones. He reaches over and turns off the water, then steps over to Sara.

"I can't let anything happen to you," he says. "I don't know what I would do if --" He can't finish the sentence. He just looks down at her, willing her to look back up at him.

Which she finally does. Her eyes are dark and there's a sheen on her skin from the steam. "Don't you get it, Michael? That's how I feel every time you leave," she says.

The only appropriate response to that is to kiss her. She's stiff at first, holding back, but then she opens her mouth to him and places her hands on his bare skin. He reaches up to palm her breast and she sighs against his lips. His cock stirs, begins to harden, and he presses into her, wanting her to feel it.

Her hands move to the edge of her sweater and he helps her pull it over her head. As it falls to the ground Michael kisses her collarbone, her sternum, the dip between her breasts. Her skin is soft and dewy and tastes of salt and vanilla. Filled with a sudden urgency, he reaches down and undoes the button of her jeans, pushes down the zipper, then grabs the waistband and yanks the material down her legs. She gasps but lets him do it, pulling her bare feet up through the bottom of the jeans one by one. He sinks to his knees and repeats the process with her cotton underpants, then gently pushes her legs wider and presses his mouth to the dark triangle of her sex.

"Michael," she whispers, and he feels her run a hand over his bristly scalp. He uses his fingers to push aside her folds and flicks his tongue over her clit. She stiffens and sucks in a breath and reaches up, places her hand against the back of the bathroom door to brace herself. He continues his efforts, tasting the sweet smokiness of her, thinking the soft sighs she's now emitting are the most beautiful sound in the world. After a few moments she lifts up one leg and balances it on the toilet to give him better access, which he takes advantage of, craning his neck so that he can tongue her opening and trace the contours of her folds with sure strokes.

"Oh god," she murmurs, and then she comes, tiny spasms against his mouth, high-pitched moans leaving her throat.

He straightens up as she lowers her leg and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling her to him. He kisses her throat, nuzzles her ear. "Let me take you to bed," he says, thinking it all feels seedy suddenly, going down on her in a motel bathroom still filled with steam and heat.

She nods without speaking and he opens the door, then takes her hand and leads her out into the room, which feels shockingly cold after the warmth of the bathroom. He pulls aside the covers on the bed and pulls her down onto the mattress with him, then rolls her underneath him and tugs the covers up to the middle of his back.

"You're still wearing your boxers," she points out with a hint of a smile.

He grins down at her and then rolls away to wriggle out of the garment before positioning himself on top of her again. He notices that while he was taking off his boxers she was taking off her bra. Stealthy. Her small, firm pink nipples pucker in the chill air, and he brushes one with his thumb.

She arches up against him. "Michael," she says through gritted teeth, the word a demand, and he wonders if there is still anger there.

No matter right now. He reaches down to guide himself and pushes inside of her slowly, carefully. She pulls her legs up to accommodate him, hooks her ankles at the small of his back. As he begins moving inside of her she runs her hands over his arms, his shoulders, then places her fingers on either side of his jaw, cradling his head.

He braces himself with one hand and with the other covers her breast, running his thumb over the hardened nipple. She is so hot inside and her eyes as she looks up at him are so deep. "I need you so much," he whispers, and means it. She is simultaneously his sanity and his madness and he can no longer imagine his life without either.

She opens her mouth, looks as if she is about to say something, but then he jerks his hips and she bites her lip and closes her eyes, her head rolling back. She tugs on his ears and he obeys, lowering his mouth to hers, kissing her hard. "God, Sara," he whispers against her lips. He has never experienced this before, this uncertainty, this plunging off a cliff, and he hates that he doesn't know how to deal with it, can't solve it like an engineering problem or a crossword puzzle. She is chaos.

"Michael," she says, and there's a high-pitched tinge to it, and he doesn't know if it's because she's enjoying herself or because he's annoying her. Her sharp moan when he squeezes her nipple makes him think it's the former.

He lifts her legs and rests them against his shoulders, allowing him to sink in deeper, and she murmurs a "yes" and reaches up to caress the side of his face. He thrusts into her hard, fast, grunting with the effort of it now, and his orgasm takes control of him almost before he is ready, enveloping him in hot, wet, shaking release. With his cock still twitching inside of her, he moves his hand to her clit and strokes it in the way he's learned that she likes. He watches her face as her breathing quickens, her cheeks flush, and then finally she comes too, milking his softening cock, whispering his name.

After a few still, quiet moments, he pulls out of her and rolls over beside her. She rolls over, too, onto her stomach, and runs her hand over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," she says.

"Don't be," he says. "I didn't want it to be like this."

She props herself up on one elbow and looks down at him. "How did you want it to be?"

He smiles, reaches up to twist a strand of auburn hair around his finger. "I'll tell you when we get there," he says.

End.

At the first ball the newly-minted President Santos asks for a moment of silence for Leo McGarry. As the din of merriment fades to reverent quiet, Josh feels Donna slide her fingers through his. He squeezes her hand, not looking at her. All that surrounds him is breathing, the click of a heel on tile, a smothered cough, and memory.

When the moment is over, the band launches into an exuberant rendition of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

Josh sighs. It's going to be a long night.

II.

"Hey, have you tried this drink? They're calling it the Santos Sunrise. It's outstanding."

Donna wonders if Bram has ever consciously realized that at times he sounds like Ted on an Excellent Adventure. "What's in it?" she asks.

Bram shrugs. "Tequila, orange juice, triple sec...some other stuff. I dunno."

"I think I'll pass," Donna says gingerly, tightening her grip on her glass of Riesling.

Bram takes another slug. "Suit yourself." Then he spots someone in the crowd and his demeanor changes. His posture stiffens, he seems to grow taller, his gaze sharpens. "D-triple-C chair, eleven o'clock," he says.

Donna follows his line of sight. "Branson?"

"Yeah. I promised him two minutes with the President. It's never too early to start thinking about the midterms."

Donna checks her watch. "We're supposed to be leaving in ten minutes," she points out.

"All the time in the world," Bram says with a confident grin. "Here, hold this." He hands his drink to Donna before she can protest, squares his shoulders, and stalks off in Branson's direction.

"Great," she says to herself, staring down at the drink. She sniffs it cautiously, then recoils.

"Double-fisting?"

She turns to see Josh eyeing her largesse, his eyebrows pushing up into his forehead. "Bram saddled me with his Santos Sunrise," she explained. "Branson is here."

"Don Branson?" Josh's head whips around until he locks onto the Congressman, who is currently being escorted off the dance floor by Bram. "I'd better go," he says, starting to back-step. "You look great."

"You've already said that tonight," she says.

"I know," he says, and flashes her a grin before he disappears into the teeming crowd.

Donna sighs and lifts the wrong glass to her mouth. She's swallowed a mouthful of Santos Sunrise before she even realizes her mistake. She screws up her lips, then reconsiders. She's had worse.

A few more sips, and it's downright tasty.

III.

"Oh. My. God."

"Yeah." Edie hands Lou a Corona, no lime. "You're going to need this."

"I can't believe I've had sex with that man," Lou says, gratefully accepting the cold, dewy bottle as she watches Otto shake his ass enthusiastically to Outkast.

"It was the campaign trail," Edie says consolingly. "You weren't thinking clearly."

"And it's only the third ball of the night," Lou says. "He has so much more time remaining to embarrass himself."

"Hard to believe he's going to top this, isn't it?"

Almost as if he can hear Edie's words and needs to prove her wrong, Otto drops to the dance floor and does a passable version of the Caterpillar. The crowd cheers -- and steps back a few feet.

"That's it. I quit," Lou says, and drains half her Corona without stopping.

IV.

"I feel like I should have written down which people are going to be at which party on my palm in ballpoint pen," Matt remarks as he and his wife finish greeting the junior Senator from Arizona.

"Didn't you once get caught trying to cheat on a chemistry test in high school using that very method?" Helen asks, slipping her arm through his.

"Don't say that too loudly," Matt cautions her with a grin. "You wouldn't believe what can get a President impeached these days."

"Mr. President," Bram says, appearing at their side. The tall young man is slightly sweaty by this point in the evening, and Matt wonders how much he's had to drink. "Mr. President," Bram repeats, "You'll be making your speech in five minutes. I have your notes if you need them."

"No need, Bram," Matt says. "I have it written in pen on my palm."

"You...what, sir?" Bram asks in confusion as Helen stifles a laugh.

"Never mind," Matt says. "Did they really name a drink after me at the second ball?"

"The Santos Sunrise," Bram says, perking up. "I tipped off the bartenders here, I think they're making them too. Would you like to try one?"

"I'll leave that to you," Matt assures him. "I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, though. I'm starving."

"I'll have them fix a plate for you when you're done speaking," Bram assures him. "Although...you may want to wait until the next ball. I hear the food is better at that one."

"Bram, at this point I don't care if it's Frito pie. Just see if you can get me something, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You get cranky when you're hungry," Helen observes as Bram walks away. "I'll have to make sure Ronna keeps the Oval Office stocked with protein bars."

"I'd rather have Reese's Peanut Butter Cups," Matt says.

"Well, I'd rather have fit into that size 2 Vera Wang gown the stylist sent over, but we can't always get what we want."

V.

"Why don't you go join them?"

Josh looks over at Sam, who has sidled up next to him, drink in hand, then returns his gaze to the object of his attention. Donna, Otto, Ronna and Cindy are formed up in a half-circle on the dance floor, moving their bodies to a song that Josh knows is a current hit but damned if he knows what it's called or who sings it. Otto is even doing some bizarre moves that Josh could swear is a kind of breakdancing, if, you know, they weren't currently living in the 21st century. It's Donna he is focused on, anyway -- she appears to be having a great time, swaying her hips to the music and laughing at Otto's fevered gesticulations. She looks beautiful -- beautiful and vibrant. Young. He has a flash of memory suddenly, of the day they met, her hair pulled back, her expression bright and eager. He hasn't thought about that day in a long time.

"I'm too old," he says finally, and with a touch of surprise. In spite of everything, the thought is new to him.

"What?" Sam blinks rapidly in a way that reminds Josh of a small bird. "What are you talking about? I know you can't dance, so that, at least, would be a legitimate excuse, but what do you mean, you're too old?"

"It means I'm not going to go join my girlfriend and my subordinates, all of whom are at least ten years younger than me, and shake my overgrown ass to...to whatever music this is."

"It's the Black Eyed Peas, but that's not the point," Sam says with a shake of his head. "You don't think she'd want to have you out there with her, even if you dance like an uncoordinated llama?"

"Sam --"

"She loves you, Josh, for reasons I can't begin to fathom," Sam says. "Do both of yourselves a favor and don't punish Donna for your own insecurities."

Josh blows out a breath and looks back at her. She turns her head just then, catches his gaze. When she sees him, she smiles widely and gestures for him to come join her.

He shakes his head, gives her an apologetic smile.

Her responding crestfallen expression burns itself into his brain before she looks away.

"Yep," Sam says, slapping him on the back. "You're an idiot." He walks away, leaving Josh standing there, alone.

VI.

Lou sees Annabeth standing in a corner by herself and can't decide if she should approach the tiny blonde or not. Annabeth looks melancholy and perhaps as if she could use some company, but that would mean Lou would have to, you know, be nice. It's a tough call.

Then again, she just did a shot of Jim Beam with the governor of Kentucky, and it would be a shame to waste the liquid courage. Done, then. She throws back her shoulders, puts her head down and charges over to Annabeth.

"Hey," she says tersely.

Annabeth gives her a small smile. The dress she is wearing is very pink. "Hi there. Having a good time?"

"Sure." Lou flexes her fingers; she never knows what to do with her hands in situations like this. "What about you?"

"I'm having a great time," Annabeth says. She pauses. "I know it doesn't look that way right now."

Lou shakes her head. "Hey, far be it for me of all people to be the fun police."

Annabeth smiles more widely this time. "I was just thinking about Leo," she admits. "He would have had such a wonderful time tonight. I can see him," and she holds up her hand and looks upward for a moment, "I can see him in my mind's eye, wearing a tuxedo purchased especially for the occasion and not letting anyone pay him a compliment all night long."

"That sounds about right," Lou says. "Listen, did you...want to get out of here? I can have someone call you a cab, or --"

"No," Annabeth says, with a ladylike shake of her head. "I'm fine, really. Just having a moment."

"Okay." Lou jerks her thumb toward the maddening crowd. "I should get back to it. I hear the governor of Tennessee is looking for me with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, so..."

"Go," Annabeth says. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Lou repeats. "I'll, ah, see you later." She loses herself in the crowd again, buffeted by bulk and noise and heat.

VII.

Bram is drunk.

Helen knows this because Bram has just told her she looks "hot" in her aubergine Valentino gown, which costs more than Matt used to make in a year as the mayor of Houston.

To his credit, Bram seems to realize immediately what he has done. At least, she's assuming that's why he's hyperventilating and sputtering.

"Oh my god," Bram is panting, "Oh my god, Mrs. Santos, I am so -- I mean, the president is -- oh my god, please don't tell the president I said that -- I've had too many Santos Sunrises and --"

"It's okay, Bram. I have to admit, though, it's been a while since anyone other than my husband told me I was hot," she says dryly. "I don't quite remember how I should respond."

"Oh my god." He runs his hand through his hair. "I'm going to -- I have to -- that is -- bye." He turns tail and runs.

"Smart move," Helen says to his back. She turns her head to see Donna approaching. "You just missed an extremely embarrassing, yet mildly amusing, moment," Helen tells her.

Donna watches Bram's retreating form. "Did Bram just tell you that you look hot?" she asks.

Helen's jaw drops. "Yes. How did you --"

"He told me the same thing at ball number five."

"Really." Helen takes in Donna's gunmetal satin gown -- Nicole Miller, she thinks -- and tugs at the Valentino, which suddenly feels tight around her hips. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed."

"It's probably best to forget it all together," Donna says. "That's what I've been doing. Or trying to, anyway."

"Sounds like a plan," Helen says. She scans the crowd for Matt's tall frame, but doesn't spot him, not that it's easy to see much of anything distinctive in the roiling sea of black and white. "Do you know where my husband is?"

"He and Josh are with the Congressional leadership," Donna says. She offers Helen an apologetic smile. "Everyone needs to get their five minutes tonight. Or in the case of the leadership, fifteen."

"So I've learned."

There's a pause, and the two women share an uncertain glance. Helen still feels a little weird that her Chief of Staff and her husband's Chief of Staff are a couple, and she suspects Donna does too. Not for the first time she wonders if she would have offered Donna the position, had she known about those unusual circumstances. Still, she should be polite. "Have you and Josh had much time together tonight?" she ventures, hoping she doesn't sound too forced.

The corners of Donna's mouth twitch, and she casts her gaze into the crowd. "A little. Not much. It's a busy night for him."

"He's not the only one," Helen says, feeling her own mouth tightening.

"The Bakers are going to be at the next ball," Donna says briskly. "You and Mrs. Baker should find some time to talk. If Baker is confirmed the two of you might be seeing a lot of each other."

"I've met her before. We'll be fine," Helen says.

Donna nods acquiescently. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

"You don't have a pair of slippers on you, do you? These heels are killing me."

Donna grins. "Sorry. If you don't need me, I think I'm going to try to find Bram and make sure he's not telling the Russian ambassador that she looks hot in her dress."

"That's probably a good idea," Helen says.

The new First Lady is alone for only a moment before a Congresswoman whose name Helen can't remember approaches her. Helen puts on her best convivial smile and wonders if she can summon her husband to her side through sheer will power.

VIII.

"How is it possible that we're on our eighth ball and I'm only just now getting to dance with you?" Josh wonders aloud. He and Donna are slow dancing to some sappy ballad. He doesn't recognize the tune, but the dance tempo is definitely more his speed. This, he can do.

"You're a busy man," Donna says lightly.

"Still." He has been busy, running ragged in a way that already has him wondering how Leo managed it. By letting everything else in his life go to hell, he thinks, and pushes the thought away.

"Have you seen Bram?" Donna asked. "He kind of made a fool of himself with the First Lady earlier."

"I heard." He tightens his grip on her, the satin of her gown slippery beneath his fingers. "I heard he did the same with you."

"He's drunk," Donna says, managing to form a shrug even though she's holding on to him. "I got him to lay off the Santos Sunrises and stick with coffee for the rest of the night."

"Well, I look forward to giving him a hard time in the morning," Josh says.

"Everyone does."

He lets out a breath and it stirs wisps of Donna's hair. "By the way, have I told you that you look great tonight?" he asks.

She gives him one of those slow smiles that make his heart fillip. "Yes."

"Good."

She looks away, vaguely embarrassed, and changes the subject. "So, I realized that tomorrow is our first full day of work," Donna says, "since today didn't really count."

"That's true," he says. She runs her hand over his shoulder, and he has to struggle for a moment to focus. "But seeing as how we're going to be out into the wee hours, I figure I'll let everyone come in late tomorrow. Say, 9 AM."

"That's awfully big of you," Donna says, deadpan.

"I know," Josh says with a sniff.

"Luckily, my boss has already told me to come in at 10 tomorrow," Donna informs him.

"Well, your boss is a nicer person than I am."

"This is true."

"So does that mean we're not going to go in together tomorrow morning?" And wow, did that sound pathetic. Good job, Lyman.

She looks taken aback for a moment, then her lips part and she leans in closer. "Well, seeing as how I'll be able to stay in bed later than you, maybe there's something I can do for you, you know, before you have to leave."

His own lips feel dry. He digs his fingers into her hip. "That might be nice," he says, straining to keep his voice from going falsetto.

She raises her eyebrows. "Might?" Her head tilts up; her eyelids lower. It's too much. He closes the gap and kisses her, her tongue sliding against his, her hand reaching up to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck.

When they part they are both breathless. "How many more of these things do we have to go to tonight?" he rasps.

"Just one," she says.

"Thank God."

IX.

A grouping of senior staff -- Josh, Lou, Bram, Donna, Sam, Ronna -- linger in front of the bar closest to the door, waiting for the President and First Lady to discharge their last obligation of the night. Otto is off somewhere getting in one last breakdance, and Annabeth has already fled for the privacy of home.

Bram is drinking water and making periodic moaning noises, his tie askew and his hair mussed. Lou looks him up and down and says, "Hey, anybody tell you how hot you look tonight?" Bram groans and glares and goes back to nursing his water.

Lou grins in satisfaction and turns her attention to Josh. "Did Messinger corner you about the telecommunications bill?"

Josh nods. "Yeah. Sam's gonna take care of it in the morning."

"Good."

"I'm...standing right here, by the way," Sam offers, holding up his hand.

"Did you lose your fiancée?" Lou asks him.

"She's in the ladies room," Sam explains. "I'm guessing there was a line."

"That or she's avoiding him," Josh says to Lou.

"Again -- right here," Sam says.

"Poor Sam," Donna murmurs.

"It's not easy being me," Sam agrees.

A conversational lull falls as the band strikes up a melancholy-sounding tune, something appropriate to the end of an evening.

Donna feels Josh slip his fingers through hers and she briefly leans her cheek against his shoulder before straightening up again. Donna wonders if Josh knows that she's spent a substantial part of the evening thinking about what it will be like when he takes her Nicole Miller gown off of her later. She wonders if he's been thinking the same thing.

Ronna notices Josh and Donna holding hands and suppresses a sigh, regretting, at least for the moment, that she told Cindy to go back to her own place tonight, because Ronna is terrified about work tomorrow and doesn't need the distraction. She runs through everyone's phone extension once more in her head, determined to have them memorized by morning.

Lou scans the dance floor until she spots Otto. He is attempting a moonwalk, and Lou decides in that moment that she doesn't need to get laid that badly.

Bram wonders if the president will challenge him to a duel in the morning to defend his wife's honor. God only knows how they resolve things in Texas.

Sam hopes that there was really just a long line for the ladies' room.

Josh's thoughts jump from beat to beat, from strategizing what step to take tomorrow on education to hoping Sam is up to the challenge of dealing with Messinger to wondering what noises Donna will make when he slips that slinky gown off of her later tonight. Mostly, though, he thinks about the team he has put together, here, and whether he'll be able to lead them. Whether he'll be able to do even half the job that Leo did.

In spite of the ebullient atmosphere, there are ghosts in this room, tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" Donna says quietly.

He turns and looks at her, tries to smile. "Just...stuff."

"How eloquent," she says, nudging him with her hip.

"Thanks." He disengages his fingers from hers so he can slide his hand up her back, bringing it to rest on the bare skin above the edge of her gown. "The President should be back any minute. I don't expect this to take that long."

"I'm fine," Donna says. "Although I can't wait to get out of these shoes." She shifts uncomfortably.

"That's not all I can't wait for you to get out of," Josh whispers, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She flashes a toothy grin and leans back into his touch.

"Looks like the gang's all here," comes Santos' voice, as he and the First Lady break up the formation of the group.

"Good evening, Mr. President," they all say, more or less in unison. Josh notices that Bram takes a few steps back, trying to make himself inconspicuous.

"Did everyone have a good time tonight?" Santos asks. "Good," he says as they all nod. "Because we have a lot to do tomorrow."

Josh steps forward. "The motorcade's ready, Mr. President."

"Thanks, Josh. Could you come in the car with me and Helen? I need to talk to you about something. Donna can come along, of course," he adds, seeing Josh look back at her. "We'll have the limo bring you back to your car."

Donna gives him a nod. "Of course, Mr. President," Josh says, falling in behind his boss, Donna stepping in beside him.

"Bram, I'll see you in the morning," Santos says with a wag of his finger as they head in the direction of the exit. Bram moans again, quietly.

Josh and Donna have to stop at the coat check on their way out, and as they wait for the clerk to bring them their things, Donna lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. "It was a lovely evening," she says.

"Yeah." Josh leans against the counter. "Hey, it wasn't our first inaugural ball, and I'm hoping it won't be our last," he says cockily. He always feels slightly more confident in a tuxedo.

Donna ducks her head, taps a fingernail against the wood of the counter. "Do you ever feel as if this type of work is nothing so much as a constant series of endings?"

He straightens up, surprised by the question. "Not really," he says. "I mean, in a way, sure. But it's the beginnings that matter. The beginnings are about opportunity, a new chance to do something good, something important. And that's what we want, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she says. She shakes her head, looking frustrated with herself. "I'm being morose all of a sudden, which is annoying." She raises her chin. "I'll stop now."

The clerk arrives with their coats, and Josh grins as he gathers his up and rummages in his pocket for a tip. "You're not annoying. I mean, you're annoying sometimes, but not right this minute."

"Thanks," Donna says with a roll of her eyes. She puts on her own coat, shakes out her hair over the collar. "Don't we have a president to go meet or something?"

"Yeah," Josh says, putting his hand at the small of her back and ushering her toward the door. "Let's wrap this night up. You said it yourself, earlier -- we have a new beginning tomorrow."

Her answering smile is a beginning in itself.

End.

The point is, if Abuelita could see me now -- well, if she were alive and walked in on me at this very moment, let's face it, she'd probably drop dead from shock and disgust, making her resurrection short-lived. But her last word to me before she hit the floor would definitely be "Tonto."

I pulled against the handcuffs chaining me to the headboard and sighed.

*****

It all started when Donna Moss, who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was an evil mastermind in disguise, stuck her head into my undersized office in a dank corner of the west wing and gave me a suspiciously wide smile. "Hi, Bram."

"Hey," I said, quickly minimizing the open internet window on my monitor. What I browse during my lunch time is nobody's business but my own. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight," she said, leaning against the doorway.

"To...Josh's place?" I asked.

"To our place, yes. I'm making fra diavlo."

Referencing the devil, even in the name of pasta, should have set off alarm bells in my head, but overriding all superstition was the fact that I was underpaid and overworked at the White House, which meant I was getting pretty sick of cheap takeout. "I guess," I said. "Any special occasion?"

"I just thought Josh should make more of an effort to socialize with his staff outside of the office," Donna said. "I'll probably be asking everyone, eventually. So...see you at 8?"

"Sure," I said, at this point pretty excited by the thought of a free meal. "Can I bring anything?" I was hoping she'd say no. Like I said: underpaid.

"Just yourself," Donna said with an odd expression, and walked away. Score. I tried not to look at her ass as she left because, you know, boss' woman and all, but...okay, maybe I sneaked a peek. I'm only human.

"Fra diaaaaaavlo," I muttered happily to myself, and went back to internet surfing.

When I showed up at Josh and Donna's place that night Josh handed me a glass of wine almost as soon as I was through the door.

"You're a red man, right?" Josh asked, handing me the glass. He held his own glass in his other hand, and it was half empty already. Guess they started partying early at Casa Moss-Lyman.

"Sure," I said, taking a sip. Not bad. Not that I would know the difference, really -- as long as it had alcohol, I was more than satisfied. "Thanks for having me over, it's really cool of you," I added, hoping I didn't sound too kiss-ass. Nobody likes a kiss-ass.

"Thank Donna, it was her idea," Josh said. The boss was still dressed in his work clothes, but his tie was gone and his shirt was unbuttoned a couple buttons. He also seemed a bit flushed, but I chalked it up to the wine. "Speaking of which -- Donna!" he yelled, in a tone of voice that sounded like it had had a lot of practice.

