Chapters: 001 Word Count: 3535
Character(s): Josh Lyman, Donna Moss
Episode(s): 7-16 Election Day
Crossover Shows: - No Show -
Summary: Post ep to Election Day 1. Josh reflects on the happenings of the day.
I don’t understand women.
I’ve always known this, but never worried about it. Because… well, I guess because I always assumed there was one woman I did understand. But now, as I near the end of this very long day, I can say with complete certainty that I was incorrect in that assumption.
All of this started late last night when Donna blatantly offered to sleep with me. This came in the form of a few sultry looks and some leg crossing that could put Sharon Stone to shame. Now, I had just asked her if she’d ever had a campaign fling, to which her answer was no. And thank goodness for that, because the last thing I need to be focusing on is who in the hell thought it was ok to sleep with Donna when I’ve always sent out very clear ‘don’t you dare sleep with Donna’ signals. I digress.
So, I’d just asked Donna if she’d ever had a campaign fling and she hadn’t. Then I suavely asked if she’d like another drink, but she looked me straight in the eye and said no, leading me to believe that what was about to happen had nothing to do with alcohol or a campaign fling. Because if she’d never had one before, why would she now, the night before this one’s over? So this wasn’t going to be a fling. See how clearly I was looking at things at that point?
Fast forward to the two of us miles apart on a queen-size bed in my hotel room and me wondering why the hell I was way over to the right when she was way over to the left… naked.
I couldn’t sleep, and I was attributing 50% of that to the fact that it was Election Day and 50% to the fact that I’d just slept with Donna for the first time. Maybe 40/60 in Donna’s favor. I’d glanced over at her very pale, very long, very naked back four times from 2:47 to 3:03am, and then, unable to stop my self, I rolled onto my back and reached my arm out, slowly, slowly, slowly… and just as my finger tips made contact with her shoulder, I freaked out and yanked my hand back, rolling quickly back onto my side as if I’d stolen a cookie off the cooling rack.
The problem was, and still is this; I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling right now. I’m pretty sure I’m not wired to deal with this many emotions at once. The joy, the satisfaction, the fear, the excitement, the panic, the completion, the anticipation, the desire… You can distribute those feelings to the election and Donna as you see fit, because I sure as hell can’t sort them out. But I am sure of this… I wanted her to wake-up and talk to me… and let me touch her some more.
A second after my failed attempt at post-sex cuddling, there was movement. The cheap bed squeaked and I remained very still while telling myself that I shouldn’t have had sex with Donna for the first time on a cheap bed in a non-descript hotel. But… the looks, the leg-crossing, the talk of campaign sex… come on, I’m only human.
The bathroom door squeaked next, and it was both my desire to see her again and my fear that she’d leave that had me up and pulling on my not-nicest pair of boxers, then grabbing my t-shirt and pulling it on as I practically ran to the bathroom to find out what happened next. Would there be more? Could there be more? Please, could there be more? I stopped at the door and took a breath, hoping things wouldn’t be awkward on the other side of that door and telling myself to play it cool. I could not act as though I was freaking out, because although I was a little, it wasn’t a bad freaking out. It was really just a ‘did this mean to you what it meant to me’ freaking out. Understand? Yeah, neither do I.
After a second, I pushed open the door and said something stupid about the time, trying not to stare at what had to be the sexiest pair of underwear I’d ever seen in my life. Really. I’ve dated a plethora of women who wore skimpier underwear than what Donna was wearing, but skimpy and sexy don’t always go hand in hand. Whereas, Donna and sexy always do.
So I was torn at that point between staring at her fairly naked body and completely deflating at the prospect of her getting dressed. Yet I stood there in my boxers and a t-shirt, so like me, maybe she just wasn’t comfortable being naked around me. But with that body, how could she not be comfortable naked? It made no sense. And this was just the first time things didn’t make sense.
After asking if she got any sleep, I told her she didn’t have to leave. Of course, what I meant was ‘please don’t leave,’ but she continued dressing, so I felt the need to clarify and tell her she that she didn’t have to sneak out. Which, I agree, might have been a low blow. But she’d started the whole thing, why was she trying to escape?
She told me that she wasn’t sneaking out, but was in fact checking the news sites for updates. I’m not sure I believed her, and called her on it, but she did have the computer on and an AP website open, so she might have been telling the truth. Plus, she didn’t leave, so… that’s got to say something. And why I keep my computer in the bathroom doesn’t really matter at this point, so we’ll just gloss over that.
But she also didn’t kiss me or lean into me or smile seductively at me like she had just a few hours before, and in fact gave me a look when I was trying to get rid of my morning breath that made me think there was no need since there’d be no more kissing, so my confusion grew. And when I came up closely behind her, wanting nothing more than to rest my hands on her hips and then glide them over her body while kissing her neck, she offered to get us some coffee. Which… was that her pointing out that our relationship was different than when we were in the White House together, so now it was ok to get me coffee, or was it a way of throwing that past working relationship in my face? Or was it just an escape? Confusion growing, see?
So I asked how she felt, because at that point I had no idea, and instead of telling me that she felt great or nervous or scared or unsure of what this all meant, she told me she wanted to win. What the hell did that have to do with anything?
