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 f