"Stop yelling," I heard Donna say before I saw her. She emerged from the kitchen with a wine glass of her own in one hand. Unlike Josh, she had changed out of her work clothes and into this silky red wrap dress that hugged every curve. Damn. "You look great," I said before I could stop myself. What can I say. I like the ladies, and the ladies usually like me.

"Thanks, Bram," she said with a smile, then glanced at Josh, who glanced back at her with a weird look on his face. Must have been one of those couple-type communications or something. "I'm so glad you could make it. Dinner's going to be ready any second if you guys want to have a seat at the table. And no, I don't need any help, thanks for asking, Josh," she said with a look I'd seen her give him many times before.

"You didn't even give me a chance to offer!" he protested, and his voice went up in kind of a girly way at the end, there. She didn't respond, just went back into the kitchen. Josh looked at me in male solidarity.

"Women," I said knowingly.

He nodded in agreement. "Come on, have a seat," he said, leading the way to the small dining table nestled into an alcove off the living room. The table was set, I was relieved to see, with regular dinner plates instead of fancy china. That would have been weird -- too formal for the likes of me. I sat down across from Josh, and almost as soon as my ass hit the chair Donna approached with a steaming bowl of linguine and mussels in what I assumed was a fra diavlo sauce.

"That looks fantastic," I said, although I was pretty sure there was no way I was going to make it through this experience without ruining my white dress shirt. And it was new, too. Damn.

"Thanks, Bram," Donna said. "For that, you get first helping." She served me up a bowl, then handed the serving spoon to Josh so he could help himself. His brow crinkled, but he didn't say anything. Smart man.

I dug in to the pasta, slurping up a good mouthful. It had some heat to it, but nothing I wasn't used to. I made sounds of yumminess to show my appreciation.

"Holy god, Donna!" Josh gasped. "This is freaking spicy!"

"I told you I was making it spicy," she said, and there was something in her eyes I couldn't figure out. "You were all for making it spicy."

"Right," Josh said, and looked back down at his bowl. He blew out a breath and grabbed his wine glass, downed the rest of the liquid. "Great."

"It's not too spicy for me, Donna," I assured her. "I eat spicier stuff than this all the time."

"Oh," Donna said. "Really?"

"Yeah, this is no problem for me," I said.

"I see." Donna grabbed her own glass and drained it. She was looking pretty flushed herself. "Is there more wine?" she said, fanning herself.

"Absolutely," Josh said. He picked up the bottle and poured her a full glass, which she started drinking immediately. Wow, I didn't know Donna was such a drinker. I mean, she drank on the campaign, but no more than the rest of us. Josh poured himself some more as well, and topped mine off, too. Cool. The wine, whatever kind it was, went really well with the sauce.

We made some small talk for a while, enjoying the food (at least I was), but after a while I could tell that both Josh and Donna were in some distress. "It sure is hot," Donna said. Her cheeks were really pink now. "Josh, aren't you hot?"

"Yeah," Josh said. "In fact..." He got up from his chair and unbuttoned his dress shirt, took it off, leaving his undershirt. That was a little weird.

"That's better," he said, and sat back down. "Bram, you should feel free --"

"I'm fine," I told him.

"Are you sure?" Donna asked. "I'm so hot, myself..." She pulled the neckline of her dress open wide so that it bloused down a little, and I caught a glimpse of red bra. Yikes. "I really shouldn't have made the sauce so spicy," she said. "I apologize."

"I told you -- I'm fine," I said, wondering why they didn't seem to believe me. Man, these two would be in real trouble if they ever tried my abuela's chile pepper empanadas.

"More wine?" Josh asked, holding up the bottle.

"Uh, sure," I said. I was starting to feel a little loopy, to be honest, but if they weren't going to slow down, neither was I. Maybe getting drunk together was their idea of boss-employee bonding or something. And the glassy look in Josh's eyes told me that he, at least, was well on his way.

"So, Bram," Donna said, swigging more from her own glass, "seeing anyone these days? Or should I say, how many someones are you seeing these days?" She smiled at her own joke.

"No one special," I said truthfully. "I'm dating a couple people, but nothing serious. Just the usual." I thought about mentioning the chick I picked up in Adams Morgan last week, but that didn't seem like appropriate conversation in front of my boss.

"That's too bad," Donna said. And put her hand on my knee.

"Donna," Josh said, and I assumed he was trying to point out to his girlfriend that maybe her putting her hand on my knee wasn't the greatest idea she'd ever had. But he just said, "Don't start with that matchmaker stuff tonight. Leave him alone."

"Fine," she said, and she pouted a little, which was actually kind of sexy. Shit. Don't go there. Although it would be a hell of a lot easier not to go there if her hand wasn't currently rubbing my knee. I looked over at Josh, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, there was a gleam in his eyes that I found a little disconcerting.

"Why don't we move this into the living room," Donna said in this husky voice I'd never heard her use before, and I gulped. "That is...if you're done eating."

"Sure," I said, having no idea what else to say. She took her hand from my knee and got up from the table, then led the way into the living room and sat down on the couch. I took the armchair, figuring Josh would join Donna on the sofa, but instead he said, "I'm going to hit the bathroom," gave Donna an indecipherable look, and disappeared.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "So," I began. "Seen any good movies lately?"

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Donna asked.

I blinked. "What?"

"Do you think I'm attractive," she repeated. Her lips were parted, her skin still flushed.

Was that a trick question? "Yes?" I said, hoping it was the right answer.

"Good," Donna murmured, and got up from the couch. She stood in front of me and proceeded to unwrap her wrap dress, letting it fall to the floor. She was wearing a red bra and red panties and nothing else. Well, and red pumps. But that was it.

WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo -- "Donna, I --"

I didn't get to finish my sentence, thanks to Donna jumping into my lap, straddling me and sticking her tongue down my throat.

I stuck my arms straight out on either side so that I wasn't touching her at all, and tried to pull my mouth away from hers, but there was no escape. Plus, well, it's possible I wasn't trying all that hard. She was a really good kisser.

"You started without me?" I heard Josh say. Oh, shit.

Donna broke the kiss and looked over at him. And smiled. "Hope you don't mind," she said.

"Not at all." Josh walked over to us and embraced Donna from behind, running his hand over her breasts, her shoulders. Donna purred (purred, I swear) and leaned back into his touch.

Um. Huh? I tried to make my brain work, to say something, anything. "Maybe I should get going," I finally squeaked.

"You don't really want to do that, do you Bram?" Josh asked. He squeezed Donna's tits, making her moan, and my dick stirred. Donna must have felt the hardening through my pants because she gave me a knowing smile. "If you stay, I think we can make it worth your while," Josh continued. He slid his hand down Donna's torso and into her underpants. She gasped in a breath and bucked against me. Holy shit.

I want you to picture this for a minute. I'm sitting in an armchair with my boss' girlfriend on my lap, in her underwear, while my boss stands behind her with his hand down her pants, getting her off.

Penthouse wouldn't even believe me. And I've read some of those letters. You know, in college.

Donna reached behind her back and undid the clasp on her bra, then pushed the straps down her arms and threw the garment aside. So now I was eye level with her bare breasts, which were...well, they were pretty damn fine. They weren't huge or anything, but they were a nice enough size and perky as hell.

And that was pretty much when I just went for it. I mean, I'm a guy. You can't show me bare boobs and not expect me to react. Bare boobs are kryptonite. Wait. Maybe that's not the best comparison.

Whatever. The point is, I took the plunge and leaned forward to take one of her nipples into my mouth. At first I just gently ran my tongue over it, since I didn't know how she liked it.

She moaned, then whispered, "Harder."

Okay then.

So I took the hardened tip between my teeth and nibbled vigorously, periodically pulling my head back to tease the nipple taut. She dug her fingernails into my shoulder, so I guess she liked it. Josh meanwhile kept stroking her between her legs and started kissing her neck while he was at it. I opened my eyes at one point and saw him watching me. I closed my eyes again, not really wanting to dwell on that.

"Oh, god," Donna murmured. I moved my mouth to her other breast. "Oh, Josh."

God, Josh...wasn't I contributing too? I tried not to let it get to me, instead focused on how my pants were getting damp from Donna's crotch. I guess Josh did deserve some credit for that.

Just then Donna went rigid, arched against my mouth, and promptly came, in a production number of screams and shivers and I think she said Josh's name again. Geez.

"That was nice," she murmured, her chest still heaving. Her breasts bobbed in front of me.

"And we're just getting started," Josh said. "Right, Bram?"

"Uh, sure," I said, figuring at this point that in spite of the weirdness of the situation, I might as well stick around until I got off, too. My dick was killing me.

Donna smiled down at me, then got up off my lap and took me by the hands. "Come with me," she said, leading me toward the bedroom, clad in nothing but her panties. Josh brought up the rear.

And putting Josh and rear in the same sentence made me wonder if I was going to be expected to...shit. "I'm not gay," I blurted out.

Donna laughed throatily; I heard Josh say, "Neither am I."

"It's all the same in the dark, Bram," Donna said, folding her arms over her breasts.

"It's really not."

"Why are you still dressed?" she asked me, ignoring my last statement.

It did seem a little rude that she was mostly naked and Josh and I were still fully clothed. I took off my shoes, shirt, pants; while I did, Josh walked over to a dresser next to the bed, pulled open the top drawer.

And pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

"What the hell are those for?" I yelped.

Donna stepped over to me, slipped her hand down the front of my boxers and wrapped her hand around my cock. My breath froze in my throat and I almost choked.

"Do you want to play with us or not?" she asked, nipping at my lower lip.

I groaned, helpless beneath her touch. No point in stopping now, I thought. Think of the great story you'll be able to tell later. Who I would tell, I had no idea. Otto certainly couldn't handle it. Lou could, but that would be weird. Anyway, that wasn't important right now, so -- "Yeah," I gasped.

"Good." She took a step back. "Lie down on the bed."

I did as I was told, nervousness bubbling in my stomach; while Josh took hold of my hands and looped the handcuffs around a slat in the headboard, securing me there, Donna slipped my boxers down my legs. "Very nice," she said approvingly.

I grinned at her. "I get that a lot."

Was she trying not to laugh? "I bet you do," she said. Josh finished chaining me to the bed and walked over to her; the two of them kissed for a while as I watched. It was weird, but I had to admit it was hot, too.

They finally separated; Donna gave Josh a look I couldn't read, then shimmied out of her panties, while Josh began to take off his own clothing. Donna climbed up onto the bed and straddled me at my waist; I could feel the wetness of her crotch against my skin. She bent over and took one of my nipples into my mouth, lapping her tongue over it like a damn cat. I gasped, involuntarily tugged against the cuffs.

Donna raised her head, looked at me; then looked back at Josh, who by this time was naked, standing near the foot of the bed, watching us intently. His cock was fully hard; I tried not to look too closely, but from what I could tell, the size was fine but nothing to write home about.

"Aren't we the smug one," Donna murmured, catching my expression, and I looked back at her guiltily. She favored me with an enigmatic smile, then turned herself around so that she was still straddling me, but facing Josh instead. Josh approached her and grabbed the back of her head, drawing her mouth to his again. Donna took hold of my cock; then with her other hand reached out to stroke Josh's. She stroked us in tandem, Josh still kissing her, me lying flat on my back and wondering how in the hell I had managed to end up here. I wasn't even drunk. Not really. I should have had more wine at dinner.

Josh and Donna broke the kiss, and I heard him whisper, "I want to watch him eat you."

I gulped. Apparently I didn't have any say in the matter. Not that I would have protested in any case. In fact, the anticipation made my dick grow harder, which I didn't think was possible at this point.

Donna pressed a kiss to the hollow of Josh's throat, then backed herself up, still facing Josh, hovering over me, and positioned her cunt over my face; I flicked out my tongue to let her know I was cool with it, and she responded by settling her knees on either side of my head, pushing her hot, wet warmth against my mouth. I lapped at her as best I could from my position, especially since I couldn't use my hands to adjust her. She tasted smoky, tart -- not entirely unlike Donna herself. I flickered my tongue against her clit and was rewarded by her finally moaning my name. Her thighs pressed against my head. God, she was wet. I moved my tongue in and out of her opening, then went back to working her clit.

"That feels so good," I heard Donna say, and I had a feeling she was talking to Josh, not me. Well, at least I knew she was enjoying herself. But I really wanted her to say my name again.

"Josh," she said then (sheesh), and after a moment's pause I felt him join us on the bed. I kept doing what I was doing, figuring he was just going to keep watching us, but the next thing I knew someone's mouth closed over my dick, and considering our current position, it couldn't have been Donna.

I reflexively jerked away; not easy to accomplish when you're in handcuffs and have a woman sitting on your face. I felt hairy man legs frame my thighs to keep me still, then a hot, wet mouth started seriously going to town on my cock.

Not gay my ass.

Okay, unfortunate word choice, there. My sphincter clenched in response.

Thing was, the fact that it was a guy sucking my cock didn't change another fact: it felt damn good. Damn good. And Donna's clit under my tongue felt pretty damn good too.

Jesus Mary and Joseph, who were these people?

I had a feeling that once I got Donna off, Josh might stop what he was doing and turn his attention back to his woman. So I speeded up the movements of my tongue, working Donna's clit steadily, quickly, exerting uniform pressure, and she shifted above me, no doubt moving herself into just the right spot.

"Oh my god," I heard her say, and knew she was close. I tried to ignore the fire engulfing my cock and concentrated on what I was doing. Finally, she came, grinding herself into my face, emitting a stream of high-pitched cries (and my name! Yes!). Josh's mouth left my cock -- he must have stopped to watch her. I couldn't help but feel a bit relieved, although, as always, my dick had a mind of its own and cried out for more.

When her orgasm subsided, Donna lifted herself up and lay down next to me, then turned my face to hers and kissed me full on the mouth despite the fact that her wetness was all over me. Guess she liked that sort of thing.

"That was wonderful," she said to me, and, okay, I grinned. I do always like to hear about a job well done.

"He's not finished," Josh said, wrapping his hand around my cock. My hips jerked again. "And from the looks of it, he'd rather you took care of it than me." He held up a condom, which he must have snagged while my vision was, um, obscured.

Donna let out a throaty laugh and ran her palm over my face. "Poor boy," she said with a predatory smile. She then crawled over on all fours to Josh, and it was just about the hottest thing I'd ever seen. When she straightened up, onto her knees, Josh dipped his finger between her legs, then traced the wet digit around her lips and kissed her. Holy Christ. I had to remember that one.

When they were done, they shared another one of those enigmatic looks, then Donna rolled the condom onto my cock and straddled me again, this time taking my shaft in her hand and guiding me inside of her. I slipped in easily, then reflexively pulled against the cuffs. I wanted to touch her.

Donna gave me a knowing smile, but didn't do anything to help. Instead she began undulating on top of me, moving her hips, giving truth to the phrase rocking the cock. And it felt fucking fantastic.

Josh moved in behind her, on his knees, and reached around to cup her breasts with his hands. She leaned back into him and he pinched her pale pink nipples, pulled them taut, rolled them between his fingers. Donna closed her eyes and began moaning steadily, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, her hips still moving, her muscles clenching around me.

"Fuck her hard, Bram," Josh rasped. He wasn't looking at me when he said it; he was entirely focused on Donna. "She likes it hard."

I tried to obey, thrusting up into her as energetically as I could from my disadvantaged position. Donna responded by opening her eyes and reaching her arms up and back to twine them around Josh's neck. Josh put his hands on Donna's hips and helped her to move faster, harder, impaling her on my cock in a frantic rhythm. It was almost as if she were fucking me through Josh, giving him her weight, letting him dictate her movements.

And even in the midst of my arousal I couldn't help but think that they'd done this before.

Maybe when Donna wasn't clamped around my cock I'd try to figure out who else had been chained to this particular headboard. For now -- for now I was seriously about to come. Whoa. Seriously.

"Gaaaaaaah," I think I yelled. Something like that anyway. I jerked up into her spasmodically, my eyes rolling back into my head as I surrendered to complete release. La madre santa de Dios.

When I was done, I blinked rapidly, breathing hard, trying to will blood back into the vessels in my head. As I tried to form coherent thought I realized that Donna was pulling herself off of me and spreading my legs. The hell? What was she --

She positioned herself between my legs, putting her hands on my hipbones. From his place behind her, Josh pulled Donna's hips up toward him, then slid into her with one smooth motion.

What the hell were these people doing?

They were fucking on top of me was what they were doing.

That moment was when I tragically thought of Abuelita and what she would think if she could see me right now. Then I decided I really needed to desist any and all thoughts of my grandmother at this particular time --

Donna dug her fingers into my hips and looked straight at me, her mouth open, her eyes glittering with excitement. Josh -- well, I was trying not to look at Josh too much, but when I did, he was staring down at Donna, at his cock sliding in and out of her, and I was just thankful he wasn't looking at me too.

That could have been awkward.

Okay, not that the rest of it wasn't awkward. I'm just saying.

"You want it harder?" I heard Josh whisper.

"Yes," Donna bit out, then moaned when he complied. Her breasts bobbed enticingly with the rhythm of her movements and a trickle of sweat trailed down her neck to her collarbone. Her blonde hair was darkly matted in spots; her skin shone with exertion. Uh, yeah. It was hot. Weird, but hot. Which pretty much summed up this entire experience.

I chanced a glance up at Josh; his brow was furrowed in concentration, his mouth sucked in air as he plowed into her. "I'm close," he said, his voice hoarse.

Donna shifted her weight, adjusted her leverage so that she could slip one hand between her legs and work her clit in an effort to catch up with him. She dipped her head, her hair obscuring her face. I could hear her breathing quicken, become more labored. "Come inside me, Josh," I heard her say with what sounded like a whimper.

Josh pumped into her at lightning speed, then came with staccato thrusts and a long, almost girly-sounding groan. They both froze for a long moment, breathing hard, then Josh slipped out of her and grabbed her under her arms, roughly pulling her body back up against his. His hand immediately snaked between her legs and began stroking her clit with strong, fast movements of his fingers. Donna made a mewling sound; her head fell back against his shoulder and her pelvis jutted out toward me, desperately seeking that contact with his fingertips.

It didn't take her long to come for what was, by my count, the third time that night, saying Josh's name over and over again as she did so. Donna was having a pretty good time, I'm thinking. For my part, I was starting to harden again, just slightly, but tried to quash it since I had a feeling my role in tonight's carnival was pretty much at an end. This was Josh and Donna's show, and I was just along for the ride.

Once she managed to catch her breath, Donna twisted her body around so she could kiss Josh, running her palm tenderly down the side of his face. When their lips parted, I heard her say, "Where's the key for poor Bram?"

"I'll get it," Josh said, and hopped off the bed, dick dangling. I averted my eyes.

While he was doing that, Donna leaned over me and pressed her lips to mine with a tenderness that surprised me. We were still kissing when I felt Josh unlock the cuffs chaining me to the headboard; I immediately lowered my hands and buried them in Donna's soft hair, having wanted to do that all night. She let me do that for a little while, let me keep kissing her, then finally she pulled away and gave me a crooked smile. "Thanks, Bram," she said softly. "You're very sweet."

Sweet wasn't quite the word I was looking for, but I was taught always to be gracious when accepting compliments from a lady, so... "Thank you," I said. "This was...this was incredible. Weird, but incredible. Incredibly weird, and...incredible." Smooth.

"Yeah, I'm sorry if that was, you know, too much for you, earlier," Josh said, gesturing to my crotch.

"Don't worry about it," I said, not really wanting to discuss it further. "Uh, has anyone seen my pants?"

The three of us spent the next few moments scavenging our individual items of clothing and getting dressed. I noticed that Donna didn't bother putting any of her underwear back on -- I had a feeling the party was going to start up again once I left.

Josh was a lucky man.

"I am lucky," Josh said, and I realized I'd said that last bit out loud. Oops. Tonto!

"Tonight, I'm the lucky one," Donna said. She pulled her hair up off of her neck to let the sweat cool. "Maybe we can do it again sometime?"

"Without the handcuffs?" I asked.

She managed to pout and smile at once. "Maybe. If you're a good boy."

"I can be very, very good," I informed her.

"So I've learned," she said.

Awesome.

Josh cleared his throat. "So...Bram?" He jerked his thumb toward the doorway.

"Uh, right," I said. I followed Josh out of the bedroom to the front door, where he stopped and turned to face me.

"Needless to say," Josh said, in his best boss voice, "I'm assuming I can count on your...discretion in this matter."

"Of course," I said. "You think I'd go around bragging about this?"

He gave me a look.

"Okay, it's the kind of thing I would brag about, but this particular thing? Not gonna happen," I assured him.

"For the sake of your career, I hope that's true," he said.

"It is," I said hastily. "Hand to God. Dude, you think I would do that to Donna? Or to you, for that matter?"

He held my gaze for a moment, and must have been satisfied with what he saw, because he nodded and opened the door. "In that case, I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah. Hey, is it okay if I come in a little late?" I asked. "I'm pretty wiped."

He gave me another look.

"Right," I said. "I'll see you bright and early."

"Bright and early," Josh repeated, and closed the door in my face.

I stared at the closed door for a moment, mind still reeling. How the hell was I supposed to keep this night to myself? I had to tell somebody. Maybe if I changed the names...

"Dear Penthouse," I murmured as I made my way out of the apartment building. "I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me..."

End.

I show up at the Cleveland Ramada with a backpack slung over my shoulder and suitcase in hand and the way I am greeted ranges from CJ's tight hug and whispered condolences to Toby's gruff nod of acknowledgment. But the unifying factor in the way they all treat me is the circumspection, the fear that seeps from their pores, the worry that if they treat me too roughly I might break. As if my father's death has broken my bones, and not just my spirit.

So I do what I always do: I overcompensate, being as brusque as possible for the next few days, brashly barking out campaign strategy and daring anyone to disagree with me. Even Toby only rises to the challenge once or twice, when I suggest something so egregious in his eyes that not even fear of an angry mourner can dissuade him from fighting back. It's a relief when he does it, a reminder that maybe someday my colleagues will go back to treating me the same way they always have, with all of the argumentative strife and affectionate mockery that might entail.

One afternoon in Florida I find them having an ad buy meeting in Sam's room without me just so they can avoid any potential drama with yours truly. No broken people allowed. Acid builds in my throat as I splinter into pieces, blowing up at them in an impressive fireworks display that makes Sam wince and CJ pale, but deep down I can't really blame them for hiding from me. I've been hiding from myself for days.

After my outburst there's no way Leo will relent and let me attend the meeting, so I find myself pacing angrily in the parking lot, just outside the front doors of the Marriott where we're staying. Mom used to warn Dad about wearing treads in the carpet from doing the same thing.

My head hurts; I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers and close my eyes.

When I open them, Donna is standing there.

Her hair is pulled back from her face and she's dressed in a sleeveless purple top and cropped khakis to cope with the Florida heat. I realize that I haven't seen her all day; she's probably been avoiding me. Smart girl.

"I need you to take me somewhere," she says.

I scrunch my eyebrows at her. "What?"

She adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder and sunlight glints off the thin gold watch on her wrist. "I can't drive a stick shift."

"What does that --"

"One of the Secret Service guys -- you know, Daniel, the one who likes to flirt with me? -- is letting me borrow his car for a few minutes, but it's a stick shift, which means I can’t drive it, which means I need you to drive for me." Speech over, she holds out the keys.

It’s easier to just give in, so I take the keys and fall into step behind her, letting her lead me to the car. "Are you making me take you somewhere to buy tampons?" I ask suspiciously.

She glares at me over her shoulder.

"Just checking," I say defensively. She stops in front of a black Pathfinder and waves at me to get in, so I do, starting the truck up and pulling out of the parking lot. Stale air conditioned air blows mustily from the vents. "Are you going to give me a hint?" I ask at the first traffic light.

"Turn left," she says.

We continue like that for a few minutes, Donna giving me block by block instructions as I pepper her with questions about our destination. Supermarket? Office supplies store? Nail salon? She wrinkles her nose each time, but I’m having too much fun teasing her, so I escalate my inquisition accordingly: Massage parlor? Bowling alley? Taxidermist? She laughs, but still doesn't give me an answer.

Finally she has me pull into a mid-sized public parking lot filled with cars baking in the sun. "The beach?" I ask, realizing where we are. "Is this really the time for a tan, Donna? Don’t you know we’re running a presidential campaign –"

"Get out of the car, Josh," she says, opening the door on her side.

I shake my head but do as she says, feeling not for the first time like she’s the actual boss in our relationship. She leads the way to the public beach access and soon enough we're standing on the beach, looking out at the ocean. There are people scattered here and there, lounging on towels, sleeping under umbrellas, running into the water and squealing with delight. It's an almost alien scene after days and days of nothing but hotels and highways, broken up only by lowering my father into the ground.

"Why are we here?" I ask, looking over at her. The wind whips her blonde hair to and fro and her eyes squint against the bright afternoon sun.

She gazes straight ahead at the water, doesn't look at me. She doesn't answer my question, either. "Before I started working for the Bartlet campaign, I'd never seen the ocean," she says instead.

"Huh." It’s a piece of information I never would have considered, growing up on a coast as I did. I don’t know if I’d ever tell her this, but I think she was brave to leave Wisconsin, driving halfway across the country to take a chance on a new life. Even if she did give up for a while and go back to her jackass of a boyfriend. But I'm not supposed to make fun of her for that anymore.

"What's that like?" I ask curiously. "I can't remember the first time I saw the ocean -- I was probably a baby. It's kind of just always been there, for me."

"It's amazing," Donna says, crossing her arms over her chest and staring out at the waves. "You see it on TV, of course, see it in the movies. There are pictures in magazines and books. But it's not the same as seeing it in person, the way the horizon seems to drop off into nothingness, the sound that the waves make as they crest and fall, the feel of ground-up seashells beneath your feet." She looks at me, now, and her eyes are serious. Her teeth jut out slightly over her lower lip and out of nowhere I wonder why she's never had her overbite corrected, and then feel thankful that she didn't, because it suits her.

"It gives you a new perspective," she continues. "It reminds you that you're part of a whole. That no matter how big your pain or your joy seems at any given moment, it's just a blip on the radar of the universe. The ocean was here before us, and it will be here after us, and in between all we can do is be a part of the cycle the best way we know how."

And I realize why she made me come here. "Perspective," I echo.

She nods. "Yeah."

I walk toward the water's edge, feel her follow me after a moment's hesitation. The sand gives underneath my shoes and a small crab skitters out of my path. I stop short of the tide mark and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with salt air and blowing it back out.

Donna comes up beside me and kicks off her sandals, digs her toes into the sand. "Nothing sounds better than the ocean," she says.

"Yeah." I look at her out of the corner of the eye and realize something else: that somewhere along the way, Donna stopped being just my assistant and became a friend. The thought warms me, and I open my mouth to tell her, but then stop, knowing how stupid I would sound. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She probably already knows.

"I yelled at Leo and everybody today," I say.

"I heard."

I choke off a bitter laugh. "Great."

"They're just trying to be considerate," Donna says. "It's hard to know how to act, what to say. They're trying."

"I know." I scrub my hand through my hair and take another deep breath. "I guess I just wish they'd stop. Trying, I mean."

"I know." We're both quiet for a moment, then she elbows me gently. "Hey, there's a snack stand a little ways up from here that sells ice cream cones," she says.

“How do you know that?” I ask incredulously.

She shrugs. “I know things.”

I can’t help but grin. "So, the truth about why we're here is finally revealed," I tease.

She grins back at me, playing along. "That's it. You've discovered my brilliant plan."

"Okay, let's go." I wait for her to pick up her shoes, then start off in the direction of the snack stand, which I can see in the distance. "Vanilla or chocolate?" I ask.

"Vanilla," she says promptly, no doubt knowing I'll be getting chocolate and assuming she can have some of mine. "And you're buying."

I shake my head, feeling better than I have in days. "You know what I like about you, Donna Moss? Your reassuring predictability."

"Oh really," she says, and there’s a look in her eyes I haven’t seen before, instantly proving me wrong. "Then how about this: whoever gets there last, buys." And with that she's off like a shot, bare feet kicking up sand in all directions.

The ocean roars in my ears as I run after her.

End.

He took a sip of water to cleanse his palate, placed his napkin on his lap, and picked up his fork. He poked the tines through the delicate coating of crumbs --

"Leo." It was Toby, barreling into his office with a sheaf of paper in his hands and a thunderous expression on his face.

Leo suppressed a sigh and put down his fork. "What is it, Toby?"

"Why did you cut the twelfth paragraph from the education speech?"

"I'm supposed to remember which paragraph was the twelfth?"

Toby glared at him, threw a sheet of paper down on the desk. Leo reaffixed his eyeglasses and picked it up. "Twelfth paragraph, right." He handed the paper back to Toby. "You can't say that about affirmative action."

"Leo --"

"You can't say it, Toby," Leo said firmly. "I already promised the leadership I'd save that battle for the next term. We can't have it mucking up the works on this one."

"Mucking up the works –" Toby gave an incredulous laugh. "Affirmative action is a cornerstone of the party platform, the, the bedrock upon which half of the other proposals in this speech rests, and you want me to throw it out the window – not to mention completely disrupt the carefully crafted rhythm of this speech -- because you want to make nice with a bunch of spineless hacks who don't even deserve to be taking up space on the Senate floor!"

Leo stared impassively at him, refusing to engage. Better to let Toby blow up first – it made it that much easier for him to then let it go. "You can't say it, Toby," Leo repeated, his voice even.

"Yeah," Toby said, deflating, running his thumb over his forehead. "But for the record, I think it's a mistake."

"So noted," Leo said.

Toby shook his head and stormed out before Leo could say anything more.

Just as well. Leo turned his attention back to the still-warm cassoulet. He tenderly broke through the bread crumb crust, scooped up just the right amount of duck meat, sausage, and beans, brought the fork to his mouth, savoring the aroma wafting to his nostrils, and --

"Hey."

Damn. "I'm trying to eat lunch here, Josh," Leo said, fork hovering in front of his mouth.

"Sorry. This'll just take a minute," Josh said, walking into the office. He gestured with his chin in the direction of the plastic dish. (Pierre refused to package his cuisine in aluminum; it interfered with the flavor of the food.) "What the hell is that?"

"Cassoulet from Trois Canards," Leo said.

Josh nodded as if he knew what that meant. "Any good?" he asked.

Leo looked at the fork, then back up at Josh. "I wouldn't know."

"Right." Josh put his hands on the edge of Leo's desk and leaned. "I need the go-ahead to approach Wellington about the Alaska bill."

"This has to be done delicately, Josh," Leo said warningly.

"Nothing but the most feather-light of touches," Josh said with an innocent look.

"All right. Do it. But don't make me have to clean up after you," he called after Josh's retreating form.

Josh hit the doorjamb with his fist on the way out. "You got it."

Finally. Leo placed the fork in his mouth and closed his eyes as he rolled the duck meat over his tongue before chewing carefully, releasing the full flavor of the food, and swallowing. Transcendent. For this, he'd show Pierre's aunt the time of her life.

He was in the process of gathering a second forkful when CJ barged in.

"Oh for --" Leo put down his fork, again, and looked up at CJ wearily. "Can't a man get any eating done around here?"

"You're eating lunch now? It's 4:00," CJ said, checking her watch.

"I'm sorry, I should have had Secretary Hutchinson reschedule his emergency sit room briefing this afternoon so that I could eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drink chocolate milk out of a cardboard box," Leo said.

"You know, you probably wouldn't be this snippy if you ate lunch earlier in the day," CJ said.

"Yeah." Leo sat back in his chair. "Tell me what you need and make it quick," he said.

"I have to do a briefing on the new FB-22 flyers that the military is using for offensive strikes in Syria."

"So what's the problem?"

"I have no idea what makes an FB-22 different from an F-22. Or from anything else, for that matter."

"Didn't someone from DoD brief you?"

"They sent a memo, which appears to have been written by a rocket scientist under the assumption that he was speaking to a fellow rocket scientist, which he most definitely was not."

"CJ."

"I just need you to -- just explain it to me like I'm an idiot."

"Right now? That's not feeling like much of a stretch."

"Leo!"

He smothered a grin. "The FB-22 has greater fuel capacity and a larger internal weapons bay, both of which make it better suited than the F-15E -- which is what it's replacing, by the way, not the F-22, the F-22 is completely different but we won't even get into that -- anyway, it's better suited for long range attack missions. Think of it as being able to hit ground targets from way down the block instead of right across the street."

CJ's arms flapped. "Now why didn't rocket scientist guy just write that in the first place?"

"Military jargon," Leo said with a shrug. "Without it, people might actually understand what they're saying half the time."

CJ smiled. "Thank you," she said, tilting her head. "And enjoy your lunch."

"I'm trying, believe me," Leo said as CJ left his office. He stared down at his rapidly cooling dish. "Three out of four," he muttered. "That means –"

"Hi, Leo."

"Hi Sam," Leo said tiredly. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just taking a walk, thought I'd say hi." He wandered in and peered over Leo's desk. "Cassoulet?"

"Yeah."

"Trois Canards?"

"Yeah."

Sam pushed up his glasses. "Nice."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sam, if you don't mind, I'm – you know," Leo said, gesturing at his food.

"Of course," Sam said. "Sorry." He started for the door, then stopped and turned back around. "I just – if you hear something about me and a woman from the Olympic bobsled team, ignore it. It's not true, and even if it were, it's not anything to be ashamed --"

"For the love of god, Sam," Leo said, his voice raising.

"Right." Sam nodded. "You know what? I'll be going now."

"Yes, you will," Leo said. He waited for Sam to leave, then: "Margaret!" he bellowed.

She poked her head through the side door. "Yeah."

"Close that other door and do not let anyone in here for the next fifteen minutes," Leo said. "I don't care if the east wing is on fire, I'm going to eat Pierre Legrand's world-renowned duck cassoulet and I am going to do it without interruption, or else my vengeance will be a thing that is swift and terrible to behold."

Margaret looked at him. "You wouldn't be this cranky if you ate lunch earlier in the day," she said.

"Terrible to behold!" he yelled. Margaret scurried over to the other door and closed it, then retreated back to her desk, closing the side door behind her.

Blissful silence. Leo sat back in his chair, picked up his fork, and began to eat.

End.

She obeyed wordlessly, her face sinking into the pillow. Josh pushed himself up so that his arms framed her body, and then she felt the brush of his lips on the skin of her back. Hot breath and wet lips against her skin and he meandered his way down, slowly, kissing her shoulder blades, her spine, the small of her back, the beginning swell of her buttocks. From that vantage point he traced a line with his tongue up to the nape of her neck, then traveled back down again, blowing gently on the wet trail he'd left. She gasped; he took that as an invitation to snake his arm around to her front, his hand searching for her sex. She lifted her hips to give him access; he stroked her with his fingers as his mouth and tongue pressed kiss after wet kiss to her back.

Donna made a muffled sound into the pillow and moved against his hand, trying to increase the friction. But he pulled away instead, and she could sense him getting on his knees behind her. Knowing what he wanted, knowing what she wanted, she braced herself up on her forearms and positioned herself so that he could push his way inside of her, which he did, slowly, giving her time to adjust.

They were motionless for a moment, savoring the feeling; then Donna felt Josh's fingers dig into her hips, and he withdrew nearly all the way out of her, then pushed back in. She licked her parched lips and moaned involuntarily when he pulled and pushed again.

"This okay?" she heard him ask.

"Yes," she bit out.

At that he started to pump into her in a steadier rhythm, pushing her forward, his groin slapping against her ass, his breathing harsh and heavy. He was hot and full inside of her and her clit throbbed so much it was painful. She tried to reach down to touch herself, to get some relief, but had trouble doing so in her current position. Josh sensed what she was trying to do and lowered his upper body so that he was pressed against her back. He braced himself with one hand on the mattress beside her, and with the other reached around to find her clit.

"Oh my god," Donna whispered when he found the right spot. She covered his hand on the mattress with her own and moved with him, pushing forward against his fingers, back to take in his cock, and oh god it was too much, it was so good. "Yes," she whispered, and he groaned in response, speeded up his movements, and his fingers were fire against her clit and his cock was fire inside of her and she squeezed her muscles around him and Josh said "Holy fuck," and she said "Oh god," and then she was coming, lights sparking against her eyelids, her body twitching uncontrollably, and soon after he came, too, flooding her with wet heat.

They froze in place, then deflated in place, too, Donna flopping into the mattress, Josh flopping on top of her, still inside of her. They were both breathing hard, interspersed with tiny moans of aftershock.

"That was -- " Josh started.

"Yeah," Donna said. If it wasn't the best they'd ever been, it was pretty damn close.

"Vacation is really off to a good start," Josh panted, and Donna couldn't help but agree.

*****

Josh emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair in damp tousled ringlets, his bare chest still gleaming with moisture from the shower. Donna bit her lip and decided she wasn't in quite such a hurry to go down to breakfast after all.

"Have you seen my watch?" he asked, casting his eyes over the junk scattered across the top of the writing desk.

"It's right here," she said, grabbing it from the nightstand beside her and getting up from the bed. She walked over to him, but instead of handing him the watch, pressed her lips to his.

He returned the kiss eagerly, his toothpaste-flavored tongue sliding against hers and his arms stealing around her waist. Donna reached behind him to drop the watch down on the desk, then concentrated on running her hands over his chest, soft flesh and hard muscle beneath her palms. He made an appreciative sound and pressed into her, the towel dampening the front of her pants.

She grazed his nipples with the pads of her thumbs; he swallowed a moan, and she could feel him begin to harden beneath the towel. He smelled clean and fresh and his skin was warm beneath her touch and she wanted him so very badly.

Feeling strangely compelled to do so, Donna pulled her mouth from his and dropped to her knees, pulling the towel off of him with one swift movement.

"Donna," he yelped, and then, as she took him into her mouth, a very different tone of voice: "God, Donna."

Donna didn't respond, just proceeded to suck gently on his half-erect cock, coaxing him to full hardness, then alternated between sucking the tip and running her tongue up and down the rigid shaft. She looked up and saw Josh lean back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the desk to help keep himself upright. His mouth was agape, his breathing rapid, his eyes closed. Complete surrender. She liked the look of it.

She closed her mouth around him and then cupped his balls with her free hand; his eyes snapped open and he looked down at her, desire and surprise warring in his gaze. She pulled back and licked him again, running her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft, her eyes on his until she finally grew self-conscious from the force of his need reflected there, and she had to close her eyes and concentrate on what she was doing.

One of his hands left the desk and caressed the top of her head; then his hips began to thrust ever so slightly, not so much as if he were actively trying to fuck her mouth, but more like his hips were moving in reflex, molding to the rhythm of her attentions.

"You're amazing," she heard him whisper, and a thrill of power rolled through her.

And then the only sounds in the room were the suck of her lips on his cock and his intermittent sighs, until -- "I'm gonna," Josh stammered, "I'm gonna --" And with a low groan and spasmodic jerks of his hips he came in her mouth, and she quickly swallowed the viscous, sour fluid, and swallowed again, and again, and then it was over, and she tried not to think about the taste in her mouth or the ache in her jaw but only the way she'd just made him feel.

And when she raised her head and saw the look on his face, she resolved to do everything she could to see that expression as often as possible.

*****

Josh walked back up to their spot on the beach and grabbed his towel to dry himself off. "Water's great," he said.

Donna shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him. "I'll go in in a little bit," she said. Her magazine was facedown on the mat beside her; she was lying on her back, delectable in a blue and brown bikini. The faded scar tissue on her leg and torso were barely visible in the shade provided by the umbrella; he'd been relieved to discover she wasn't overly self-conscious about it. It had certainly taken him long enough to get comfortable taking his shirt off in public, after.

And then he wondered why the hell he was thinking about such things on a day like this. He finished drying himself off and dropped onto his own mat, the towel drawn around him.

"You look good," Donna said.

He glanced at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She rolled over onto her side, facing him, propping her head up with her elbow. "I figure if I tell you when you look terrible, I should probably tell you when you look good, too. Seems only fair."

"So noted. And appreciated. I think." Inscrutable woman. He rolled over onto his side, too, and raked his gaze up and down her body. "You look pretty good yourself," he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

It was a gentle kiss at first, a mere meeting of lips, but then Josh put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, drawing his towel over them both, and they kissed harder, more urgently, until they finally had to come up for air.

"You look really good," he murmured, noting the way her nipples had hardened beneath her bikini top. He reached up to brush his thumb over the raised bump, and her breathing hitched. Which was a sound that always made him crazy. He trailed his hand down to the top of her bikini bottom.

"Josh," she warned.

"Don't worry," he said. For he was a man of ideas. He adjusted the beach towel so that it safely covered the middles of their bodies, then inched even closer to her and slipped his hand beneath the bikini fabric.

"Josh," she said again. "People will see --"

"No they won't," he said. He pressed two fingers into her warm folds, and her fingernails dug into his upper arm. "Relax."

"I can't --" she said, but her eyelids were fluttering.

He placed his fingers on either side of her clit and began stroking her with short, gentle movements, trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible to anyone who might pass by. Donna's lips parted and her tongue flicked out to moisten them, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever seen. He worked his hand down and dipped one finger inside of her, making her gasp. He withdrew the wet finger and moved back up to her clit, and started circling it insistently, feeling her body tighten.

"Look at me," he whispered. "Don't think about anything else."

She obeyed, meeting his eyes, her lips still parted, her gaze dull with arousal. Their faces were so close; all he could see was her face, her mouth, her changeable eyes. "Josh --" she gasped.

"Sssh." He increased the pressure of his fingertip.

Her jaw dropped, her body seized, and he covered her mouth with his as she came, swallowing her soft cries of gratification.

He kept kissing her long after her spasms subsided, simply enjoying the taste and feel of her. He didn't know a whole hell of a lot these days, but one thing he did know was that he never wanted to take kissing Donna for granted. Her mouth worked against his, soft and warm and wet.

Finally they parted. Donna's hand fell away from where it had been resting against his cheek.

"Thank you," she said, looking away from him, seemingly embarrassed.

"That was most definitely my pleasure," he said. He pulled his hand out of her bikini bottom and placed it on the small of her back. "So, want to come back in the water with me?"

"I think I'd rather take you back to our room," she said evenly.

It was his turn to lick suddenly dry lips.

*****

Donna awakened to the sensation of Josh's hand caressing her hip.

They'd fallen asleep with Donna's head on Josh's chest, but some time during their grief-induced nap they'd shifted so that she was lying on her side, with Josh spooned up behind her.

"Are you awake?" he whispered against her ear.

She nodded. She was still wearing the terrycloth bathrobe she'd put on after her shower, and Josh now moved his hand to loosen the knotted belt. She helped him untangle it, then drew in a breath as his hand touched her bare skin. He pulled half of the robe back over her hip, then ran his hand up and down her torso, cupping her breast, then trailing his fingers downward again. She bit her lip, swallowed hard as his fingertips traced fire on her skin with feathery touches on her abdomen, beneath her breasts, over her nipples. He stopped long enough to peel the robe off of her completely, helping her roll over enough to slip it off her body, before returning her to her previous position. He pressed up against her and ran his hand over her bare hip, her belly, her thigh. When his hand found her sex, she moaned and parted her legs to accommodate him. He stroked her there, caressing her folds, gliding his finger over her clit.

She reached down to cover his hand with hers, wanting to feel him touching her, and directed his movements, showing him a rhythm that she liked. He stroked her until she was wet and tingling and breathing heavily through her mouth, his dexterous fingers working her just right. When he pulled his hand away, she made a sound of protest.

"Wait," he whispered. She heard, felt, him undoing his belt, his pants, and she made to turn over, but he stopped her. "Don't," he said. She held still, listening as he slid his pants down his legs, took off his shirt. The next thing she felt was his hard cock against her lower back. She reached blindly behind her to grasp it, but he stopped her again.

"Help me," he said. He scooted down a little and lifted her leg.

She lifted her leg higher, then helped guide him inside of her from behind, shifting her ass toward him to help him push into her. When it felt right, she put her leg back down, his left leg now tangled with both of hers. "That feels good," she said contentedly.

"Good." He slid his right arm underneath her body and pulled her close, palming her breast, then began pumping his hips gently, thrusting shallowly inside of her.

It was tender, intimate, appropriate to their mood. She took his free hand in hers and brought it in close to her body, lacing her fingers through his. He nuzzled her back and placed soft kisses on her shoulder blade. They continued to move together quietly, their position not conducive to deep thrusting. Finally Donna moved Josh's hand back down to her clit, and he took the hint, stroking her there again in tandem to his movements inside of her. The pressure built quickly and she came with a faint succession of breathy moans as she shuddered around him. He continued moving within her for a little while longer, his breathing growing shorter and shorter, until he was letting out a stream of soft sighs and muted grunts and then finally he came, jerking up into her, his hand squeezing her breast so hard that it hurt.

He lay there for a long moment, then eased himself out of her and scooted back up to embrace her fully. His chest was sweaty against her back, his breath was hot on her skin as he kissed her neck. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?" she asked.

"For before. For -- for before, and for the day he died. For being there, for me. I knew -- I may not have showed it, but I knew you were there, and it --" He cleared his throat. "That meant something, to me. You know?"

She smiled at his stammering Josh way, but the sentiment behind it pricked at her eyelids, making her blink away sudden moisture. "I know," she said. "You're welcome."

*****

If there was ever a time when Donna was more turned on than she was at this moment, she was hard pressed to remember it.

She moaned again beneath the assault of Josh's tongue on her sex. He'd pretty much pounced on her the instant they'd gotten back from dinner, and as a result her dress was now pushed up around her middle, her panties were on the floor somewhere, and her strappy sandals were still on her feet, grazing Josh's back. He'd pulled her to the edge of the bed and knelt before her, then hooked her legs up over his shoulders and gone to town.

She opened her eyes to watch him feasting on her, his eyes closed, his tongue working against her clit, his hands drifting upward to her abdomen. "Oh god," she sighed, and let her head fall back onto the bed. "Don't stop," she whispered, and his response was to move his tongue down to her opening, darting in and out of her, and oh god she didn't want it to ever stop.

Desperate for more stimulation, she slipped her hand inside her dress, reached beneath her bra to squeeze her nipple. "Don't stop," she said again, although she wasn't sure why she kept saying that, since the odds of him stopping any time soon seemed pretty slim. He returned his attentions to her clit, flicked his tongue against it as he slid one finger inside of her. She exhaled a hiss of desire and with her free hand tangled her fingers in his curly hair, pressing him closer.

Her back arched; her toes curled inside her sandals. She could feel the pressure spiraling within her and almost regretted it, because it meant this feeling was going to end. Josh's tongue found just the right spot and she let out a cry, gasped for air. "God, you're so good," she murmured on an exhale, then wondered if she shouldn't have said anything that would go straight to his head. No matter -- at the moment he deserved every bit of praise he got. She removed her hand from his hair and clutched a wad of bedspread as she ground herself against him, increasing the friction, and oh god it was really building now, she was so close, she was so close and oh god "Josh," she said, and then she smashed into a million pieces, her mind going blank as her body took over and her voice formed wordless sounds of ecstasy.

When it was over, when she was still twitching, when she was still trying to draw in air, she almost told him that she loved him. And then realized that she couldn't, and bit down on her lip, hard, as he joined her on the bed and took her into his arms. So instead she kissed him and tried to say everything she couldn't yet tell him with words. And tried to ignore the sudden clench of her heart.

******

Josh went down to the hotel bar to have a drink, which turned into two, and involved a bit too much babbling to the bartender. When he was done he went back up to the room to discover that Donna had already returned from the pool. She was stretched out on the bed, reading a book. She'd also changed into a dress for dinner, he noticed.

She looked up and set the book aside when he entered the room, but didn't say anything. He stared at her for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she said with a shake of her head. "I wanted to talk, not fight."

"Yeah," he said. "I shouldn't have said --"

"Me neither." She got up from the bed and walked over to where he was still standing, near the door. "No more fighting this week, okay?" she said softly, her eyes on his mouth.

He swallowed. "Okay." And then their lips met.

Their lips met and it was like a conflagration, a word that Josh probably would have trouble spelling after his two drinks downstairs. They kissed frantically, as if unable to get close enough, unable to feel enough. Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and suddenly his back was against the wall. Turning the tables, he grabbed her wrists and spun her around, pushing her up against the wall instead, then raised her hands above her head, all the while kissing her, his cock growing hard at the sound of her needy mewling into his mouth. He ground himself against her, wanting her to feel it, and she arched up into him to increase the contact.

He tore his mouth from hers and began kissing her neck, taking the soft flesh between his teeth, not being gentle about it. Her wrists strained against his hands. "Please," she begged him.

He released her, and then they were both tearing at each other's clothes, desperate to get skin to skin. When he was naked and Donna was clad only in her black panties he turned her around and pushed her toward the bed; when the backs of her legs hit the edge she fell onto the mattress, breathing hard, watching him. He grabbed the sides of her underwear and drew the garment down the length of her smooth ivory legs, then stood there, looking down at her as she returned the gaze, her lips and her legs parted.

"What do you want?" he asked her, his voice hoarse with desire. "Tell me."

She paused, and he wasn't sure she would do it. But then: "I want you inside of me," she said.

He thought he could come right then and there, but managed to keep it together. Instead he grabbed her legs and pulled her toward him, then slowly pushed himself inside of her. He held her legs up by putting his hands under her knees and started pumping into her, their position giving him a full view of his cock sliding in and out of her. "You like that?" he rasped.

"Yes," she breathed. She ran her hands up and down her sides, then placed them on her breasts. "Yes."

He drove into her harder, and the feeling of possessing her like this was almost overwhelming; he'd always thought of her as "my" -- my assistant, my Donna -- and this -- this was almost too obvious, but goddamn it felt good and looked even better. "You feel incredible," he said, needing her to know it. "You look incredible."

Her head tilted back and she moaned. "You feel so good," she said. "Oh my god, Josh."

Her name on his lips sent a thrill through him -- he wondered if he'd ever tire of hearing her speak it that way. Doubtful. "I want you to say my name when you come," he found himself saying, and could hardly believe he was forming the words.

The corners of her mouth twitched, and for one terrifying moment he thought she was going to laugh. But she didn't; she didn't say anything, either, just snaked her hand down her body and started stroking her clit. His eyes fixed on her slender finger as it manipulated that swollen nub of flesh, as his cock thrust in and out of her, and oh god he wanted her to come so very badly.

He lifted her legs and placed them on his shoulders, enabling him to thrust harder, deeper, grunting with the exertion of it. Donna's moans became higher-pitched, and he sensed she was close.

He was right. She came -- "Josh," she cried, just as he'd asked, "Josh," as she spasmed around him, and it was every bit as good as he'd hoped it would be.

He held still as she finished, wanting to prolong things. He watched Donna struggle for breath, a red flush on her chest, her breasts heaving. Finally she looked up at him, her tongue pushing against her lower lip. "Your turn," she said, reaching down to touch the part of his cock that wasn't sheathed inside of her.

Holy -- He thrust into her, almost involuntarily, and she made a satisfied sound. "Come for me, Josh," she whispered. Another thrust and she withdrew her hand, placed both of her arms up above her neck, arching her back in pleasure.

Well, that's going to help things along, he thought, transfixed by the sight. He drove into her with long, hard strokes, her shins framing his face, his hands gripping her thighs.

His cock plunged into her tight wet heat again and again, and he leaned in a bit, going deeper in until he was hitting her cervix, but she didn't seem to mind, just moaned in surprise and then looked up at him and smiled in this insanely seductive way that was going to have a starring role in his daydreams for a very long time. He was groaning loudly, now, groaning and grunting but he couldn't stop, he didn't care, all he cared about was stoking the fire engulfing his cock as he barreled toward completion, and when he came, he roared her name, only half-consciously paying her back for saying his, and everything else was oblivion.

He leaned his head against her leg, floating back to earth, his ass twitching, his lower back hurting. "Wow," he muttered.

"Wow," she echoed.

He gently lowered her legs and pulled out of her, then dropped down onto the bed and drew her close, their bodies entwining. "So -- makeup sex? Is the best sex," he panted.

"Yeah," she said.

*****

"Sometimes I can't believe we didn't start doing this sooner," Josh said as he caressed Donna's hips.

"Is that really a conversation you want to be having right now?" she asked. She continued to rock unhurriedly atop of him -- they were taking it slow in an effort to make it last as long as possible, figuring there was no better use of a lazy vacation afternoon. Sweat glimmered on both of their chests, their necks, the effort of their exertions conquering the weak flow of the air conditioner.

"No." He let out a low moan as Donna squeezed herself around him. "You have to stop doing that," he said.

"I thought you like it when I do that," Donna said. She tightened her muscles again.

"Christ," he muttered. "I do, but -- this is going to be over pretty quickly if you keep it up."

"Spoilsport," she said. She leaned back, braced her hands on his thighs. He thrust up into her and it was her turn to moan.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," she said. Her eyes fluttered closed as Josh thrust into her again.

Yeah, that was nice. Josh admired the long line of her creamy torso stretched out above him and wondered not for the first time just what the hell she was doing with him in the first place.

After a few more slow, gentle thrusts, she opened her eyes and leaned forward again, her breasts bobbing in front of him invitingly. Never one to turn down such an invitation, Josh reached up to cup them in his hands, her hardened pink nipples grazing his palms. Donna bit her lip. "Now who's being unfair?" she murmured.

"Don't you like that?" he asked innocently. He tweaked one nipple with thumb and forefinger.

She moaned in response, which he took as a yes. He began to squeeze both nipples, pinching them between his fingertips in a steady rhythm. Her breathing quickened and her head bowed.

"Josh," she bit out.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to -- oh god." And she came, quietly, her chest turning red, her muscles gripping his cock, sending electric currents up his spine.

"That was -- unexpected," she panted. He ran his hand up and down between her breasts, and she twitched at his touch.

Her contracting around his cock had brought him pretty close himself; he held still inside of her, trying to scale things down. Donna reached forward to grab the headboard. "Sit up," she said.

He did as she asked, slipping out of her as he did so, his cock suddenly wet and cold in the climate-controlled air. When his back was against the headboard, Donna lowered herself back down onto him, effectively sitting in his lap, sheathing him in her heat once more. She gripped the headboard on either side of him, and used it to leverage herself, pulling herself up, then slowly plunging back down the length of him. Her face was so close to his he could feel her breath on his face. He reached up to place his thumb against her lips, and she took it into her mouth, sucking delicately.

Fuck. He'd wanted to hold out until she came again, but the way things were going -- he couldn't help it, he started jutting up into her at a faster pace, the needs of his body taking hold. From the way Donna moaned, she didn't seem to mind. In fact she helped him along, matching his speeded-up movements, and then she let go of the headboard and reached down behind her and grabbed his balls and holy shit fuck the top of his head was coming off -- "Nnnngh," he roared, or something like it, and emptied himself into her with a rush of blinding heat.

He pulled her close, holding on tight, pressing his face into her neck until he was able to catch his breath. Then he lifted his head to kiss her. She placed her palms on either side of his face, ran her hands through his hair.

"So much for taking our time," she whispered against his lips.

"Sometimes taking your time is overrated," he said, and kissed her again.

*****

"That," Josh said, following Donna into their hotel room, "was very, very cool."

"I told you you'd like snorkeling," Donna said. "You're so foolish to doubt me."

"Not foolish, Donna," he said with mock gravity, throwing himself into one of the cushiony chairs. "Wise. I am a man of wisdom, and part of being a man of wisdom is being able to admit when you're wrong."

She stopped in the middle of the room and looked at him. "You're admitting you were wrong."

"Nah," he sniffed. "Just, you know. Man of wisdom."

"Okay whatever," Donna said, rolling her eyes. She walked past him to the glass sliding doors leading out to the balcony and pushed one side open, letting in the fragrant evening breeze.

"I am also a man of fatigue," Josh said, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. "I'm beat."

"Not too beat, I hope," Donna said, her voice close. He opened his eyes just in time to watch her settle herself in his lap, her legs straddling his.

"Donna," he said, faintly protesting. "You know, it's times like this you make me feel very old."

He thought he detected a glimmer of hurt flit across her eyes, but it passed. Maybe he'd imagined it. "Oh please," she said, her voice tart. She was wearing a green terrycloth jacket and skirt she'd purchased the previous day over her swimsuit; now she unzipped the jacket and let it fall to the floor, so that he was eye level with her striped bikini top. Her breasts in her striped bikini top. The raised bumps of her hardened nipples in her striped bikini top.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't that old.

She reached up and untied the top string, letting the fabric fall down, exposing her breasts.

Or that tired.

He covered her breasts with his hands as she leaned down to kiss him. Her tongue darted against his. Her hair stirred in the breeze wafting in from behind him, tickling his cheeks. Her nipples scraped his palms. She smelled like cocoa butter and salt. Blood rushed to his cock.

Suddenly he felt like he could run a marathon.

He pulled his lips from hers and gently pushed her back so that she was upright again, then reached behind her to untie the bottom string of her bikini top, removing the material completely. He just looked at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her, then leaned forward to take one dusky pink nipple into his mouth.

Donna hissed and brought her hand up to the back of his neck, urging him on, not that he needed any encouragement. He loved the taste of her, loved the tactile sensation of that ridged flesh beneath his tongue and teeth, loved the pendant weight of her breast in his hand, loved the soft sounds of pleasure she began to make as he suckled the sensitive flesh. When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she whispered his name, sending a thrill down his spine. She shifted in his lap, fidgeting beneath his touch; with his free hand he reached underneath her skirt to cup her through the fabric of her bikini bottom.

Which is when he remembered that her bikini was a string bikini, and that realization alone was enough to bring him to full hardness. He carefully untied the bow on one hip, then the other, then drew the material out through her legs and threw it to the side. Donna was breathing hard, now, emitting soft whimpers of arousal. Her lips brushed his forehead, then he felt her tugging at his swim shorts. He drew his mouth away from her breast and helped her pull the shorts down, setting his erection free, and wriggled his legs until the garment was on the floor. He barely had time to put his hands on her hips before she was hiking up her skirt and sinking onto his cock, sheathing herself almost to the hilt.

She began moving atop of him immediately, bracing her knees on either side of him. He put his hands on her ass to help her along, following her lead, making it hard and fast. Donna closed her eyes and released a steady stream of high-pitched moans, which was soon joined by his own involuntary groaning. At this rate neither of them was going to take very long, he knew he sure as hell wasn't, and as they moved faster and harder, her breasts bouncing inches from his face, he pressed his thumb to her clit just to be sure, just to make sure that she'd come with him, and her head tilted back and she clenched around him, hard, and it was too much, he came, jerking frantically up into her, fuck, and then she was coming too, milking his still enflamed cock, and god, the sound of it, the sound of her coming was glorious.

Donna grabbed the sides of his head and roughly pulled her to him for a kiss, her tongue practically reaching his throat, her lips suctioned onto his with an aggression that he didn't mind -- and in fact liked a great deal -- but still occasionally found disconcerting. He returned the kiss with full force, pushing her sweaty hair back from her face as he did so.

She broke the kiss and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said breathlessly. "And feeling younger by the minute."

*****

On their last day Donna felt subdued, reflective, and she suspected Josh was feeling much the same way. That night, when Josh lowered his head to her breast, he did so gently, almost reverently, his tongue swirling over her nipple with lazy strokes that almost tickled. She smoothed his hair with her hand, ran her fingers down the stubble of his cheek as he moved from one breast to the other and back again.

After a time, he kissed his way down her body and placed his mouth on her sex, lightly tracing her folds with his tongue. Donna sighed with pleasure and drew a strand of his hair between her fingers. When she was moaning and writhing beneath him, he lifted his head and kissed his way back up her skin to her mouth. She nipped at his bottom lip and arched up against him, then reached down to help guide him inside of her. He inched in carefully, taking his time about it as she adjusted around him.

Then paused. "How you doin'?" he whispered, and she let out a low laugh.

"I'm doing good," she said.

He grinned down at her and pulled out of her halfway, then pushed back in. She put her feet behind his back and ran her hands over the hardened muscle in his upper arms, tracing a raised vein with her fingertip.

He kissed her again as he started pumping slowly but steadily into her. She placed her hand on his neck and kissed him back, but he pulled away and took both of her hands in his, then pressed them down onto the mattress on either side of her. Their fingers laced; their gazes met.

It was odd, Donna thought. In some ways she knew Josh better than anyone. And in others, not a bit. She'd kill to know what he was thinking right now, what was going on behind those soft brown eyes. (Well, other than "ooh ooh feels good," anyway.) They were leaving tomorrow, and she was still unsure where she stood with him. More certain than she'd been before he'd asked her on this trip, yes, and maybe, maybe that would be enough. Then again --

He stopped moving inside of her. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I'm great," she said quickly.

"You seemed kind of far away, there."

"No," she said, giving him her best smile. "Not at all." She jerked her hips, urging him to get back to it, which he did. Donna gasped appreciatively and he kissed her again, his lips gently moving against hers before he pulled away to let out a soft moan.

Their hands were still clasped, and it engendered an intimacy deeper than they'd experienced before, she thought. It was kind of ridiculous; he was inside of her, and yet, it was the hand-holding that was making her feel particularly close to him. She wondered if he was feeling it, too. She looked into his eyes again, trying to read him.

"God, I love being with you like this," he said huskily.

...well, that would work. She grinned. "Me too," she told him.

He grinned back, and she felt a bit giddy at the joy of it all.

They began moving faster, harder, the bed creaking beneath them, the headboard banging the wall and she hoped for the umpteenth time that week that they weren't disturbing the neighbors. Especially since she was mewling pretty loudly, now, and he was making these grunting noises that she found oddly arousing, and "Oh god," she'd reached the oh god portion of the evening, "Oh god oh god oh god." His thrusts were managing to hit her clit just right, hot delicious friction, and the familiar fluttering and tightening started, swirling within her -- "Come with me," she whispered, and then she fell, crying out, convulsing around him, and through the fog enveloping her brain she heard him scream a burst of wordless noise, then felt him come inside of her with a surge of wet warmth.

"Oh god oh god oh god," she whispered, as he emitted muted, high-pitched cries, his fingers gripping hers tightly. And then it was over.

He gently lowered himself and rolled to the side, taking her with him, slipping out of her as he did so. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his chest, the coarse hair there tickling her nose. "That was really nice," she ventured to say.

"Yeah," he said. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry this is our last night. I mean, I'm anxious to get back to work, but --"

"I know," she said, cutting him off. "I know what you mean."

He sniffed, tightened his embrace. Didn't say anything.

They were quiet for a long moment, until a thought struck her. "Did you arrange a wakeup call?" she asked.

He pulled back from her slightly. "You really do have a knack for saying the most romantic things," he said.

"Josh." She pushed against his chest. "We have to get up early if we're going to make our flight."

"I set it up earlier, when you were taking forever to get ready for dinner."

"Nice," she said, her lower lip jutting out in full pout.

"I'm just saying, Marie Antoinette didn't need as much time to do her hair and makeup."

"Are you comparing me to a French tart?" She grinned at that, happy to be back on familiar ground.

"Okay, there's an eating joke there that I'm not even going to touch," he said.

"Thank heaven for small favors," she snorted.

"Did you -- snort, just then?"

"Shut up."

"You know, Marie Antoinette would never be so unladylike."

"Marie Antoinette can bite me," she said. "And so can you."

She let out a decidedly unladylike bark of laughter when his teeth closed over her shoulder.

End.

"Hey." He gave her an uncharacteristically mellow smile. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," she said. "You?"

"Like the dead," he said. He sniffed, stretched. "I can't remember the last time I slept that long without jerking awake in a stone-cold panic about campaign strategy or policy initiatives."

"Then I'd say this vacation is off to a good start," she said.

"I thought it got off to a pretty good start last night," he said, raising his eyebrows.

She grinned. "Yes. Yes it did."

Josh reached up to trail a finger over her shoulder and down her upper arm. "Shall we uh, keep the good thing going?"

"It's times like this when I am overwhelmed by your smoothness and subtlety," she said with mock solemnity.

"It's a gift." He slipped his arm underneath the sheet, around her bare waist, and pulled him to her for a kiss. He tasted minty; he'd already brushed his teeth, which was hardly fair. He didn't seem to mind any morning breath she might have, though, as his tongue was now aggressively exploring her mouth and his breathing was already quickening. She placed her hand on his neck, felt the muscles moving beneath her palm. His stubble tickled.

"This is the best vacation ever," he said when they came up for air.

"And it's only the first morning," she pointed out.

"You realize I intend to have every inch of your body memorized by the time this week is over," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you with that," she said.

"Turn over," he rasped, and she shivered in anticipation.

****

The beach was exquisite: shockingly blue water, white sand, and lots of hot women in bikinis. Regarding the last, Josh made a mental note to try his best not to get caught staring. Not that Donna hadn't seen him ogle women in the past, but in the past, the worst he could expect from her was a barbed remark. Now -- now she could punish him in much more significant ways. He cleared his throat and diligently fixed his attention back on Donna, who was busy claiming a spot for them by laying out her towel on the sand.

Josh joined her and dumped his stuff, figuring they'd lounge around for a while, maybe do some insufferable public necking before working their way up to a swim.

He was wrong.

"Race you!" Donna yelled (startling the hell out of him by the way), and took off for the water.

Never let it be said that Josh Lyman couldn't roll with the punches. After only a moment's hesitation he ran after her, hot on her heels, and they hit the water's edge at about the same time, wading in quickly, Donna letting out occasional shrieks of cold. Josh pulled ahead and jumped straight into the first wave, letting himself get drenched. He let out a whoop and turned around to see Donna still inland a bit, not ready to take the final step. So much for the race. "Come on!" he yelled.

She scrunched up her face, and Josh couldn't help but laugh. And then the decision was made for her when the next wave came in closer than the last, taking her by surprise. She went under and came up sputtering, and Josh knew he was going to get it for laughing, but he couldn't stop.

God, it felt good to laugh. For a moment he couldn't remember the last time he'd even done it.

He swam over to her and took her hand. "Jump into the wave," he said, just as another crest came bearing down on them. They did it together, water breaking against their chests, and came out the other side. "That's better, right?" he said.

She nodded and slicked back her hair, but her eyes were already nervously scanning for the next one.

"Jump!" he yelled, and they did it again, getting a little farther out, over the main break. "It should be better now," he said.

"If you say so."

"Not a lot of opportunity for ocean swimming in Wisconsin, I take it."

"Not really, no. And after I moved to the east coast someone didn't pay me enough to take beach vacations."

He ignored that bit. "Out here the waves won't be as strong as when they're breaking on the shore," he explained. "Push against them, but don't fight the float, either."

She nodded, and smiled this time. "I'll get used to it."

He smiled back. "I know."

She doggy-paddled over to him, which was adorable and hilarious at the same. Just as she reached him they rose into another wave, and she did better this time, letting it happen. After it passed she moved in close to him, her legs tangling with his. "Thanks again for inviting me here," she said.

"Thanks again for coming with me," he said.

She kissed him, her mouth warm in contrast to her skin and the water. He grabbed her ass and pulled so that her legs went around his waist, and they floated there, kissing, until a larger wave took them unawares and they split apart, grappling for the surface.

"You okay?" he asked.

She smoothed back her hair and rubbed her eyes. "Yeah."

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Josh submerged and did a somersault underwater, just for the hell of it.

****

Donna made him buy a pair of flip-flops so he didn't have to keep taking off his sneakers every time they went down to the beach. He didn't like them. He didn't think men's feet should be seen unless absolutely necessary, and besides, the things flipped and they flopped and got sand inside of them when he walked. Who had invented such stupid things in the first place? Probably a Hawaiian.

He didn't have them on at the moment in any case, preferring to carry them in one hand as he and Donna strolled along the water's edge after dinner. He'd even rolled up his khakis so they wouldn't get splashed by the incoming tide. Donna was barefoot as well, her sandals in her hand, her flowered skirt flapping against her knees in the wind off the ocean. He was fascinated by the sight of her pink-painted toenails against the off-white sand.

Just then Donna stopped and bent over, picked something out of the sand and, with great excitement, showed it to him in her palm. It was...a shell.

"Yeah?" he said, not getting it.

"It's pretty," she said as if talking to an idiot.

He looked at her. "Okay." If she said so.

"Oh, Josh," she said in disgust, and kept walking.

"What?"

"You have no appreciation for nature," she said.

"I have plenty of appreciation for nature," he said.

"Liar. You think nature is something you drive through on the way to the next Starbucks."

"I'm pretty sure my record on pushing through environmental legislation puts the lie to that notion."

"That's different," she said. "That's nature in the abstract. I'm talking about nature up close and personal."

"Do you think I'm not enjoying this?" he asked, gesturing with his arm to indicate the beach, the ocean, the palm trees, the seagulls. Well, maybe not the seagulls. They were really annoying.

"I think you are, but I'm not convinced it has anything to do with nature," she said, giving him a half-lidded look.

She had a point there. He was having a good time, but that had a lot more to do with having lots of sex with Donna than with their surroundings. Not that he didn't like the surroundings. It just wasn't the priority. Was that so wrong?

"Does the female form count as nature?" he asked, trying to score points. "Because I have a lot of appreciation for that."

"So I've noticed." But instead of teasing him further, she grabbed his hand, brought him to a stop, and pressed her lips to his. They'd been doing a lot of that sort of thing lately.

He kissed her back, leaning into her, strands of her hair whipping against his face in the wind. "Let's go back to the hotel," he whispered.

"Had enough of nature?" she said tartly.

He shook his head. "I just haven't had enough of you." God, that was -- "That sounded really cheesy, didn't it."

"It did," she said. She gave him a toothy smile. "But I think it's going to get you sex anyway."

"Well, that's what matters in the end," he sighed.

"Indeed."

*****

Donna emerged from the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe and still towel-drying her hair, to discover that Josh wasn't in their room. For a minute she thought maybe he sneaked off to make a phone call to D.C., but then she heard oddly muffled sounds coming from the direction of the balcony.

She went out there to investigate and found him hunched over in a patio chair, crying quietly to himself. She bit her lip, took a step toward him. "Josh," she said gently.

His head jerked up and he sniffled, wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Yeah," he said, with an energy he clearly didn't feel. "Sorry. I just, uh -- "

"I know," she said, sparing him. She walked over to him and placed her hand on the top of his head, smoothing the springy curls.

"Sorry," he said again, not looking at her. "This is...embarrassing."

"Don't apologize," she said. "You're still grieving, Josh. And while stepping away from the craziness of work has been good for us on a certain level, it's not surprising that it's also given you a time to mourn that you haven't had before."

"Yeah. I hate this," he said with a shaky exhalation of breath.

"I know," she said. "I miss him too."

Her words apparently broke something loose inside of him; he choked out a sob that tore at her heart. God. She stood there for an awkward moment, trying to figure out what to do, then finally eased herself into his lap and pulled him close. He promptly buried his head in the crook of her neck and cried. Donna felt her own eyes well with tears, but wasn't sure if she was crying for herself, or for Josh. Not for the first time since Leo's death, Donna mourned the fact that for the some of the greatest moments of his life, Josh wasn't going to have Leo by his side.

She hoped that she would be able to be there, at least. Hoped that would be enough.

"Hey," she said softly as he quieted down and his breathing returned to normal. "You want to go lie down for a little while? It's our vacation, we're allowed to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon."

He pulled back, coughed. "That might be good," he said.

"I think so too. Come on." She got up from his lap, took his hand and led him inside. He made a detour to the bathroom to blow his nose, then got into bed beside her. She lay her head on his chest; he wrapped his arms around her, his breath stirring her hair.

They were quiet for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Leo's the one who sent me to Germany, you know," Josh said finally.

She shifted her head. "What do you mean?"

"When they took you to Germany...he's the one who told me I should be where I wanted to be. That's when I hopped on the next flight to Landstuhl."

Donna's throat closed up. Her memory of that period was so fuzzy, and not something she wanted to spend much effort clarifying. "When I woke up, that first time, I wasn't surprised to see you there," she found herself saying. "I guess maybe I should have been, and later, I was, but at that moment...I wasn't surprised to see you there," she repeated.

He didn't say anything at first. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek; his heart pulsed beneath her palm.

"I'm glad," he whispered.

They slept.

*****

"You're the one who left me!" he yelled.

"Because you gave me no choice!" she yelled back. "It was either quit or continue living a life of servitude, because you wouldn't let me do anything else!"

"I gave you plenty of opportunities –"

"Only when I bullied you into it!" Donna said. "And even then, only sparingly. Admit it, Josh, you didn't want me to grow in my job. You wanted to keep me chained to my desk."

"I didn't want you chained to your desk, as you so dramatically put it. I just didn't want you to leave me!" he yelled, then stopped short; he'd said too much.

Donna's mouth opened, then closed. "You what?"

"Nothing," he said. "You're right, I was a terrible boss."

"You weren't a terrible boss," she said. "Well, not always."

"I gave you more room to grow than a lot of other bosses gave their assistants," he said.

"You did."

"And I went to the mat for you at every opportunity in terms of salary increases."

"I know you did that too."

"So then what was the problem?" he asked, his voice getting loud again.

"The problem is that it wasn't enough," she said. "And -- you know what, it was never going to be enough. And that part isn't even your fault. I should have left that job long before I actually did."

That stung more than he would have thought. "So what stopped you?" he snarled.

She met his gaze. "You know what stopped me."

"Do I?" he snapped. Then he deflated a little, looked away from her. "I don't think I can talk about this anymore right now," he said.

"Yeah." Donna grabbed her beach bag, her sunglasses. "I'm going to go sit by the pool for a while. I'll see you later," she said, ice coating her voice.

"Yeah," he said, as she closed the door behind her.

*****

"So -- makeup sex? Is the best sex," Josh said, still panting.

"Yeah." Donna pulled her hair off her neck. Cool air dried the sweat on her skin. "Which is convenient, since we're already so good at fighting."

"We really couldn't have planned it better," he said.

She traced her finger down between his pecs. "Is it worth it?" she asked hesitantly. "Is the making up worth it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I mean." She looked down at her finger tracing circles on his skin, then back up again. "Yes, I do. The making up, the fighting in the first place...it's all work. Do we want to do the work? Is this -- whatever this is, whatever this could be -- is it worth it? Do you want it to be worth it?"

"Do you?" he whispered.

"I asked you first," she said, knowing it was cowardly.

He was silent for a moment.

"I -- I think so," he said. "I think I made that decision when I asked you to come here with me."

"You think, or you know?" she persisted. She was still gun-shy about pushing him, but somehow pushing was getting easier by the day. Probably had something to do with all the sex. It was clouding her judgment.

"I think," he said, and her heart panged.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Look, Donna --" He pulled a strand of her hair through his fingers. "All I know, right now, is that I don't want to stop feeling like this, with you. Everything else -- I'm figuring it out as we go along. Is that enough, for right now?"

"I hope so," she said softly.

"Yeah." He sighed. "I hope so too."

*****

"I think we should go snorkeling tomorrow," Donna said.

Josh raised his eyebrows and swirled his beer in its pint glass. "You do."

"I do. In fact, I already made a reservation for us."

"You did."

"I did. You'll like it," she said off his skeptical expression. "It's like Finding Nemo, only real life."

"You're never going to let me live it down that I saw that movie, are you?"

"No," she said, with a tilt of her head. "Nor should I."

"It was raining! I was bored!" he whined.

She didn't say anything, just smiled. She actually thought it was kind of cute that he'd seen it -- not that she planned on ever letting him know that, of course. It was important that she at least try to keep him humble.

He gave her an unreadable look. "You're different, you know that?" he said.

"What are you talking about?" She sipped her pina colada.

"You're different than you used to be."

Well, that was helpful. "You just think that because you can't boss me around anymore," she said.

"Like I could ever boss you around?"

"You tried your best."

"I did," he admitted. "But you also kind of liked it."

"Maybe," she conceded. "For a while, anyway. Sometimes."

"I'm not saying you're bad different," he said. "I'm just saying you're different different."

"Maybe I grew up," she retorted, an edge of defensiveness in her voice.

His eyes met hers. "It suits you."

Did he purposely pull out the sweet from time to time just to throw her off? The corners of her mouth twitched. "Thanks."

"Seriously."

"Seriously, thanks."

He took a drink of beer. "So are you going to take the chief of staff job?"

"We shouldn't talk about work," she said, stabbing a broccoli spear with her fork.

"We're not talking about work, we're talking about you," he argued.

"Semantics."

"Donna."

She blew out a breath. "I think so. Probably. It's that or the unemployment line, really, which makes the decision easier."

"You don't think you could get a job pretty much anywhere you wanted with your current experience?" Josh said, his eyebrows shooting up into his forehead.

"I want to work at the White House," she said stubbornly, looking down at her plate.

"But not for me," he said softly.

She looked up at him. "No," she said.

"Chief of Staff for the First Lady, that's not an easy job," he said.

"I know that."

"High-profile."

"I know that too."

"I think you'd be great at it," he said.

That stopped her short. "I'm not sure I'm qualified --"

"Great at it," he repeated.

She felt herself smiling and kind of hated herself for it. "You're different too, you know," she said.

"Maybe I grew up," he said, with a scratch in his voice.

She let herself smile for real this time. "It suits you."

*****

"I'm never moving again," Josh announced. He was lying face down on a bamboo mat beneath the oversized umbrella Donna had insisted they rent, his towel rolled up as a pillow under his head. His pale back was protected from the sun, but Donna was starting to worry about his feet, which flopped over the edge of the mat, beyond the shade the umbrella provided.

It was eminently satisfying to see him so blissed out, though, and part of her felt that she could just sit here and watch him all day. But part of her really had to go to the bathroom, and another part of her was really hungry, and all in all she was ready to go back to the room and shower and have a snack.

She told Josh as much, and he grunted.

"I take it that means you don't want to come back with me?"

"I told you, I'm not moving," he said, his eyes still closed. "You go ahead. I'll be there in a little while."

"Okay. You should really put some sunblock on your feet, though, or you're going to be sorry."

"Not moving," he repeated.

She rolled her eyes and reached for the bottle of No-Ad, then sat down cross-legged by his feet. She squirted a dollop of sunblock into her palms, then rubbed the lotion over his soles. He jerked at the first contact -- and then kept jerking.

"It tickles!" he howled.

"Oh for god's sake. Keep still, you big baby."

He settled down a little after that, only twitching a few more times. "There, I'm done," she said. "Feel free to thank me when you stand up and the soles of your feet aren't burned to a crisp."

"Thank you now," he mumbled.

Impossible man. She stood up and got her stuff together, then walked back over to him. "I'll see you in a bit," she said. "Don't forget to return the umbrella."

His hand reached out to wrap around her ankle; he squeezed, then released. "'k," he said.

A few yards down the beach she turned back to look at him; she couldn't remember the last time the lines of his body had appeared so relaxed. She smiled to herself, then turned and headed up to the hotel.

*****

The morning of their departure, Donna went out on the balcony of their room for one last look at the ocean, one last chance to draw the sea air into her lungs. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, enjoying these final moments of ocean-induced calm.

"Hey," Josh said softly from behind her.

She opened her eyes. "I can't believe it's our last day," she said as he slipped his arms around her waist.

"Back to the real world," he said. "Time to find out whether Barry Goodwin has already run this administration into the ground before it even starts."

"Stop," she said chidingly.

"I'm kidding," he said. He paused. "Sort of."

She grinned. "You're going to have to learn how to play nice, Josh."

"I play nice," he said.

"You're capable of playing nice," she corrected him. "You just don't always choose to do so."

"Well, that's probably true." He bent his head to kiss her shoulder. "So I guess when we get back, we should tell people. You know, about us."

"I have a feeling that when we both disappeared for a week, they probably figured it out," she said.

"Good point."

"So what are we going to tell them, exactly?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice even.

"As little as possible," he said.

"Josh."

"I don't know." She felt him shrug. "That we're...together, I guess."

"Are we?"

"Aren't we?" He turned her around so that she was facing him. His expression was as serious as she'd ever seen it, which made her nervous. "Look --" He scrubbed a hand through his hair, scratched the back of his neck. "I think I'm finally realizing that I want to have a life outside of my job, which isn't easy for me to admit, and I should stress that admitting it doesn't diminish the importance or the scope of my job in the slightest," he said with warning in his voice.

"I know that."

"But as hectic and cramped and insane as any life I manage to scrape together for myself outside of the office may be, I want you to be a part of it. You know, if all the sex we had this week wasn't enough of an indication. So -- yeah. Together. You and me. And like I said before -- we'll figure the rest out as we go along." He blew out a breath. "Is that enough?"

She smiled. "That's enough," she told him. "That time, you said it right."

"Thank God," he said with obvious relief. "I suck at this."

"You do," she agreed.

"You're not so great at it yourself, you know," he said.

She gave him a look.

"...and I really shouldn't have pointed that out," he said with a gulp.

"Now you're learning."

"Yeah, well -- figuring it out as I go along, remember?"

"Yeah," she said gently. "Me too."

Dimples flashed as he showed her a smile; then he took her by the hand and led her back into their room. Donna had no idea how they were going to fit all the beach accoutrements and souvenir gifts they'd purchased into the small luggage they'd brought with them, but she wasn't too worried. They'd figure it out as they went along.

End.

Donna twined both arms around Josh's neck and started taking baby steps backward in the general direction of the bedroom. He moved with her, his mouth still fused to hers, his breathing harsh against her cheek, hot inside her mouth. She could feel his want, knew he was as desperate for this as she was, and the thought was reassuring, somehow. Showing up at his door tonight had felt more than a little like jumping off a cliff.

Her hip banged into the edge of the couch, bringing them to a clumsy halt, and Josh turned her slightly so that she was pressed up against the piece of furniture. He lifted his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks as he continued to explore her mouth with his tongue. She began unbuttoning his dress shirt, then pulled both it and his undershirt out of his waistband and slipped her hands underneath. At the feel of her fingers on his bare skin he made another one of those sounds deep in his throat and roughly tugged her away from the couch, moving them in the direction of his bedroom once more.

They bumped into a wall or two along the way, which made them laugh, but didn't slow them down. When they reached Josh's bedroom they started undressing frantically, tearing off their clothes and letting them fall to the floor. As Donna zipped off her boots Josh rummaged in the chaos of his nightstand drawer for a condom, then pulled her down on to the bed with him, packet in hand.

He rolled her on to her back and god, he just kept kissing her, hard, persistently, urgently, like he was never going to stop, like he couldn't ever get enough, and the intensity of it was nearly overwhelming. She was almost relieved when he finally pulled his mouth from hers and turned his attention to her breasts, drawing a nipple gently between his teeth. She gasped and curled her fingers in his hair; her free hand traveled down to his hip, to the soft yet firm skin of his ass, digging into that yielding flesh.

He bucked against her and lifted his head from her breasts, his eyes glassy with desire. "I have to --"

"Yeah," Donna said. She snatched the foil packet from his hand and tore it open, removed the condom, but before she could do anything else with it he plucked it from her grasp.

"I'd better do it," he said, and she couldn't help but grin as he clumsily attempted to roll the condom onto himself while making as little skin to skin contact as possible. He really was riled up.

When he was ready, he pounced on her, grabbing her legs and forcing them up, his shoulders pressing against her calves. Without preamble he pushed inside of her, sinking in deep. A glimmer of power coursed through her veins, that she could bring him to this state; power countered by the sensation of being possessed by him so completely.

He began pumping into her immediately, fast, short strokes, a low humming emanating from his throat, his cock hot and full in a way that was becoming familiar. She braced herself and matched his rhythm as best she could, as it was choppy and fast and --

-- and he came, quickly -- very quickly -- with a high-pitched roar that trailed off into a whimper. He stayed where he was for a moment, his head bowed, breathing hard, then pulled himself out of her with another strangled moan and fell onto the mattress beside her.

Donna looked up at the ceiling.

"Sorry," Josh panted.

"It's okay," she lied.

"I've just been so...and you got me so excited..."

"It's okay, Josh," she said, as nicely as she could manage to someone who'd just had an orgasm. She watched him hop out of bed and dispose of the condom in the wastebasket. When he got back into bed he curled up on his side, adjusted the pillow beneath his head.

"I'll make it up to you," he murmured.

"Don't worry about it."

"I just..." He trailed off. Took a breath. And another. She waited for him to finish the sentence, but additional words didn't appear to be forthcoming. Finally, she turned her head to look at him.

He was asleep.

"Great," she muttered. Well, she'd known the state he would be in when she'd decided to show up here. She really had no one to blame but herself. She lay there for a little while, listening to his heavy breathing, then finally eased herself out of bed and crept into the bathroom, where she used the facilities and took off her jewelry, her watch, in preparation for sleep. Stared at herself in the mirror, decided she looked tired. Frowned at the bags under her eyes.

She sighed, wondering not for the first time just when the rest of her life would approach something resembling resolution, and returned to bed. As soon as she slipped under the sheet, Josh snapped awake with an almost violent motion. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Nothing," she said. "Just, um, went to the bathroom."

"Did I -- fall asleep?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she said for the third time that night. "You're just tired."

"Yeah." He slid his arm over her stomach and pulled her closer to him, then drew back the sheet covering her chest and began lightly trailing his fingers over her breasts, down to her abdomen, and back again.

Donna made a sound of contentment and closed her eyes. A few more moments of that gentle, whispery touch, and then he pushed himself up and covered her body with his. She felt his mouth close over her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple, his teeth nibbling gently on the hardened bud. When his hand covered her other breast she bit her lip, couldn't help a small moan.

He moved from one nipple to the other for a while, lavishing his attentions on one, then renewing his assault on the other, until she was fidgeting beneath him, her hips rising, the throbbing of her clit almost painful. Finally he abandoned her breasts, traced a slow, careful trail down her body with his mouth, bathing her hipbones, her belly button, the tops of her thighs. And then he lifted her legs, settled them over his shoulders, and pressed his mouth to her sex.

A sharp moan tore from her throat at the first flicker of his tongue against her clit. She lifted her head and watched him: his eyes closed as he concentrated on his task, his mouth working against her folds, his hands absently caressing her hips. As tension roiled through her she let her head fall onto the pillow, ran her foot up and down his back, reached up to squeeze her breast. The determined stroking of his tongue against her clit was exquisite, almost too exquisite, she couldn't take much more and -- "Oh god right there," she yelped as he hit just the right spot. He increased the intensity of his ministrations, exerting more pressure, focusing on that one sensitive piece of real estate and then oh -- "Oh god" -- she came, and god, the release of it, coming coming coming -- "Josh," she gasped, and it was the first time she'd said his name quite like that, during, and the shock of it brought her back to earth, oh god oh god oh god.

She closed her eyes, brought her hands up to cover her face, desperately drawing air into her lungs. Josh was lingering, placing soft kisses against her sex, on the skin of her inner thighs, his breath cool against her damp curls. Why had she said -- shit. It was too...vulnerable, too needy, and now --

Josh moved above her; she felt him kiss the back of her hand. "Hey," he whispered. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said hastily, removing her hands from her face. She grabbed his head, pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him hard, ignoring the taste of herself on his tongue. Josh trailed his fingers down the side of her face, and the tenderness of it scared her, made her wonder if he was doing it to make her feel better about saying his name; she responded by pushing him on to his back and reaching down to assess the state of his penis, which sounded awfully clinical, but right about now she needed to take refuge in technicalities. He was only partially erect, and so she slithered down the length of his body and took him into her mouth, sucking gently, tasting a hint of latex and salty sweetness and closing her eyes as his hands tangled in her hair.

She worked him delicately, purposefully, thrilling at each gasp and groan she elicited from him, until at last he swelled to full hardness in her mouth. She lifted her head, jaw hurting, and saw him watching her, his eyes dark. She broke the eye contact and scooted up on the bed, reached over him to plunder the nightstand drawer for another condom. (She didn't see the point in going on the pill until she figured out whether this -- whatever this was -- was going to last longer than a week.) She straddled his hips, and this time rolled the condom on herself, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as she did so. Finally she took hold of his cock and inched down onto him, wriggling and rocking until it felt just right.

Josh exhaled, gripped her thighs so hard it hurt, and bucked up into her. She bit her lip and leaned forward, her hair brushing against his chest, letting him set the pace, his surprisingly strong arms doing most of the work of moving her lower body, impaling her on his cock in a steady rhythm. Her new position translated to delicious friction against her clit, and it wasn't long before she felt her body tightening, felt that familiar churning inside of her.

"That's --" Josh gasped. They speeded up, the mattress creaking beneath them. His breathing was harsh and loud. "God, that's --" He trailed off into a groan, and she chanced a look at his face. He was staring at her, his lips parted, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, something akin to awe reflected in his expression; and she couldn't deal with it, had to close her eyes, couldn't deal with not knowing if it was her, herself, or simply the act of sex engendering such reverence in his gaze. She concentrated instead on moving with him, on the delicious heat kindling inside her, on the friction of his skin inflaming her clit - this, this, was what she had come here for -- until she climaxed again, shuddering against him, clenching her muscles around him, surrendering to the fire.

"Almost," he whispered, still pumping up into her at a frantic pace, the muscles in his shoulders bunching from the exertion of his arms. "Almost..."

Donna clenched herself around him again, and soon enough he came, too, soft, guttural moans easing from his throat. She opened her eyes to watch him come, saw his head jerk back, his face a rictus of ecstasy. Memorized the sight, in case it was the last time.

When he was finished she pulled herself off of him and lay down beside him, sweaty and satiated at last. Josh rolled over on his side to face her. A curl of hair was matted to his forehead, and she resisted the urge to brush it away.

"That was better," he murmured.

"Yeah," she said, giving him a smile.

He got rid of the condom, then got back into bed and snaked his hand behind her neck, drew her to him for a kiss. God, he was so warm -- his skin, his mouth -- he bled heat. She kissed him back, running her palm over the stubble of his jaw, then pulled away, sank back into the pillow. "You should sleep," Donna said. "You look exhausted."

"'S 'cause you wore me out," he mumbled with a dopey grin.

"Oh that's why," she said dryly.

"Mmm hmm." His eyes fluttered closed, and he reached out a hand to stroke the inside of her forearm, then let his palm rest there. His thumb caressed the pulse in her wrist, but he didn't seek anything more. She let him do it, not sure what it meant.

In the morning, she thought, as she breathed in the scent of him in the dark. She was going to have to say something, anything, in the morning.

But for now, for this moment, her blood pounded beneath his touch.

End.

"Nice yourself. You've been practicing," Josh observed. He used his forearm to wipe sweat out of his eyes.

"A little," Danny admitted. "I have more free time than you do these days."

"Everyone in the world has more free time than I do these days, with the possible exception of the President," Josh said. He grabbed the ball, aimed, shot, and missed. Shook his head. "I think I'm fading."

"Yeah, me too." It wasn't entirely true, but Josh looked wiped, so...Danny watched the basketball fall to the floor, then kicked it into the corner of the indoor court. "Let's call it a night."

"'kay. Seriously, I owe you one for meeting me this late," Josh said. He grabbed his water bottle and towel, ran the towel over his head as Danny grabbed his own water and they headed toward the gym locker room.

"I told you, it's not a problem," Danny said. "One of the perks of being a writer is setting your own hours. I'll still have time to bang out a couple thousand words before bed."

"I still have to read a foreign policy briefing before bed," Josh said sourly. "I'd be happy to trade."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Nah, I wouldn't." Josh grinned, looking twenty years younger all of a sudden. It was entirely unfair.

Speaking of younger... "Hey, how's Donna?" Danny asked. "Didn't she just get back from Kenya?"

"Yeah. She brought back more carved wooden jewelry than I thought it was possible for one woman to wear."

"That doesn't even sound like her style," Danny said.

"It's not, which is what makes it so hilarious," Josh said. "It's just going to sit around and collect dust. But if I tell her that I'll get my ass kicked."

"You know, I think I'm about to kick our own asses for talking about jewelry," Danny said.

Josh cleared his throat. "Yeah. Let's...never speak of this again."

"Deal."

Josh looked at his watch. "Speaking of ass kicking, I gotta try to get that briefing read before Donna comes over tonight. We see each other outside of work little enough as it is, if I have my nose in a file all night she'll kill me."

"I know how that goes," Danny said. He paused. "Although to be honest, with me and CJ it's usually the other way around."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least."

"Were you casting aspersions on my manhood just then?"

"Absolutely."

Danny nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

They reached the locker room and opened their respective lockers. "But since we're about to get in the shower, we should probably bring to a halt any and all discussion about your manhood," Josh said.

"You're not very secure in your sexuality, are you, Josh?" Danny said, pulling out his dopp kit.

"I'm very secure in my sexuality," Josh retorted, pulling out the last of his own stuff and slamming shut the locker. "I just really don't want to talk about your penis if I can avoid it."

"You'd be surprised how often I hear that," Danny said, deadpan, and headed for the showers.

****

"Well, this is an odd coincidence."

Donna turned to see Danny Concannon standing on line behind her at Starbucks. "Danny!" She gave him a quick hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good," he said, and he looked good. The beard agreed with him. "How are you doing?"

"Great," Donna said. "Why is seeing me a coincidence?"

"Because I was playing b-ball with Josh last night."

"Right," Donna said, remembering. "Sorry. Everything is a bit of a blur these days."

"I can imagine. Josh seemed a bit wrung out, to tell the truth."

Donna sighed. "What else is new. He's going to kill himself at the rate he's going, but every time I try to talk to him about it I sound like I'm nagging, so it's not very effective."

"I run into the same problem with CJ," Danny admitted.

"I'm not surprised."

"What is it with you two and the aspersions on my manhood?" Danny wondered.

"What?"

"Never mind," Danny said. He stuck his hands in his pockets and eyed her thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "maybe you and I should join forces."

Donna smiled warily. "What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe we should work together to arrange forced relaxation for our significant others in a setting that doesn't appear to be forced relaxation."

"I'm not following --"

"I think the four of us should go out."

Donna's brow furrowed. "You mean like a double date?"

"I mean like four adults going out for a civilized evening of socialization," he said. "A chance to relax, blow off some steam. In fact," he said, as if something just occurred to him, "I'm supposed to be picking up tickets for me and CJ to see Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? at the National Theater. How about I pick up two extras while I'm at it?"

"You're quite crafty, you know that?"

"I prefer to think of it as wily."

"Okay," Donna said. "Let's put Operation Virginia Woolf into effect. Except, wait, she killed herself. We should probably come up with a better name."

"How about just calling it next Friday night?" Danny said dryly.

Donna tilted her head. "I suppose that would work, too."

*****

"Hey, I got the tickets for the thing," Danny said. He finished chopping onions and threw them into the pot of chili simmering on the stovetop.

"For Virginia Woolf? Thanks," CJ said. She took another sip of pinot noir and leaned back in her chair, enjoying the view of her man cooking her up a meal. "Next Friday, right?"

"Yeah." Danny stirred the chili. "I got four tickets, actually."

"Four? This isn't an elaborate scheme to ambush me with your parents, is it?" CJ lived in eternal fear of just such a scenario for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.

"No, but it's interesting that that was your first irrational conclusion," Danny said. "I thought we could ask Josh and Donna."

CJ blinked. "Josh and Donna?"

"Yeah, you know, your friends, my friends. I thought maybe they'd like to come along."

"You mean like a double date?" CJ asked. She had a sudden vision of the four of them sitting in a vintage Cadillac at a drive-in movie, and shuddered.

"I mean like four adults going out for a civilized evening of socialization," Danny said. He turned from the pot to look at her. "Do you not want to? It's totally up to you. I just thought it might be, you know, fun."

Bizarre was more likely the word she would have used, but, as usual, she was helpless in the face of his enthusiasm. "It's a lovely idea," she assured him. "I'll give Donna a call tomorrow."

"Great." Danny gave her an odd smile and turned back to his chili. Inscrutable man.

****

"Josh."

"Yo." Josh shuffled a pile of folders on his desk without looking up at her.

"That's quite the professional greeting you have there," Donna said, walking over to him.

"I knew it was you," he said defensively.

"I just got a call from CJ," she said. "She and Danny want us to go see Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with them at the National Theater next Friday night."

Josh squinted at her. "Like a...double date or something?"

"Like four adults going out for a civilized evening of socialization," Donna said. She sat on the edge of his desk. "I checked your calendar, and you're free that evening. As am I."

"So you're saying that on a night when we both have off, instead of having lots of sex at my apartment we should put on uncomfortable clothes and sit through an overwritten melodrama with Danny and CJ."

"I think it would be fun," Donna said with a hint of a pout in her voice. "It's not like you ever take me anywhere."

"We just went out to dinner last night," he protested.

She gave him a look. "A burger and fries at the Irish pub around the block from your apartment doesn't count."

"Fine," he said, re-opening a file. "Let's go to the sock hop with Pinky Tuscadero and the Fonz."

"We can still have sex afterward, you know," she said as she got up from the desk and headed for the door.

"You're damn right we can!" he called after her.

****

"Thanks again for inviting us to come out with you guys," Donna said as the four of them filed into their assigned row in the crowded theater. "I can't even remember the last time I went to a play." It was all so civilized; she felt like a grown-up for a change. Even if CJ's outfit did cost twice what her own did. She smoothed her Banana Republic skirt self-consciously.

"You're very welcome," Danny said, flashing her a secretive grin.

"Wait," CJ said, from her position on the aisle, and all four of them froze in place. She looked at the seats, then at Donna. "Do we really want the two of them sitting next to each other?"

"We really don't," Donna said. She tugged at Josh's sleeve and made him switch seats so that he was on the end and she was sitting next to Danny.

"What the hell?" Josh yelped. "What do you think we're gonna do, throw spitballs at the stage?"

"In all fairness, we did do that once at a Nationals game," Danny pointed out.

Josh looked at him. "You're not helping."

"Sit," Donna said, and the men obeyed. CJ grinned and took the aisle seat. Donna sat down as well, then raised an eyebrow at Josh, who was fidgeting in his chair. "Why are you fidgeting?"

Josh jerked his head toward the man in the seat next to him. Donna peered over to see a touristy-looking type in a t-shirt and khakis -- eating what appeared to be a pastrami sandwich. And now that she could see it, she could smell it, too.

She recoiled in disgust and looked at Josh, who gave her an "I know!" face.

Well. This was unacceptable. She refused to spend a rare evening out feeling like she was in some greasy delicatessen. She leaned over Josh. "Excuse me, sir," she said sharply. "There's no eating allowed in the theater."

"Oh my god," Josh muttered, and sank further in his seat.

The man frowned, his face turning pink. "Mind your own business," he said gruffly.

"Your eating a smelly contraband sandwich in my row is my business," Donna said. "Could you please either eat it outside or throw it away?" She thought she heard Danny give an amused snort on the other side of her, but she kept her eyes on Mr. Sandwich.

"I'm gonna eat it right here," the man said, and took a big bite out of the sandwich just to spite her. The nerve.

"Then I'm just going to have to inform security and let them deal with it," Donna said with false sweetness.

The man rose from his chair. "Listen, bitch --"

"Oh-kay," Josh said, getting up and facing the man. "Either take the sandwich outside, or my friend and I will take it outside for you." He glanced back at Danny, who was still seated, and cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Right," Danny said, a beat slow on the uptake. He stood up and puffed out his chest. "It's your call, buddy."

CJ stood up, too, which, considering that she was wearing heels and was therefore taller than all three men standing, was an impressive sight of its own. Donna considered standing up as well, but decided it would be overkill. "Sir, please don't make a scene," CJ said in her best Chief of Staff voice. "Take it outside and then afterward we'll all just sit quietly and enjoy the show."

The man glared at CJ, then looked back at Josh, who was standing toe to toe with him. The man was wider than Josh, but Josh had an inch or two on him. Josh didn't blink. He did so love pretending to be macho. She had to admit that while it was a bit humorous, it was also kind of hot.

"Fine," the man finally snapped. He gave Donna a final glare and stomped away, smelly sandwich in hand.

"My hero," Donna said as Josh sat back down. "All three of you," she added.

"I was closest," Josh said, looking for credit.

"And very dashing," Donna assured him.

That mollified him a bit. "I don't know why you have to go and start scenes like that," he grumbled, but she could tell he was trying not to smile.

"We don't have to smell pastrami any more, do we?" Donna pointed out.

"Yeah, but that guy's gonna come back and I'm still gonna have to sit next to him," Josh said.

"Do you want to switch seats?" Danny asked.

"No," Josh said quickly, switching back to macho mode.

"Well, I didn't know he'd be such a jerk about it," Donna said defensively.

"Don't apologize, Donna," CJ said. "You had every right to say what you did."

"Thank you, CJ." She gave Josh a defiant look; he shook his head resignedly.

But as the house lights dimmed and the curtain pulled back, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

****

"I can't believe that guy never came back," Donna said as the four of them walked out of the theater after the show.

Josh's walk shifted to a swagger. "He knew he was outmatched," he said confidently.

"Outnumbered is more like it," CJ said.

"Yep, he was scared. Couldn't handle the competition," Josh continued with a sniff.

CJ looked at Donna. "I don't understand how you put up with that," she said.

Donna grinned. "It's a mystery to me as well."

"I'm standing right here, you know," Josh said, but he slung his arm around Donna's shoulders as he said it. She leaned into him with a smile and reached up to grab his fingers.

Sickening, CJ thought, but then, she often thought that about herself and Danny, too. Speaking of which... "You're awfully quiet," she said, giving him a nudge.

"I'm absorbing the play," Danny said. "Unlike the rest of you, I moved on from that whole pastrami sandwich thing about an hour ago."

"Well, aren't you just so much more literary-minded than the rest of us," CJ said.

"It so happens that Albee's dialogue has a cadence to it that I find stimulating," Danny said. "And," he added as CJ opened her mouth, "I know you're about to mock me, and I'm okay with that."

"You're a strange little man, Danny Concannon," she said.

"So everyone keeps reminding me."

"What's next?" Donna asked. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

"Must have been all that talk about sandwiches," Danny observed.

"What about that new place on Massachusetts?" CJ suggested.

"The bistro type place?" Donna asked.

"Yeah."

Josh wrinkled his nose. "Sounds French."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with that?"

He shrugged.

"Josh, would it kill you to eat something other than a hamburger for a change?" she said in disgust.

"It's entirely possible," he said.

"I'm willing to take that chance." She looked at CJ and Danny. "Let's do it," she said over Josh's wordless mumbled grumbling.

"Fine with me," Danny said amiably.

They reached CJ's car first; she and Danny got in while Josh and Donna made their way to Josh's car a few rows down. CJ put on her seatbelt, inserted the key into the ignition, turned it.

Nothing happened.

Her stomach sank. "Don't even tell me," she said. She tried again. Dead.

"What's the matter?" Danny asked.

"The engine won't start," she said. "It sounds like the battery's dead."

"Did you leave your lights on?" Danny asked.

"No." Wait a minute. She'd turned on the overhead light to check the best route to the theater...had she...? She looked up; it was on. Shit. "I'm an idiot," she said.

"You're not an idiot," Danny said, then jumped out of the car.

"Where are you --" She broke off when she realized he was running to catch Josh and Donna before they pulled out of the parking lot. She stayed in her seat and ran through as many insults to herself as she could come up with while the three of them converged on her car. She opened the car door a crack. "Sorry, guys," she called out. "I'm an idiot."

"Do you have jumper cables?" Danny asked. "Josh doesn't have any."

"I don't think so," CJ said. "I'll pop the trunk and you can check." She did so, waited for Danny to walk around and peer inside. But she knew there weren't any in there.

"Nope," Danny confirmed, shutting the trunk. "What's the matter with you people that you don't have jumper cables?"

"I'm from Connecticut," Josh said, as if that explained everything.

CJ got out of the car. "I don't believe this. Now what?" she asked. "Should I call triple-A?"

"And spend the rest of the evening sitting around and waiting for them?" Danny said. "No."

"Then..." CJ felt a headache coming on. She so didn't need this.

"Don't panic. Here's what we'll do," Danny said calmly. "Josh can drop us off at my place, and in the morning we'll bring my car back here and give yours a jump. It's an attended lot, it'll be okay if we leave it here overnight. We'll check with them to make sure."

"Do you guys mind?" CJ asked.

"Of course not," Josh said. "Hey, isn't there a brewpub across the street from your apartment?" he asked Danny.

"There is indeed. And they make a great burger."

"Let's do it!" Josh said, clapping his hands together.

"Unbelievable," Donna said.

****

"So then he says, 'I was referring to the prime minister.'"

Josh laughed and choked on his beer until Donna had to pat him on the back to make sure he wasn't dying. "What did you say back to him?" he finally managed to spit out.

Danny grinned. "Nothing. I turned tail and got the hell out of there."

"Sometimes the better part of valor is, you know, cowardice," CJ observed.

"That's what I'm thinking," Danny agreed.

"You've led such an exciting life, Danny," Donna said enviously. "I can't even imagine."

"Says the woman who just got back from Kenya."

"A diplomatic sortie doesn't really count," she demurred. "That was a state visit, not an adventure."

"Wasn't Gaza enough of an adventure to last you?" CJ said, then covered her hand with her mouth. "Oh my god, Donna, I'm sorry. It's the beer."

There was an awkward silence while Donna smiled stiffly. "It's okay," she finally said.

"It's not okay," CJ said. "Please forget I said anything."

"Really, CJ, it's fine," Donna said.

"It was certainly an adventure for me," Josh said, to deflect attention away from an increasingly uncomfortable Donna. "I had to have that top secret spy meeting, remember?"

Donna cracked a genuine grin at that. "How could I forget. I was convinced you were going to start an international incident," she said.

"So was Kate," he said.

"Oh, Joshua, the things Kate said about you afterward," CJ said, looking relieved at the shift in subject. "Did you really ask her if you should carry a piece?"

It was Danny's turn to choke on his beer.

"I just wanted to be prepared!" Josh said, and winced when his voice cracked.

"A piece?" Danny repeated as he gasped for air.

"What, you don't think I could have handled one?" Josh asked defensively.

Everyone at the table stared at him.

"Okay, fine," he said. "Next subject."

"I'm going to go to the ladies room before I put my foot in my mouth again," CJ said, getting up from the table.

"And I'll get us another round," Danny said. He eased himself out of his seat and made his way over to the bar.

When they were alone, Donna turned to Josh and gave him a quick kiss.

"What was that for?"

"For being sweet," she said. "That's the second time tonight you've come to my rescue."

He was the man. "I'm going to get a much longer and more pornographic thank you later, right?" he asked with an affectionate leer.

She met his gaze. "Damn straight," she said huskily.

It was really quite amazing, the way his mouth instantly went dry.

CJ returned and sat back down across from them. "Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"Not a thing," Donna assured her. "I think the next round will be our last, though. Josh has a long night ahead of him."

"Work, huh?" CJ asked sympathetically.

Donna put her hand on Josh's thigh. "In a manner of speaking."

Josh frantically gulped more beer.

****

"Well, that was certainly an...interesting night," CJ said. The four of them were lingering in a cluster on the sidewalk outside of Danny's apartment building.

"Come on, it was fun," Danny said, determined for the rest of them to admit it.

God, he really was a mother hen. His college girlfriend was right.

"I thought it was a lot of fun," Donna said loyally.

Danny smiled at his partner in crime. "Good. We should do it again sometime."

"Sure," Josh said, but he looked uncomfortable saying it. Then again, that could just be Josh being Josh. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether he was actually uncomfortable about something specific, or just discomfited by life in general.

"Maybe next time we can get mugged or something," CJ said. "Just to maintain the excitement quotient."

"Okay, so it wasn't a perfect evening," Danny conceded. "I still had a good time."

"That's sweet. You've got a good guy there, CJ," Donna said.

CJ smiled. "I do, don't I."

"Hey," Josh said, protesting.

CJ rolled her eyes. "Donna has a good guy too."

"That's more like it," Josh said.

"He's just a bottomless pit of need, isn't he?" CJ said to Donna.

She snorted. "You have no idea."

"Hey, standing right here," Josh said for the second time that evening.

"Come on, Sunshine," Donna said, tugging at Josh's arm. "Let's go home."

There was a flurry of girly kisses and manly handshakes, then Josh and Donna got in Josh's car and pulled away from the curb. Danny turned to CJ. "You did have a good time, right?" he asked.

She smiled. "I did. I really did. Despite nearly getting involved in a brawl, breaking my car, and inadvertently insulting one of my closest friends -- it was more fun than I've had in a while. So thank you, sir, for suggesting it."

"You're welcome," he said, feeling pleased with himself. "Care for a nightcap?"

"If by nightcap you mean sex, yes," CJ said, starting for the door of his apartment building.

"You're insatiable," Danny said with a grin, hurrying to catch up with her.

"Aren't you lucky?" CJ asked.

"More than you'll ever know," Danny said.

*****

"How are you feeling?" Donna asked as they entered Josh's apartment.

"What do you mean?" Josh shut the door, tossed his keys on an end table.

"I mean about tonight. Did you have a good time? Despite the near-throwdown with Pastrami Man?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess. Sure."

"Are you just saying that?"

"What? No," he said. He took a step closer to her, put his arms around her waist. "It was good. I will admit, it was kind of nice to spend an evening with people who don't want anything from me other than my stimulating conversation and boyish charm."

"Oh, but I do want something from you," Donna said. She reached for his belt buckle.

"Insatiable woman," Josh growled.

"And you love it," Donna said tartly.

He gave her a smile that she was happy to recognize as relaxed. "You know I do."

End.

When they reached his room, she opened the door for him, held it open as he stumbled inside.

"Get some sleep, okay?" she said softly. "You need to rest."

"Yeah," he said. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, looked at her with dark, bleak eyes. "I was actually hoping -- I mean -- would you stay with me tonight?" he asked. "I don't mean --" He let out the smallest laugh. "I don't mean like that, I just --"

"Of course," she said, saving him. "Let me just run back to my room and grab some things, okay?" She showed him his cardkey, still in her grasp. "I'll take this with me and be right back."

"Okay," he said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," she said, and closed the door.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the closed door of room 727, wondering what this meant. She'd spent the past 24 hours more confused than she'd ever been in her life, and this -- whatever this was -- wasn't helping. She thought -- she thought she'd figured out how to protect herself. How to protect them both. But this, this and that hug he gave her earlier, when she thought he might actually crush her ribs, that he'd never let her go, let her breathe -- they were curveballs she didn't know how to catch.

But she had to try.

So she went to her room, grabbed her toiletry bag and an oversized t-shirt, then made her way back to Josh's room, relieved not to run into anybody as she did so. She rapped lightly on the door before opening it, but there was no reply.

"Josh?" She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The lamp on the desk was the only illumination. Josh was curled up on the bed in a semi-fetal position, still fully clothed, his eyes closed.

But he stirred at the sound of her voice. "I'm awake," he murmured. "Can't sleep."

"Josh." She sighed, placed her things on the desk, and went over to him. "Come on," she said gently. He stared up at her. "You should get out of those clothes." She tried a grin. "And brushing your teeth wouldn't hurt either."

He gave her a small smile at that, and managed to pull himself up out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. While he went about whatever he was doing in there, she turned down the bedcovers and set the alarm clock on the nightstand for a few hours hence. When, she wondered, would either one of them get a decent night's sleep, ever again?

He emerged from the bathroom in his undershirt and boxers and threw his dress clothes in a heap in the corner of the room. Charming. She figured tonight wasn't the best time to give him crap about it, though, so she let it pass. "I'll be right back," she said, scooping up her things and heading into the bathroom herself.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wincing at the way the harsh light washed out her skin. It was strange to be back here, now, under these circumstances, with pain in her heart and a grieving man waiting for her in bed. This wasn't how she'd imagined election night.

Wasn't how any of them had imagined it.

She shook herself out of it, half-wishing she could be alone, to grieve in her way for a man she never knew as well as she would have liked, but had always admired with all of her heart. But there wasn't time for that, on a night like this. So she changed into the t-shirt, brushed her teeth and washed her face, went to the bathroom. Folded her clothes and left them in a neat pile on the wide counter next to the sink. Steeled herself, and turned the bathroom doorknob.

He was in bed, under the covers, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm surprised you're not asleep already," she said lightly. She left the bathroom light on, but closed the door so that it was only open a crack. "I can't remember when I've ever been so tired." She turned off the desk lamp, walked around the edge of the bed.

"I don't know if I can turn my brain off," she heard him say. "Everything keeps running in my head like -- I don't know, like one of those hamsters." She smiled at the tired metaphor. "Everything that happened today, and everything we have to do tomorrow -- although, it is tomorrow, isn't it? It's already tomorrow."

"It is," she said, slipping into bed beside him. "But you don't need to worry about that now. Right now you just need to worry about getting some sleep." She lay on her back, not touching him, unsure what to do next.

"Okay," he said, and he sounded so young. Lost. Her heart twinged. "Donna?"

"Yes?" She turned her head to look at him; he was barely visible in the dim light.

His voice was very soft. "Would it be all right if I held you?"

Her breath caught; she had to swallow around a lump in her throat. "Yeah," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He pulled her gently toward him, twisting her body so that her back lined up with his chest, then put his arm around her waist, holding her snugly against him. She felt his breath on her shoulder, the rasp of his stubble against her neck. The heat from his body bled into hers instantly, warming her from head to toe. He smelled so familiar, like deodorant and toothpaste and Josh. His hand rested just below her breasts. It was everything they didn't do the night before, and it scared the hell out of her.

"Thanks," he whispered, and she kind of hated that he felt he had to say it.

"Everything's going to be okay, Josh," she said, hoping she sounded reassuring, knowing the words were meaningless on a night like this. "Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," she added, sensing that would help.

He nuzzled against her; she could feel his stubble through the thin material of her t-shirt. "Okay," he mumbled. "I can't believe we won." Awe and sleep warred for dominance in the timbre of his voice.

"I can," she said, with his breath warm on her skin.

It wasn't until she heard him fall into the deep, heavy breaths of exhausted slumber that she finally allowed herself to cry.

End.

They stood side by side, staring straight ahead at the closed elevator doors, neither of them saying a word. Donna picked at some lint on her sweater. Josh put his hands in his pockets. His pulse thrummed in his ears.

When the elevator arrived they got in and both reached out to press the button. He pulled his hand back; she pressed the button for his floor, not hers. He raised an eyebrow.

"Your room's closer," she said, meeting his gaze.

He swallowed, blinked. "Okay."

She looked away.

Elevator Muzak rushed in to fill the silence. God, he hated Muzak.

Shouldn't he be doing something? He should probably be doing something. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye; she seemed preternaturally calm, eyes fixed on the closed elevator doors. He took a step closer to her. Wondered if he should put his arm around her shoulder, maybe. Touch her hair?

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Donna stepped out, leaving him to follow.

When they got to his room he couldn't work the damn key. He kept ripping it out too damn fast and it was possible his hands were shaking slightly and finally she took the plastic card out of his grip and smoothly slid it in and out of the slot. The light turned green, and she pushed down on the door handle, opening the door and walking inside, once again leaving him to follow.

She stood in the middle of the room, looking at him with those damn Bambi eyes. He made a pointless gesture with his arm. "Do you want anything?" he asked, knowing he didn't actually have anything. "Water, or --"

"No," she said, with that same maddening calm. She dropped her sweater on the edge of the bed, then walked over to him, deliberately, hips swaying. Put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

She kissed him and it was just as good as he remembered, just as good as the countless times he'd played back their first kiss in the rusty Betamax in his head. She kissed him and it tasted like overpriced scotch and something else, something he couldn't define but it didn't matter because god, she was kissing him, she was kissing him hard and his hands were on her waist and now her fingers were tugging at the knot of his tie.

He tore his lips from hers, sucking in air, but she didn't slow the deft movements of her fingers, sliding the now undone tie off his neck and letting it fall to the floor. She started on his shirt buttons next, and it dawned on him that he should probably be helping or reciprocating or something, instead of standing there dumbfounded, and so he tugged at the hem of her sweater and she stopped what she was doing just long enough to let him pull it up over her head, and she was wearing this white bra that made her breasts look amazing and his dick went from half-mast to fully at attention, draining precious blood from his brain, as if he wasn't lightheaded enough as it was.

Donna made quick work of his dress shirt and undershirt; then he pulled her back to him for a kiss, mostly because he wanted an excuse to run his hands over her bare torso, over the cups of her bra. Her hands traveled over his chest, skimming his nipples, making him gasp. He moved his mouth to her neck, breathing in the scent of her citrusy perfume, cupping her breast with his hand, tongue flicking over her soft skin, her hair tickling his nose, and god it felt good, but she was already hastily pulling at his belt, unbuckling it and then reaching for his zipper.

He pulled back to ask her if she was sure about all this, thinking that was probably what he was supposed to do, but when his eyes met hers all he saw there was determination and impatience and, dare he believe it, desire, and so he stepped out of his pants as quickly as he could and kicked off his shoes, ripped off his socks, while she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor and stepped out of her shoes and then she took him by the hand and pulled him down onto the bed with her, his body slamming into hers, and holy god, the feel of her long, lean body against his was like to drive him mad before this was over.

They kissed urgently, almost frantically, lips smacking, tongues searching, hands wandering, unable to get close enough, unable to feel and taste enough of each other, and when her hand pressed against the front of his boxers he couldn't help it, he let out a low moan against her mouth. He pulled away from her and started clawing at her pantyhose, jerking them down her legs, and he thought he heard something tear but she didn't seem to mind, instead she was arching beneath him, her chest rapidly rising and falling, and suddenly he had to get rid of that bra, had to see her breasts, had to feel them beneath his hands and tongue. He threw her pantyhose somewhere behind him and roughly pulled her up to him; she straddled his lap and let him fumble with the bra clasp, running her fingers through his hair while he figured it out, and when he finally managed to undo it, managed to slip the bra down her arms and toss it aside, he grabbed her right breast with his hand and covered the pale pink nipple with his mouth, sucking strongly, ardently, worrying at the hardened flesh with his teeth.

Donna gasped in what he hoped was pleasure and tightened her grip on his hair, ground her pelvis against him. He palmed her other breast, rolling the nipple under his palm, and she gasped again, may have even murmured his name. After a few more moments of sucking, teasing, kneading -- she really had spectacular breasts, just as he'd always imagined -- he lay her back down on the bed and hooked his thumbs under the sides of her underpants, pulled them down her legs. He came back up ready to kiss her again, but she flipped him over onto his back and tugged at his boxers, jerking them off him, and before he could form another thought her hand was around his cock and he may have yelped, there. She stroked him a few times, her thumb pressing against the underside of his shaft, and for a moment he was truly afraid that she was going to kill him, so he grabbed her upper arms and clumsily brought her back up level with him, smothering her mouth with his, gratified by the sound she made in the back of her throat as he did so.

He rolled them over so he was on top again, pinning her beneath him, and they were kissing so hurriedly now, so hard and fast, and he worked his hand between her legs, explored the warm folds, then slipped a finger inside of her and she moaned into his mouth and god, she was wet, and he could hardly believe that she was as turned on as he was, when his cock was so hard he thought he was going to die.

He brought both hands back up to her face and broke the kiss, looked down into her eyes. He tried to say something, anything, wondered if this moment merited some sort of --

"Condom?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have one?"

"...yeah," he said. He stumbled out of bed, picked up his pants to retrieve his wallet and the condom inside. The day he and Donna had kissed he'd optimistically replaced the one that had been in there, which to his chagrin had expired some months previous. Now he was glad he'd made the secretive and slightly embarrassing trip to the drugstore. He ripped the foil packet open as he bounded back onto the bed; she snatched it from him and proceeded to roll the condom onto him, and he proceeded to try to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. Christ.

She scooted down under him and lifted her legs, putting them up high on his hips, then grasped his cock and guided him to her opening. He pushed inside of her, slowly, feeling her muscles relax around him, taking him in. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. She clutched at his ass, presumably urging him to get on with it.

Which he did, stopping just shy of pulling out of her completely, then easing back in. She was hot and wet and fuck had it been a long time since he'd done this. She moved with him, and they quickly built up a swift rhythm, Josh pumping into her with short, sure strokes, Donna tilting her hips to him again and again, both of them starting to moan, now, moaning from effort and pleasure.

"God, Donna, I --" he panted.

She cut him off with a kiss, lifting her head from the pillow, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He kissed her back greedily, the effort slowing the tempo of his thrusts, and suddenly Donna rolled him over, his cock still inside of her, so that she was on top, again. She tore her mouth from his and twisted her hips, hard, making him groan, then undulated atop of him, working them back up to their previous rhythm, back to it and beyond.

He cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over her nipples as she rode him hard, her ass slamming down onto his thighs again and again. Her chest was flushed and her lips were parted. He ran his palm between her breasts, down to her abdomen, whispered her name.

She tilted forward slightly and he moved his hands to her hips, helping her increase the speed and strength of her movements. They were both grunting, now, grunting and moaning, the slapping of skin against skin providing an underpinning beat to their noises of exertion. "Fuck," he muttered, the feeling of her gripped around his cock almost more than he could stand.

"Harder," Donna breathed, in a voice he’d never heard her use before.

She really was trying to kill him. But he obeyed, slamming up into her with all his might, hissing at the burning wet friction as he slid deeper into her, and she started huffing out a steady stream of short, high-pitched sounds, her eyes closed in pleasure. Josh cupped her breast again, the pale skin now slick with sweat, toying with her hardened nipple, twisting it between his fingers.

Donna's head tipped down, her hair obscuring her face, and she was still emitting these hot, mewling cries, and he was pretty sure she was close to coming.

He really, really hoped she was close to coming, because he sure as hell was.

Hold on, he told himself. Just a little longer...he attempted electoral math in his head as a distraction, focused on the pain in his straining thighs, anything. Crap, it wasn't working...this could be bad --

"Oh my god," Donna suddenly yelled, and yelled it again, and holy mother of -- her muscles were clamping around him, milking him like a fucking cow and "Oh my god," and it was him yelling it, this time, and it was like his entire body was on fire and he jerked up into her like a fucking madman and there, fuck, yesyesyesyes.

When they were both finished he grasped the edge of the condom and pulled carefully out of Donna, who inelegantly fell onto her back next to him, breathing hard. He remained immobile for a few moments, catching his breath, drifting back to earth, then raced to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

"That was amazing," he said when he climbed back into bed beside her.

"It was," she agreed. She pulled the covers up over her chest, gave him a smile, but didn't offer anything else.

He narrowed his eyes at her. She wasn't just saying that, was she? He was pretty sure all that moaning and screaming had been the real thing. So why was she --

Cuddling. That was the answer. Women loved cuddling. Right?

He put his arm around her waist and kissed her shoulder, all set to snuggle in.

"We should probably get some sleep," Donna announced. "6 AM staff. Big day tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah," he said, pulling back from her. "Okay."

"Good night," she said brightly, and rolled away from him, gathering the covers around herself.

"Night," he said, by this time completely confused. He stared at her naked back for a while -- it was a very nice naked back -- and then rolled over himself, trying to get comfortable, hugging his pillow instead of Donna, wondering how in the hell he was ever going to get any sleep.

End.

Clad only in boxers, lounging on the bed, looking quite delectable, but doing actual work work, not, you know, working to give Donna her third orgasm of the night or something, which was really the only type of work that should be allowed in bed as far as she was concerned.

After all, she'd had a fairly rough day in the west wing herself, and if at the end of it she just wanted to go home and make sweet sweaty love to her man, wasn't she entitled?

Seriously. It wasn't as if he wouldn't enjoy it, too.

Donna rooted through her lingerie drawer, hoping that would catch his attention, but he remained focused on whatever briefing he was reading instead of Donna's dilemma over pale blue satin or black lace.

Black lace, then.

She sauntered over to the bathroom, glancing back once to see if he was admiring the sway of her hips. Nope.

Really, something needed to be done.

In the bathroom she changed into the stretchy black lace teddy and even put on the matching thong, which was uncomfortable (and too tiny to adequately sew her name into the back) but sure to attract attention. She checked herself in the mirror, tried to poof up her hair a little, but eventually resigned herself to nature. She looked pretty good regardless, her nipples faintly showing through the lace, her skin creamy white against the black. Not bad. I'd have sex with me.

Focus, Donnatella. She walked over to the doorway of their bedroom. "Josh," she purred. At least, she hoped it sounded vaguely cat-like.

"Yeah." He didn't even look up.

She sighed, walked over to the bed, stood at the foot of it. "Josh," she repeated.

"Yeah," he said again, but this time he did look up at her. "Whoa," he said.

"Indeed."

"It's not some kind of anniversary, is it?" he asked, eyebrows high up on his forehead.

"No, Josh, it's not an anniversary of any kind," she said. "What are you reading?"

He ducked his head sheepishly. "Briefing on troop movements in Kazakhstan," he said. "You know I have to work twice as hard on this foreign policy stuff."

"You're better at it than you think," she said.

"That's reassuring, since I couldn't possibly be worse."

"Why don't we talk all about it over breakfast," Donna cooed. Or as close as she got to cooing. She pulled the papers from his grasp and placed them neatly on the bureau, noting disapprovingly that he didn't bring home a manila folder to contain it all. She really needed to set up a better in-home filing system.

Focus.

"Donna --"

His protest was only half-hearted, and they both knew it. "Breakfast," she said firmly. For good measure she gave him a solid view of her thong-clad behind.

He gulped. "Yes ma'am."

She got up on the bed, straddled his waist. He ran his hands over her hips and looked up at her with that dopey grin he displayed whenever he knew he was about to get some. He really was lucky she found that endearing.

She bent her head down to his for a kiss, cupping his face in her hands, rubbing her fingers over stubble, and felt a sudden pang. He worked so hard -- they both did -- and was often so tired. Maybe this was a mistake.

"Are you sure this is all right?" she blurted.

He blinked at her. "Are you kidding me?"

"I don't want you to be unprepared --"

He cut her off with a kiss. His hands reached up under her teddy, smoothed over the skin of her ass. "Believe me when I tell you there's nothing I'd rather be doing right now," he rasped against her lips.

She smiled. "Okay. I'll do my best to make it worth your while."

"I'm looking forward to that."

They grinned at each other, then kissed some more, hands searching, breathing quickening. Josh tugged at her teddy and pulled it up over her head, leaving her only in the thong, and Donna wondered, not for the first time, why she even bothered with nice things in the first place. But when he took her nipple into his mouth, all internal complaint evaporated.

She let him suckle there for a long moment, her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation, the sounds of his mouth opening and closing over her breast. But then she opened her eyes and pulled away from him, pushed him onto his back, and proceeded to return the favor.

His breath released in a slow hiss when her lips latched on to his left nipple. She took the small nub between her teeth and nibbled gently, then swirled her tongue around the pinkish flesh. Josh reached down to cup her breast, squeezing it lightly in time with the movements of her tongue.

Donna pulled away from him, swept her mouth down the center of his chest, the tang of salt on her tongue. His breath hitched when she pulled off his boxers; a moan escaped when she grasped his now-erect cock in her hand.

Donna ran her tongue up and down his shaft, then circled the head, lapping at it, placing soft kisses around the ridge, enjoying the taste of him, the feel of his hard, velvety flesh yielding beneath her. Then, another moan from Josh when she took him completely in her mouth, running her tongue against the underside of his shaft, pulling up and sucking softly, then sinking down again.

"God, Donna," he muttered, and she felt his hand smooth her hair, push it away from her face so he could see her better. She cast her gaze over at him; he was propped up on his elbows, his lips parted, his eyes very dark as he watched her. She cupped his balls, and was rewarded with a thready groan, his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling back.

She moved her hand back to his shaft and began stroking it in rhythm with her mouth, moving a little faster, sucking a little harder, and by the time he groaned her name again her jaw was starting to hurt. Luckily he groaned yet again, followed by "Now, Donna...now," and she released him from her mouth, placing one last gentle kiss on the now-shiny tip before letting go of him completely, the slightly curved shaft bobbing away from her.

He pulled her back up toward him and kissed her hard, his hands tangling in her hair, then sliding down to cup her ass, tracing the line of her thong. "I love you in this," he whispered.

"I know," she said, nipping at his jaw.

"But I'm going to take it off you now," he added.

She smiled and let him flip her on to her back, then watched as he tugged at the small bit of material, pulling it down the length of her legs and throwing it aside. His hand covered her sex; his mouth closed around the tip of her breast. He teased her like that for a few moments, suckling, stroking, bringing her to the edge of arousal; then he lay down beside her and caressed her hip, silently urging her to get on top of him once more.

Which she did, straddling him easily, grasping his cock and sinking slowly down onto it until it felt right. They began moving together, unhurried at first, her hips twisting, his cock thrusting, his hand on her breast, her palms flat against his chest.

"This is so much better than work," he panted.

She laughed, then leaned back, putting her hands on his thighs; he gripped her hips. The rhythm increased as he jutted up into her faster and faster, her ass slamming down onto him again and again; and he felt so good, so hot, so full. She closed her eyes and started playing with her clit, knowing this wouldn't last much longer, and sure enough a moment later she heard "OhgodDonnafuckDonna," and he pumped into her frantically once, twice, three times, before spilling inside her in a hot rush. She stroked her clit harder, feeling the pressure build, Josh's cock still twitching inside her, and then heard him whisper, "Come on, come on," and his hands were on her breasts, twisting her nipples, and she stroked faster and harder and right there --

"Oh --" And she came, high-pitched sounds escaping her throat as she contracted around him. When it was over she stayed frozen in place, gasping for air, trying to think clearly again.

"Come 'ere," he murmured, pulling her back down to him. They kissed, slowly, taking frequent breaks for air, still breathing hard. Finally he slipped out of her and she rolled over to nestle in beside him. He wrapped his arms around her, pushed her hair out of her face, brushed his fingers down her bare back.

"So that was nice," he said conversationally.

"I thought so." She ran her hand over his bicep. Very nice.

"I'm -- sorry I was working in bed," he said quietly. "I know that makes you crazy."

"It's okay," she said, trailing a finger down his nose, over his lips. "It's just -- we already work together. And sometimes I feel like we need someplace that's just ours, just you and me. Just this," she said, giving him a quick kiss, "and not...troop movements in Kazakhstan."

"I know," he said. "And I'm not...you know, I think my record is clear, that I, you know, like this, much, much better than troop movements in Kazakhstan."

"Yeah, I was pretty much able to figure that out."

"And I also think you should know that I like working with you and sleeping with you much better than working with you and not sleeping with you."

"I am a fan of that as well," she said dryly.

"I'm glad we're agreed." He kissed her forehead, her lips. "Is the alarm set?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"'k."

As was their habit, she rolled over onto her side so he could snuggle up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, aligning his legs with hers. By morning he would have wandered over to the other side of the bed, but it was always nice to start out this way. "Night," he said faintly.

"Good night," she said, her thoughts already wandering to what she should wear to work tomorrow. She mentally cycled through her wardrobe, listening to Josh's breathing as he drifted off, then closed her eyes and went to sleep.

End.

He paused, looked down at her. "Yeah. Leno?"

She shook her head. "How'd it go?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the closed door of the Congressman's office.

Josh looked up and down the aisle, caught Otto's eye, told him, "Make sure the McNally call goes through," then turned his attention back to Donna. "Fine," he said. He jiggled his hand in his pocket. "He's just on edge. We all are."

"We are," she agreed. "And you look like you're about to fall over on top of everything else. Sit."

"Donna --"

"Sit," she repeated. "We're about to take off anyway." She patted the empty seat next to her.

He seemed about to protest once more, then blew out his breath and fell into the seat provided. "We're late," he said, rooting around for his seatbelt.

"I know."

"What about Leno?"

"Annabeth and I decided to take a catnap and regroup later. We were at the point of considering Leno in tights."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like it would be good for anybody," Josh mused.

"Exactly. So. How did it go in there?" she asked again, more gently this time.

"I told you, it went fine." He bobbed his knee up and down, rubbed his eyes. "He just needed a nudge back in the right direction," he said. "Back to what will make a difference in the next 48 hours and what won't."

"Like wearing tights on national television."

"Yeah."

She eyed him thoughtfully. He seemed older, these days. Older and wiser and she hadn't truly expected that to happen, not to this extent. She was glad to be wrong. "He needed that, Josh. You did good."

"I -- yeah. I know. I think." He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the chair. "I'm so tired," he said, as if surprised by the fact.

"You look it."

"Thanks," he said dryly. He eyed her up and down. "How come you look so good?"

"Makeup," she answered truthfully, although she was secretly pleased by the left-handed compliment.

"That seems like an unfair advantage," Josh said.

"Do you want a makeover? We have time to kill on the way to Houston."

"You really are quite the comedian," he said, mouth quirking on one side. "Maybe you should be on Leno."

"Maybe I should," she said in satisfaction.

The pilot announced they were ready for departure, and Donna uttered her ritual please God don't let us crash to herself before returning her attention to the exhausted man next to her. "You should take a nap of your own," she said. "Then you can help us with the Leno thing."

"Okay," he mumbled without argument, which meant he really must be tired.

They spent take-off in conversational silence, listening to the roar of the engines and the scattered pockets of quiet chatter surrounding them. The dim lights of the cabin and the lateness of the hour were getting to everyone, Donna sensed, in spite of all they still needed to accomplish.

Donna, for her part, could feel her eyelids starting to flutter; she glanced over at Josh, saw that his were drooping too. "Five minutes," she heard him mutter.

She smiled to herself, knowing famous last words when she heard them.

When they reached cruising altitude, Donna tentatively let her head fall against his shoulder, seeking comfort in the cushioning of his rumpled suit jacket, the warmth of his body. He stiffened at first, and she wondered if she should pull back; but then he relaxed. A moment later she felt him gingerly rest his cheek on the top of her head.

She smiled again and closed her eyes, sleep tugging at her like a siren song; re-opened them when Josh awkwardly laced his fingers through hers.

Donna tried to stay awake a little while longer, to enjoy the feel of their bodies touching, their fingers intertwined; but all too quickly she surrendered to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of Josh's breathing matching her own.

End.

Case in point: Donna had had a terrible flight back from a last-minute policy briefing in DC. First the Delta jet was delayed on the tarmac at National for over two hours, and then the beverage cart was out of Diet Coke by the time it reached her seat. How could they be out of Diet Coke? How was it possible that whoever was in charge of beverage selection didn't have the sense to stock up appropriately on one of the most popular soft drinks on the market? If Santos won the election, Donna would really have to make it a point to look into that.

This unexpected privation had made her even more grumpy than she already was, and as a result she'd snapped at the guy sitting next to her when he'd asked her her name, which was totally unlike her, and she had to blame it all on the idiots at Delta, because really, how could a woman expect to behave herself decorously under such execrable conditions? She was only human.

The cherry on top: when she arrived in Atlanta at the Peachtree Westin, where the Santos campaign was bunking for the next couple of days, it was to discover that her room wasn't ready yet, and wouldn't be for another hour. She almost cried until she realized they sold Diet Coke in the gift shop, and then everything got just a little bit better.

So she bought her soda and headed up to Josh's room instead, figuring she could hang out there until the Westin deigned to make a room available to her. It was nearly dinnertime; she half-expected him to be in the hotel restaurant, choking down sub-standard chicken marsala. But for the first time that day something went right: he answered her knock. "My room isn't ready yet," she said by way of greeting. She swigged Diet Coke.

Josh stepped aside for her, a smile on his face. It was a smile that she was still getting used to seeing; the kind of smile he'd only recently started sending her way. It sort of turned her insides into pudding. Pathetic. "Welcome back," he said. Still smiling.

"Thanks."

"They didn't have your room ready?"

She nodded. "I'm homeless for the next hour." It was probably silly that she and Josh continued to book separate rooms, but for some reason Donna just couldn't bring herself to break that last taboo. So they continued to have their own quarters on the campaign trail, even though one of the rooms usually didn't see much action during any one particular stay.

"You want to leave your stuff here for now?" he asked her.

"That was in fact my brilliant plan," she said.

"Mi casa es su casa," he said expansively. Like she wouldn't be sleeping here tonight anyway.

She let her overnight bag fall to the floor, put her Diet Coke bottle down on the desk. Turned back to him.

"Hey," she said softly, starting over.

That smile again. "Hey yourself."

He took her in his arms and kissed her; and why did it feel like it had been days, and not in fact hours, since they had last done this? She opened her mouth to his, tasted coffee and Josh. The kiss was hot and deep and wonderful, and she finally felt herself begin to relax. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, ran her tongue over his teeth. He sighed into her mouth and moved his hand to her breast --

And there was a knock at the door.

"Dammit," Josh cursed, breaking away from her. He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled his white dress shirt out of his waistband so that it covered the front of his pants, which made her smother a grin. He shot her a look that said he was well aware that she was laughing at him, then opened the door.

"Hey," Bram said. His tall frame filled the doorway. "We're all going down to dinner. You coming?"

"We'll be right there," Donna said over Josh's shoulder. The food on the plane had been lousy -- naturally -- and she was starving.

Josh made a frustrated sound that caused Bram to look at him oddly. "Yeah, we'll be down in a minute," Josh said with a sniff.

"I'll save you two seats," Bram said, as if he wanted to lock down the cool kids table in the cafeteria.

"You do that," Josh said, and shut the door.

"When this is all over," he said, turning back to her and taking her in his arms, "we're going to go somewhere private, just you and me."

"When this is over, we're going to have a country to run," she pointed out.

"Technically, not for another two months after the election," he said, resting his head against hers.

"Yes, I'm sure we won't be at all busy during that time," she said dryly.

He sighed, and his breath stirred her hair. "Yeah."

She squeezed his waist. "I'm not complaining, Josh. You know I'm not complaining, right?"

"I know." He cleared his throat, didn't look at her.

"Hey. You are all I need, Joshua Lyman," she said firmly. "Let's face it, you're actually more than I can handle."

"Many women have tried," Josh said with bravado. Then, off her look, he mumbled, "Okay, not that many women."

"Mmm." Donna smoothed the front of his shirt. "Come on, Casanova, let's go downstairs before the others start lewdly speculating on what we're doing up here."

"You say that as if it would bother me," he said.

"I assure you it's not your reputation I'm worried about," she retorted.

He gave her an insouciant grin and opened the door.

*****

Later: "Enjoying yourself?" he asked from the doorway of the bathroom.

"You bet I am," Donna said without opening her eyes. "I was fantasizing about this all during my travel odyssey through hell today." The bubbles mostly covered her up as she lounged in the bathtub, but enough skin peeked through the gaps to give him quite a show.

It was at times like this that Josh half-expected to suddenly wake up from this ongoing pornographic dream he seemed to be having.

He walked over to the tub, his bare feet cold on the tiled floor. She didn't open her eyes, but he could see a smile begin to play at the corners of her mouth. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

She opened her eyes, then, and wrapped her soapy arms around his neck. "Get in here, Casanova."

And that's when the pornographic dream Josh seemed to be having took a decidedly explicit turn.

"So where am I taking you on our private getaway?" Josh murmured sleepily some time later. Sex in the tub and then in the bed had taken a lot out of him, not that he would ever admit it aloud. He ran his fingers lightly up and down her upper arm, trailing goose bumps in his wake.

She tilted her head up to look at him. "You're acting like it's actually going to happen."

"Oh, it's going to happen," he said. "I have made a decision, Donna. And once I make a decision, it is decided. It is done." He shifted a little beneath her weight. "So what's it gonna be? Bermuda? Hawaii? Fiji? The Bahamas?"

She put her head back down and was silent for a moment. When she finally spoke her voice sounded odd. "I...don't know, Josh. I'm not crazy about any of those places, really."

"No?" He thought some more. "Aruba? Puerto Rico? Is there someplace in particular you like?" Was there a secret girly place he didn't know about?

"It's not that, it's just..." Her fingers opened and closed against his chest. "Those are all beachy places," she said.

"Yeah," he said, puzzled. He coiled a strand of her hair around his finger. "I thought that was the type of atmosphere most conducive to ravishing you all day long, but if you want to go someplace where we can do some sightseeing or something instead, that's okay too..."

"That's not what I'm saying," she said. "At least, it's not what I mean. I'm just -- I'm just not much of a beach person these days, is what I'm trying to say."

"Okay," he said. So much for seeing her in a bikini, he thought.

Oh.

Oh.

She didn't want to go to the beach because she didn't want anyone to see --

Shit.

"We'll figure it out," he said, letting the subject drop for the moment.

"Okay." He could hear a note of relief in her voice. She kissed his chest before laying her head back down upon it. "Night."

"Night," he said, but he stayed up a while longer, thinking.

*****

Donna had a feeling this was a new low. Seriously, if her father could see her now -- okay, best not to think about that, especially not now, with the handle of a vacuum cleaner digging into the small of her back.

But the utility closet at the New Paltz Conference Center? Really? "Josh..."

"No one's gonna walk in on us," he said. He nuzzled her neck, tongue flickering out to tease the skin near her collarbone.

Dammit. He knew that was going to make her weak --

She traced his ear with her forefinger, felt her nipples harden beneath her bra. She shifted against him, pulled him closer. Gripped the hard muscle of his bicep.

He lifted his mouth from her neck and kissed her hard, tongue scraping against hers --

And the door flew open.

"Oops," Bram said. "Uh, sorry. Or, you know, way to go."

"Thanks?" Josh wondered. Donna hit him in the back of the head. "Ow!"

"I was looking for a linen closet," Bram said, who didn't appear the least bit embarrassed. "Mrs. Santos wanted to wash her face in the ladies' room before she went on stage."

"Yeah, this is a utility closet," Josh said, as if that explained the entire situation. He reached for the doorknob.

"You sure there aren't any towels in there?" Bram asked as the door shut in his face.

"So going away when this is over," Josh muttered.

*****

"Election night sex is the best sex," Josh panted. He rolled off of Donna and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, still breathing hard.

"Can we have an election every night?" Donna wondered, which he took to mean that she agreed with him.

"I don't see why not," he said. "We can make up our own elections. Like...Bedroom President." Awesome.

"Kitchen King," Donna suggested.

"Bathroom Baron."

"Solarium Senator."

"Wait. I don't have a solarium."

"Yeah, you should do something about that."

"I'll get right on it." He rolled back over so he could kiss her some more (and get in a little boob action at the same time).

"We won," she said a few minutes later.

He lifted his head from her breast. "Yeah, we won." They'd been randomly repeating it to each other all night in the hopes that eventually it would sink in.

"Two months," she said with a sigh.

He swallowed. "Yeah."

*****

"So we're going away next weekend."

Donna paused in her consumption of day-old pork lo mein to give him the fisheye. "You know what I love about that? That you're telling me, instead of asking me. And by love I mean, you know, pissed."

"That's...some really interesting sentence structure you just used there, but I think you're missing the point, which is that we are going away next weekend, just you and me." He smirked, clearly proud of himself.

"I'm missing the point," she said, feeling her eyebrows go up.

"Yes."

"Okay, whatever," she said. So not worth it. "Where are we going, and why?"

"Where we're going is a secret," he said, "and why is so we can have sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"I'm pretty sure we can do that right here," she mused, and slurped up a noodle.

"Are you giving me a hard time about taking you away for the weekend?" he asked disbelievingly.

She put down her chopsticks. "I'm only giving you a hard time for being a jackass," she explained. "I'm thrilled that you're taking me away for the weekend."

"Oh." He tried to puzzle that one out, then clearly discarded the effort. "So..."

Poor thing. She got up from her chair and went over to him, straddled his lap, put her arms around his neck. "So thank you," she said. She kissed him in a way that could leave no doubts as to her gratitude.

She felt him respond immediately. He slipped his hands underneath her shirt and caressed her bare skin, and god he had nice long fingers and knew exactly what to do with them. She made a happy sound, then pulled her shirt up over her head, pleased at the way his eyes lit up when she did so.

"You give the best thank-yous," he said, staring at her black satin bra.

"I really do," she agreed, and reached for his belt buckle.

*****

"What should I pack for our mystery trip?" Donna asked, surveying the contents of her closet.

"I don't know," he said. He was lounging on her bed in a t-shirt and boxers and doing the New York Times crossword puzzle, which reminded him of Leo, which was both a good and a bad thing. He tore himself away from it long enough to suggest, "Clothes?"

"Really? 'Cause I was planning on just walking around naked," she said, whirling to look at him.

"I would have no problem with that," he said. "What's a three-letter word for food scrap?"

"Ort."

"Thanks."

Pause.

"Josh," she whined. "Give me a hint. Warm or cold? Casual or formal? Preppy or trendy?"

He didn't understand that last one, so he ignored it. "Casual," he said, giving in a little.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Do I have to pack a bathing suit?"

"You don't have to do anything," he said reasonably.

"I don't know if I even own one anymore," she warned him. "It's been so long since I've worn one."

"Then don't worry about it," he said. "Just pack whatever. I don't plan on you being clothed all that much anyway."

"You act like you don't already get to see me naked more or less whenever you want," she pointed out.

He looked up from the crossword. "'More or less?'"

"You wanna test it?"

"No," he said hastily. "Besides, vacation nudity is different."

"Did you just say 'vacation nudity?'"

"Why do we keep repeating each other's sentences?" he wondered.

She blew out a loud breath and turned back to her closet. "So not seeing me naked tonight," she mumbled.

Oh really. "I know a challenge when I hear one," he said, and put aside the crossword puzzle.

*****

It wasn't until they checked in at the airport that he finally had to cop to where they were going.

"New York?" she said when she saw the tickets. Her eyes sparkled, and his stomach sank. "We're going to New York?"

"Well --" he began.

"Are we staying somewhere exciting?" she asked, plowing right over him. "Are we going to a Broadway show? You know I've always wanted to go to one --"

"We're not going to the city," he interjected.

"But --"

"We're going to New York state, not New York City."

Her brow furrowed, and he could practically hear the two words that popped into her head: New Paltz.

He panicked. "Hamptons," he blurted.

"What?"

"We're going to the Hamptons."

"Oh." She processed that for a moment. "Isn't that a beachy place?" she asked suspiciously.

"Trust me," he said. He put all the reassurance he could into his gaze.

Worked every time. "Okay," she said. She looked down thoughtfully at the ticket in her hand, but didn't say anything further.

*****

Upon arrival at JFK they rented a car, a snazzy red Mini Cooper that turned Josh into a complete car geek. She hadn't realized he could drive shift -- for some reason, she wouldn't have thought it of him, probably because even though he displayed the typical male predilection for drooling over cars, his innate ineptness with most things mechanical would seem to preclude any facility for...what was her point again? Oh. The point was, she was kind of impressed. Josh, for his part, was so giddy that he seemed to take actual pleasure in navigating the insanity that was the Long Island Expressway, so long as he was doing it from behind the wheel of the red Mini.

Eventually they got off the LIE and headed toward Southampton, and after minimal bickering over the directions Josh had scrawled on a piece of yellow legal paper, they found themselves on a secluded street, intermittent homes scattered far enough apart to provide the utmost privacy. Large, sprawling, imposing homes. Old money homes. Donna chewed on her lower lip.

"I think this is it," Josh said suddenly. He made a left at a freestanding white mailbox.

They pulled up the winding drive to a large Dutch colonial with white clapboard siding and royal blue shutters. It didn't look to be an inn, or even a bed and breakfast, as Donna had suspected, but a private home. "Josh...what is this place?"

He shut off the ignition and undid his seatbelt. "It's owned by Ralph Goodman at the D-triple-C. He was looking for a way to thank me for winning the election, so I suggested we be his houseguests for the weekend. The catch is, we're the only ones here. Guess we'll just have to find a way to amuse ourselves." He waggled his eyebrows at her and got out of the car.

Donna opened and closed her mouth a few times, then finally undid her seatbelt and disembarked as well. "Is that ethical?"

"I think so," Josh said with a shrug. "We're not getting any monetary gain out of it, and neither is he. If we weren't here, the house would just go unused. No harm, no foul." He unlocked the trunk and pulled out their bags. "Wanna go check it out?"

"Yeah," she said. If the inside was half as nice as the outside... She followed Josh up the walk and waited as he fished a key out of his pocket and inserted it in the front door lock.

"After you," he said, and pushed the door open wide.

She stepped through and found herself in an intimate foyer that led into an airy living room appointed with plush white loveseats and a mahogany coffee table polished to a reflective gleam. Wide windows on one side looked out onto Agawan Lake. Beyond a wooden arch that divided the living area she glimpsed a more casual room with lounge chairs, a widescreen TV, and built-in shelves overflowing with books.

"Not bad, huh?" she heard Josh say behind her.

"Not bad," she agreed.

"Kitchen's back this way."

She followed him down a short hallway to a spacious kitchen with white wood and chrome accents, dominated by a glass dining table with chrome-finished chairs. It was an interesting mix of traditional beach chic and modern minimalism, and somehow it worked. "You're not expecting me to cook, are you?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the stainless steel appliances. She supposed that if you were going to cook, this would be the place to do it, but...

"Are you kidding?" Josh snorted, in a way that made her wonder if she should be offended. She wasn't that bad. "Although..." He opened the refrigerator to find someone had stocked it with cheeses, fruit, a couple bottles of local Riesling. "Plenty for snacking."

"Great," she said, feeling a little like Cinderella discovering she can go to the ball.

"Ready for the best part?" he asked.

The eagerness on his face made her smile. "Sure," she said. She let him take her by the hand and lead her outside to the large backyard, bordered on two sides by leafy trees and on the third by the lake, dark blue in the sunlight. And there, before them, was the most beautiful in-ground pool she had ever seen; inset into a mottling of different colored stones, and with deep gray cement walls that gave it the appearance of a Zen rock garden. Free-standing heat lamps lined the entire perimeter of the pool and adjacent patio, so that you barely knew it was November outside. "It's amazing," she said, not sure why he was so excited about it.

"And heated. And completely secluded," he said. He took off his sunglasses and looked into her eyes. "I thought -- I thought that you'd feel comfortable swimming here. Not like -- not like a crowded beach. Just you, me, and the trees. You know?"

Oh.

Oh.

It hit her, the reasoning behind this locale, and the effort that he went to in order to make it happen, and -- "I love you," she said without thinking.

He blinked. "That's good, right?"

She smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. "It's good," she told him, and kissed him to prove it.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit, though, remember?" she said when their lips parted.

"That's why we're going shopping next," he said, starting back for the house.

She raced to catch up with him. "You mean I'm going shopping, right? You hate shopping."

He stopped, looked at her. "In what universe do you think I would not want to watch you try on bikinis?" he said, and his voice went up a little at the end, there.

She grinned. "Do you really think they'll let you come in the changing booth with me?"

Dimples flashed. "I'd like to see them try to stop me."

*****

Later, when they returned from buying Donna swimwear and picking up takeout from a local cafe for dinner, they sat and ate at the patio table outside, luxuriating under the heat lamps, chatting easily and watching the sun set off the water.

They had just finished off the lemon tarts they'd bought for dessert when Josh's cell phone rang. "It's the Congressman," he said apologetically, before opening the phone. "'ello. Yeah. Uh huh." He got up out of his chair and wandered off. Donna began clearing the table, knowing the phone call could take a while. Josh appeared to be arguing with Santos about a cabinet appointment -- probably McCulskey, since the two of them had also been discussing it the previous night. She managed to completely clear off the table and start on the dishes by the time Josh was done with his conversation.

"Sorry about that," he said, joining her in the kitchen. "I told him not to call unless it's an emergency, but with the mood he's in right now, everything is an emergency."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Was it about McCulskey?"

"Yeah." He leaned against the kitchen counter. "Except now he's talking about Wallingford, instead."

"Brooke Wallingford?"

"Yeah. An extremely pregnant Brooke Wallingford."

She raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to being just slightly pregnant?"

"You know what I mean."

"That depends. Are you saying you don't want her to be Secretary of Health and Human Services because she's about to have a baby?" Donna asked. "Because I know that can't be what you mean."

"It's not what I mean, but you have to admit, the timing sucks." He drummed his fingers on the granite countertop. "She'd essentially be off the job for three months."

"That's assuming she takes that much time off, first of all, and second of all, so what?" Donna said. "The Family and Medical Leave Act was put in place for a reason, Josh. Besides, I'm sure she'll stay in the loop, and she'll have good people under her taking care of things, and it's only twelve weeks. Twelve weeks out of four years."

"During the first term," Josh persisted. "Overlapping with the first hundred days of the administration. Like I said, the timing couldn't be worse."

"Well, I guess she didn't take your political priorities into account when she got pregnant," Donna sniped. She turned the kitchen faucet back on and washed her hands. "Don't worry, Josh, when I decide to get pregnant I'll be sure to consult you first." She turned off the faucet and reached for a dish towel and had she really just said that? She looked warily over at him.

He was gaping like a fish out of water. Yep, she'd really just said it. "When?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "When?" he repeated, his voice at a more normal register this time.

She rolled her eyes. "It was just a hypothetical, Josh. Forget I even said anything."

"It's just --" Of course he was ignoring what she just said, when did he not ignore everything she said? -- "You want kids?" he said.

"I...yeah, I guess so. What would make you think I didn't?" she said.

"Well we've never talked about it, so how would I know either way?" he yelped.

Panic fluttered in her chest. "Are you saying I don't seem maternal? Oh my god, Josh, are you saying you think I would make a bad mother?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Because I did kill that plant that one time, you know, and I never really fed my roommate's cats, I mean I liked them well enough but I left the caretaking to her, I just didn't think it was my place, and --"

"Donna, I think you would make a great mother," he said.

She stopped and took a breath. "Really?"

"Of course you would," he said, as if it were a given. "You've already got the whole bossy thing down, which is pretty much half the battle."

"Right," she said, ignoring the left-handedness of the compliment. "Thank you."

"And I'd like to think I'd make a good father, but --"

"So you're assuming you'd be the father of my hypothetical child?"

His jaw dropped, then he realized she was teasing him, and grinned. "Cheeky of me, isn't it?"

"Just a bit," she said with a nod, "but luckily I like that about you."

The grin widened, then faded. "But seriously, Donna, is this something we should talk about? Like, more than we're talking about it now? And, you know, soon? Because I hadn't considered all that happening for a little while yet."

She walked around the curve of the counter so she could put her arms around his waist. "We should talk about it," she said, "but we don't have to do it tonight if you don't want to."

"Okay," he said, and she could feel him relax beneath her touch.

"I guess there are still things we need to learn about each other, huh," she said, her chin on his shoulder.

"It's weird, isn't it?" he said. He ran his hands over her lower back. "We've known each other for years, but..."

"But it's different now," she finished for him.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of that --"

"Mmm?"

He pulled back just enough to tilt her chin up, then kissed her, cupping her face with his hands. She returned the kiss, letting herself get lost in it.

"Let's go upstairs," she whispered against his lips.

Everything else could wait.

*****

Josh stripped off his shirt, shucked his flip-flops, and dove headfirst into the pool.

The water was warm, obviously, but still refreshing. Comforting, too. He swam to one end of the pool, touched the side, and surfaced.

He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the side of the pool, letting the sun beat down on him. The heat lamps were turned up high to simulate warm weather as much as possible, but there was still a cutting of cool air that raised gooseflesh. It felt good, though; he wasn't complaining. He hadn't put on sunblock yet, which he knew was probably a mistake, but the water had looked so inviting that he couldn't resist jumping in immediately. Besides, he'd rather wait for Donna to arrive at the pool so she could apply his sunblock for him; wasn't that supposed to be one of the unspoken side benefits of being in a relationship? He was pretty certain that was the case.

As if on cue, Donna emerged from the house, wearing a knee-length, nearly sheer white tunic over a pale blue bikini. When they'd been at the swimwear shop, she'd actually tried to buy a one-piece, but Josh had persuaded her otherwise. Now, looking at the hesitant way she approached the edge of the pool, he wondered if that had been the right decision.

"Water's great," he said, hoping he sounded encouraging. "Nice and warm."

"Uh huh," she said doubtfully. She walked over to a dark green chaise longue and dumped her beach towel and a bottle of SPF30 onto it. She fingered the edges of her cover-up, but didn't remove the garment.

Josh swam over so he was closer to where she stood. "Donna."

"What." She didn't look at him.

"I've seen you naked, you know. It's just me."

She looked heavenward, shook her head irritably. "I know. I know I'm being stupid. It's just..."

He didn't push her to elaborate; just watched, and waited. He had been there himself, knew the terrain. In the end, she had to do it on her own.

She stood still for a moment longer, then closed her eyes and took one deep breath. Finally she lifted the edges of the tunic and pulled it over her head. Josh flicked his eyes over the crisscrossing of scars that marred her chest, trailed down her leg. The tissue was white and shiny in the sunlight.

"You look hot," he said, trying to get a reaction from her.

It worked; she grinned, then picked up the bottle of sunblock. "You didn't put on any of this, did you."

Back to her old self. He shrugged. "I'll be okay for a little while," he said.

"Didn't you end up with sun poisoning the last time you said that?" she asked.

Well. Technically. But really, who put on sunblock just to go sailing? Sam hadn't warned him about that possible side effect. Like Josh was supposed to just know these things.

"At least put some on your shoulders, and your face," she persisted.

"Come on in and do it for me," he said, and pushed back from the side with his feet. He floated out into the center of the pool.

Donna rolled her eyes, then stepped down onto the first stone stair that led into the water.

Donna rolled her eyes, then stepped down onto the first stone stair that led into the water. "It’s hot," she said in surprise. She kept walking in, but didn't completely submerge, merely sank in to her shoulders, holding the small plastic bottle up out of the water.

"It feels good," Josh said. "You need to go completely under to get the full effect."

She shot him a look, but continued to make her way over to him. He stood up and allowed her to smooth sunblock over his shoulders, down his arms, on his upper chest; then he took the bottle from her and quickly slathered some on his face. "Happy?" he asked.

"Ecstatic."

Josh threw the bottle of sunblock back in the general direction of the chaise longue.

Then he dunked her.

"You jerk!" she sputtered, coming up for air.

"Doesn’t that feel better?" he asked innocently.

She lunged for him, but he darted out of reach, swimming freestyle to the other end of the pool. She came after him, surprisingly fast, and he kept up the chase for a while longer, almost making it to the ladder before she grabbed his legs and pulled, hard, sending him under. He resurfaced and splashed her; she splashed right back. "Truce!" he yelled.

She was laughing by this time; at his plea, she stopped splashing and jumped into his arms instead, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Holding her was made easier by the water; he said a silent prayer of thanks for buoyancy. He floated them over to the side of the pool and pulled her head down for a kiss. Her hands were cold against his face, but her lips were warm, and her thighs were snug around his hips at just the right angle. They kissed and kissed, slowly, thoroughly, the cool breeze off the lake cutting through the heat, playing across their exposed damp skin.

He cupped one breast, ran his thumb over the hardened nipple through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. She shuddered against him. "You're beautiful," he told her.

"Josh," she said, embarrassed.

He ran his hand over scar tissue. Skimmed the waistband of her bikini bottom. Heard her breath hitch.

Then she disengaged from him and propelled herself backward, tunneling through the water.

"Hey!" he yelped.

She grinned at him. "Plenty of time for that later," she said. "I want to go swimming."

"I sense another dunking in your future," he warned her.

"You'll have to catch me first," she said.

It took a while, but he did.

*****

The air smelled of salt and fish and expensive perfume. Donna wondered if there was nothing some well-placed heat lamps couldn’t do, then took another sip of Pinot Grigio and tried to make a selection from the intimidating menu resting on the table in front of her. After spending the day at the pool -- and indulging in some extracurricular activities afterward -- she was starving. Her hunger was making choosing all the more difficult, because just about everything sounded appetizing. "What are you getting?" she asked Josh, hoping his answer would help her decide.

"I'm not sure," Josh said.

He was wearing sunglasses against the piercing rays of the setting sun that reflected off the water. His khakis looked regulation Hamptons, but the light plaid shirt over a gray t-shirt, not so much. It amused her endlessly that he always seemed to not quite fit in whenever he was dropped into affluence. She felt fairly insecure in her own teal GAP sweater and black peasant skirt, herself, so she supposed they made an appropriate pair.

"What about the lobster?" he asked, snapping her out of her covert assessment of their respective attire.

"What about it?"

"Do you want to split the lobster special for two? Swanky place like this, I'm guessing it's pretty good."

"Sure, Josh, I would love to eat the lobster. It's the dying afterward that might be a problem," she said.

His head jerked up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm allergic to shellfish," she said. "Have been my whole life. Well, I didn't actually know that I was until I was thirteen, but I'm assuming I was allergic before that, even though I never subjected it to empirical testing."

"You're allergic to shellfish?" he said stupidly.

"I'm allergic to shellfish."

"Why didn't I know that?"

Because you didn't really start paying attention to me until I let you sleep with me? she thought, but swallowed the unexpected surge of bitterness. "I guess it never came up. Maybe if you had taken me out to a nice restaurant once in a while..." She tried to make it sound jesting, but it didn't quite work.

"Yeah," he mumbled. She couldn't see his eyes through the sunglasses, but she had a feeling he was currently staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head. "That's...so weird that I didn't know that." It gratified her that he at least seemed to be bothered by the fact.

"It's not that weird," she said softly.

He didn't say anything for a moment. The evening breeze stirred his hair. Someone at the table next to theirs asked for the check.

"You're right," Josh finally said. "It's not. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said with a shake of her head. "That was then, this is now, and any other platitude about time passing of your choice." She was pretty sure she meant it.

He looked at her a moment longer, then cleared his throat and looked back down at the menu. "The duck sounds good," he said, a hint of flatness in his voice.

"Duck it is," she said, and reached for her glass of wine.

*****

When they got back to the house that night, he accosted her almost as soon as they were through the door, pushing her up against the wall in the foyer and crushing her mouth beneath his. His hands were everywhere, seeking, caressing. His breath was hot on her neck. And then he was dropping to his knees, reaching beneath her skirt and tugging down her underpants.

She realized he had something to prove; she let her head fall back against the wall and let him do it.

After all, this was something he knew very, very well.

When his tongue made initial contact with her clit, she couldn't suppress a moan. He didn't let it distract him; just kept up a maddeningly slow pace, his head bobbing beneath her skirt, his lips and tongue teasing her, tracing the lines of her sex, searching, probing. She gathered the loose material of her skirt, lifted it so she could watch him. His eyes were closed as he worked her, his tongue darting out, lapping against her.

"Josh..." she whispered.

He opened his eyes, looked up at her, but didn't stop what he was doing. Their gazes locked.

It was too much. She came against his mouth, clutching at her skirt, almost losing her balance as the spasms overtook her. Too much, she thought. Too much too much --

"That was amazing," she gasped, when she was able to form words. Josh pulled away, and she let her skirt fall back into place. He stayed on his knees for a moment, nuzzling against her, pushing up her sweater and kissing the bare skin beneath.

Impatient, she tugged at his shoulders, willing him back up. He obeyed, and she grabbed his face and kissed him, hard.

"You like that, right?" he whispered when their lips parted. "I know how much you like that." His hands cupped her ass, caressed her hips.

"I do," she said breathlessly.

"Come on." He took her hand and led her up the stairs to the master bedroom, where they quickly undressed each other, eager to get skin to skin, and then fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. She lay on her back while he suckled at her breasts, his body hovering over hers. Every time she reached for his cock, though, he twitched away from her grasp, until she finally gave up, running her hands up and down the corded muscles in his arms instead, letting him rouse her to a fever pitch, his mouth and fingers assaulting her nipples until she thought she would burst. When he pressed a finger to her clit, she came quickly, shuddering and whimpering beneath him.

She was still twitching when he turned her over onto her stomach, got on his knees, and pulled her hips up toward him. "Yes," she whispered, almost to herself. She placed her hands on the mattress, braced herself as he entered her carefully, finding the right angle, before beginning to move in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm.

"God," she heard him say. She scrunched a wad of bedsheet in her hand. Moved with him, matching his pace. His hands gripped her hips.

"You like that too?" he rasped.

His cock was hot and hard inside of her, and her clit was already screaming for attention again. "Yes," she bit out.

"I know you do. Say it again," he urged her.

"Yes." At the word he shifted position slightly, so that his body was more in line with hers. He kept one hand on her hip and reached around with the other to cup her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

God -- She couldn't take it anymore. She lifted a hand from the mattress and pressed it to her clit, stroking in time with Josh's movements inside of her. The fluttering built in her abdomen. Almost there...

"Fuck," he muttered from behind her. His thrusts increased in tempo. "Oh god, I'm close -- Donna -- shit --" He pumped into her frantically, then spent himself inside her in a hot rush. A wordless moan escaped his throat; his arms encircled her torso with an iron grip.

Donna rode it with him, kept stroking her clit, faster and faster, until finally, yes, "Oh yes," yes, blinding release. She sucked in deep breaths, her head swimming.

After long moments of paralysis, punctuated by harsh breathing on both sides, they finally collapsed back onto the mattress in a sweaty mess. He kissed her softly, trailed feather-light fingers over her cheek.

This was the best time, Donna reflected. Quiet and safe and warm. Their mouths met in a series of small, tender kisses.

"I love watching you come," he whispered into her mouth.

Her lips curved against his. "You certainly proved that tonight."

"I wanted you to feel good," he mumbled, starting to sound sleepy.

"Then the mission was a success," she said.

"Good." He situated himself on his back and pulled her to him; she snuggled between his chest and arm, laying her head on his shoulder. Definitely the best time.

"Donna?"

"Yes?"

"You looked really good in that bikini."

She let out a surprised laugh. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. Next thing she knew, he was snoring.

She pillowed her head on his chest and went to sleep.

*****

I could get used to this, Josh thought as he set up the overpriced coffeemaker to brew. The morning sun sparkled off the lake water visible from the kitchen window. The occasional gull flew overhead, making its way to or from the ocean shore. And Donna was currently showering in the bathroom above his head, the sound of running water providing a soothing white noise backdrop to the sound of percolating coffee.

Could definitely get used to this. He was surprised that the domesticity of it appealed to him. He flipped through the Sunday Times that he'd picked up after dinner the night before while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, then took the op-ed section and a mug full of java into the living room. He got comfortable on one of the couches and settled down to a relaxing Sunday ritual of agreeing with Paul Krugman.

"Josh?"

"Yeah." He looked up from the paper to see her framed in the doorway, dressed in a pink t-shirt and jeans, wringing her hands in front of her at waist level. Her brow was drawn in that way she had when she was worried about something. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I have to talk to you," she said. She walked over and sat down next to him on the overstuffed white sofa. Her hair was still damp, and she smelled like that expensive peppermint shampoo she used. Their knees touched.

"What is it?"

"It's kind of funny, really," she said, not looking at him. "We were just talking about this, the timing couldn't be more bizarre --"

"Donna --"

"I'm late," she said. She glanced at him, then away again. "I thought I would be getting it this weekend, so I brought my next month's supply of pills with me and was going to cheat and start the new pack, but then I forgot, and...well, I never got it. I'm late. Just by a few days, but being that I'm on the pill, I'm about as regular as you can get, so I don't know, maybe it's nothing, but I was thinking maybe we could go into town and pick up a pregnancy test?" She stopped to catch her breath.

Josh for his part felt like he was losing his. His chest tightened and black spots danced in front of his eyes. "Pregnant?" he squeaked.

"Maybe. Maybe not," she said quickly. "It's entirely possible that I'm not. But we should probably make sure so we don't have to worry about it anymore. Right?"

"Right." He got up from the couch and started pacing the room, as if he were an expectant father outside the delivery room and boy was that the worst possible analogy to be thinking of right about now. "Okay," he said, trying to regain some control of the situation. "We'll go to the drugstore, and get the test, and you'll take it, and everything will be fine. Everything will be fine, because it has to be. We can't..." He steepled his fingers over his nose, drew in a breath. "We can't get pregnant right now, Donna."

"We?" she said, and he knew he'd made a mistake. "Did you develop a uterus in the last five minutes and not tell me?"

Well, there was an argument he was never going to win. Still: "You know what I mean, Donna."

"No, Josh," she said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "No, I don't."

"I mean that we can't have a baby right now. How can we have a baby right now? I didn't know that you're allergic to shellfish!" he yelled. His fingers were vibrating. Why were his fingers vibrating?

Her brow crinkled. "What does your not knowing I'm allergic to shellfish have to do with whether or not we should have a baby?" she asked.

"It has to do with my apparently not knowing you at all!" he said. He heard hysteria creeping into his voice, but couldn't seem to stop it. "I didn't know you're allergic to shellfish! I don't know your favorite color! I had no idea whether you even wanted kids in the first place, and now -- and now -- this!"

She was silent for a moment; he kept wearing tracks in the carpet, breathing hard. He chanced a glance over at her; her eyes met his, and her face softened. Her mouth quirked up on one side. "Red," she said.

He stopped pacing. "What?"

"Red is my favorite color. And -- you know that I once tried to snatch back a letter I mailed to Ilie Nastase." She got up from the couch and walked over to him. "You know that I once lost my underwear in front of Karen Cahill. You know that I have a weird sense of humor and that I too often let my emotions get the best of me. You know my mother's first name, and how I once helped put a guy through medical school because I thought he loved me. You know I...you know I have scars on my chest and leg, and that I was afraid to go swimming in public, and I didn't even have to tell you that last one. You just knew." Her blue eyes met his. "You know me, Josh," she said. "Better than you think. Maybe better than I realized."

He swallowed hard, not sure how to answer that. He decided to go with the safest response possible. "I'm sorry," he said. Then added, "I love you," making it a one-two punch.

"I know," she said, and put her arms around his waist.

"Good." He took a deep breath, drawing her in. "I'm just a little freaked out."

"Me too," she admitted. She pulled abruptly away from him. "Oh my god, Josh, what about my job?" Her arms flailed and the words spilled out of her in a rush. "The new administration is just starting! This is the worst possible timing! We'll have to hire a nanny, and maybe I can work from home, or go in once a week until --"

He heard someone snicker and realized it was him. He stopped, cleared his throat, but it was too late.

"What?" she snapped. "What's so funny?"

He didn't answer, just looked heavenward with as innocent an expression as he could manage.

"Oh," he heard her say. "Right. I...Hi, have we met?" She stuck out her hand. "Donnatella Hypocrite Moss."

"A pleasure," he said.

She closed her eyes. "I'm an idiot," she said.

"You're not an idiot. Let's just...not get ahead of ourselves yet. Either of us." He held out his hand. "Come on, Donatella Hypocritica, let's go for a drive."

She took his hand, and he wasn't sure whose fingers were trembling, hers, or his.

*****

"How long has it been?"

"Twenty seconds later than the last time you asked."

"Yeah." He sniffed, rubbed his face. "Is this the longest three minutes of your life? It's the longest three minutes of my life."

"It's the longest three minutes of my life," Donna agreed. She was sitting primly on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap. "Well, longest four minutes of my life, since peeing on a stick was no walk in the park."

"I...really didn't need to know that," Josh said.

"Too bad."

"What time is it?"

"Oh my god. You're wearing a watch, Josh."

He checked. "I think we have about thirty seconds left."

"Okay."

He whistled a formless tune off-key until she shot him a dirty look. "Sorry."

Silence.

"When used correctly, these tests are up to 99 percent accurate," Donna said. "I think I did everything right, so hopefully that probability will hold. It's almost impossible to get a false negative, so --"

"You're babbling," he said.

"It's because I'm nervous."

"I know." He looked at his watch again. "It's time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I gave it an extra ten seconds just to be safe."

"Okay." She didn't move.

He got up from the bed. "Do you want me to check it?" he asked.

"No," she said immediately. "I want to do it." She took a deep breath, then stood and walked into the bathroom.

She didn't come back right away; he didn't know if that was good or bad. "Donna?"

She reappeared in the doorway, her face expressionless. "It's a minus," she said.

"That means..."

"I'm not pregnant."

Thank god. He was almost surprised by the intensity of the relief that washed over him. He had to bend over for a minute to let the blood rush back to his head.

"Are you okay?" he heard her ask.

"Yeah." He slowly rose back up; she was standing in front of him, now, but he still couldn't read the look on her face. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I thought --"

"I'm fine," she said, with a slight shake of her head. "I'm...relieved."

"Really?"

"Really." She gave him a rueful, crooked smile. "I'm just surprised. I -- I didn't think I'd be disappointed, but I am, a little. I wasn't expecting that."

"I think that's normal," he reassured her. He examined his own feelings more closely; there was, perhaps, the slightest strain of regret, he decided. But deeper than that was the conviction that it just wasn't their time. Not yet.

"C'mere," he said. He took her hand, then sat down on the bed and pulled her into his lap, settling his head in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist. They sat like that for a while, quiet, just being with each other.

"So do I know how to show you a good time or what?" he finally ventured.

"Stop it," she said firmly. "I had a wonderful time this weekend. You know that."

"Sorry," he said. He laced his fingers through hers. "You're right. I did too. Much to my surprise, I kind of like making out with you without constantly worrying that Bram's going to walk in on us."

"That is difficult to believe," she said solemnly.

He grinned. If she was cracking jokes, he knew she would be okay. He pulled back just enough to be able to kiss her, his hand reaching up to her neck, stroking the sensitive skin gently. She made a sound deep in her throat and kissed him back, hard, cupping his jaw, trailing her thumb over stubble.

When they came up for air, she said, "Don't let this be weird, okay, Josh? Please? Nothing's changed. Right?"

"Sure," he said, but they both knew that wasn't true.

They locked gazes for a moment, then Donna broke the contact, jumped out of his lap. "Let's go swimming," she said.

"I --" He started to protest, then thought better of it. If this is the way she wants to handle it... But they'd need a little more than that to truly lighten the mood. "Okay," he said. "But this time, no swimsuits."

He was a little too pleased by the way her jaw dropped. "Josh!"

"You heard me," he said. "What's the matter, Donna? Are you chicken?" He stood up and peeled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes.

"Oh my god," Donna said. "Okay. But on one condition."

He paused in the act of unbuttoning his jeans. "What?"

She gave him a toothy smile. "You have to catch me first," she said, and ran for the door.

Always, he thought, and raced after her.

*****

They got back to Josh's place late Monday night, slightly sun burnt and tired and lost in their own thoughts.

"Back to reality," Josh said as they dumped their stuff in the living room.

"Reality's not so bad," Donna said philosophically.

"Yeah." Josh scrubbed a hand through his hair and glared at the blinking light on his answering machine. "I should listen to those."

"I should listen to mine, too," Donna said, taking her cell phone out of her purse.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Although...later is good too," Josh said.

"I like later," Donna said with a nod.

Josh's cell phone rang. "Dammit." He pulled it out of the front pocket of his backpack; checked the caller ID. "It's the Congressman," he said.

His eyes were apologetic, but she could tell he was actually dying to take the call. "Take it," Donna told him. "I'll check my messages after all."

"Thanks," he said, and hit answer. "Hello, sir. Yeah." He turned so that his back was to her.

Donna opened her own cell phone and was about to hit the voicemail button when she heard Josh say "Wallingford." Her thumb hovered over the keypad without descending.

"So I think maybe she's the right choice after all," Josh was saying. "Yeah. Well, the timing does suck, but it's only three months out of four years."

Donna rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she did so. Men. Well, her man, anyway.

"Interesting conversation," she said when he hung up.

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah."

"You changed your mind about Brooke Wallingford, I take it?"

"Well." He fiddled with his phone. "This weekend may have engendered a slight shift in my priorities," he said.

"Josh..." Say it, or not? Say it. "You shouldn't base cabinet appointments on what you think is going to impress me, you know."

His eyebrows shot up. "I'm not! Seriously, I'm not. It was my decision," he said firmly.

"Okay." She put her phone back in her purse. "And yet, it worked, because I totally want to have sex with you right now."

"That's because women find power to be an aphrodisiac," he said smugly. "Happens all the time."

She shook her head. "You are so lucky I love you," she said.

He smiled that smile, the one that turned her insides to pudding. "I know."

She crooked a finger at him. "Come on, Casanova," she said. "Let's go do things to each other that are illegal in about half of the states we now govern."

"So lucky you love me," he said, starting for the bedroom.

She opened her mouth to make a tart retort, but couldn't, suddenly. "We're both lucky," she said instead.

Josh stopped and turned to look at her. "I know," he said. "That's what makes it so great."

He held out his hand; she took it. Then they walked into the bedroom, together.

End.