Now, let’s fast forward again past the morning of strange smiles, awkward talks, and me calling what we did shameful (agreed, not my best moment) to now… ‘You want to take a walk or… something?’ What the hell? Here I am, nearly convinced that she faked her two orgasms, which would be nothing less than disastrous considering the almost nine years I’ve spent alluding to my sexual prowess, when she walks behind me, her fingernails trailing over my ass and says, ‘You want to go take a walk or… something?’ She wants another go?
Now I’m no idiot. My confusion, which is at an all time high, doesn’t stop me from following her out of the room in a way that I’m sure doesn’t fool anyone who’s paying the least bit of attention, but since it’s Election Day, I’m hoping my staff has better things to do than worry about my sex life. And I can’t be bothered to try stealth at this point in the game; I’m far too focused on the fact that I’m going to get to touch Donna again.
Which is exactly what I do the very second the door to my room closes behind us. I have her up against the wall, her jacket off, and my tongue in her mouth so fast that she squeaks a bit from surprise. It’s a big change from last night when I stood on my own side of the bed mesmerized while she slowly undressed on her own side, then, to her amusement, ripped my own clothing off as fast as humanly possible and practically pounced on her.
This time, I take my time with her shirt, my thumbs stroking her skin softly before pushing it up another inch. There’re two reasons for this. First, her skin’s really nice and soft and pale and statuesque. Second, I’m still not sure about the two orgasms from last night and figure I better make this good or it might be my last shot.
Once the shirt’s off, I do anything I can think to do to her breasts through her bra. It’s a different bra from last night, though just as lacy and push-upy, not that that matters, I just found it interesting. Anyway, after a few minutes, once she’s breathing heavier and her face is pink, I move back up to kiss her while unhooking said bra and pulling it off of her. Then I go back to her quite magnificent breasts.
“These are nice,” I idiotically mumble as we both watch my fingers manipulating them. Yes, I know. I’m quite smooth.
“Glad you approve,” she says with a little grin on her face.
“You usually keep them under things,” I mumble again, apparently unable to stop my mouth. It’s pretty clear at this point that her breasts have the ability to distract me from things. Things such as coherent thought.
“Clothing,” she says with humor in her voice. Then I lean down and pull one into my mouth, biting gently, then sucking, then licking, and she closes her eyes and does some sort of growl thing that goes straight to my dick.
I continue what I’m doing to her breasts while my hands move lower and fumble with the button on her pants. It must be the tiniest damn button-hole in the world, because the button doesn’t want to go through it and I, in my altered state (not to mention Election Day stress) nearly rip the damn things off her body. But then, alas it gives and I’m spared the humiliation of not being able to unbutton pants while sexually aroused.
My hands unzip her pants and then stay in that region to see what kind of fun they might have as I kiss a trail up her chest and neck and back to her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open just a little bit, and I kiss her deeply because as confused as I am, there’s one thing I learned last night. She’s going to scream as soon as I touch her. And she does. She also slams her head back against the wall taking mine with her, and then uses my hair as some sort of anchor to grab onto. I can’t really afford to lose anymore hair, but it’s sexy as hell to feel her reaction to what I’m doing to her, so I don’t complain.
When the initial scream is over, I try pulling slightly away from her. Due to the death grip on my hair, I can’t go far, but I do manage to make it to her neck. Even in my state of confusion and delirium, I know she’d absolutely kill me if I marked her where others can see it, but I feel the need to see that she’s mine, so I started sucking hard on her collarbone. A minute later, after a string of swear words that aren’t fit for paper, she starts shaking and pulling my hair harder, and I kiss her again while she rides out her orgasm.
“You’re so good at that,” she pants out a minute later while kissing all over my face.
Ok. So… maybe this isn’t so confusing after all. Maybe I was wrong about the orgasm thing. Of course I was wrong about the orgasm thing; I can’t believe I doubted myself. I’ve got skills. And that’s not ego talking baby, that’s just fact.
“Yeah?” I ask, pulling my hand as un-awkwardly as possible out of her pants while biting her earlobe.
She nods and I feel her hands on my shirt, my buttons coming undone quickly. “Yeah.”
I pull up from her ear and move my hands back to her breasts as I start walking us towards my bed. I'm not paying complete attention, because hello, I have Donna’s breasts in my hands, and when she reaches the bed, she falls onto the mattress in a less than goddess-like way. But the most important thing is that she’s on the bed, am I right?
Once I have her there, I push her down onto her back and pull my shirt and t-shirt off, laying them down on the end of the bed, then lean over her, kissing her chest again and moving down to her stomach. “I’m good at other things too,” I mumble against her skin as I kiss her belly button and pull her pants and underwear down her legs. I figure just to be safe, I better get another orgasm out of her before the main event starts, because once I’m inside her, I’m not going to last long. At all.
“We don’t really have… oh…oh…” She starts to prop herself up on her elbows, but falls back down onto the bed as my tongue makes contact. “Oh yeah. Yes you are.” See? I told you that wasn’t my ego talking.
So… things are going well at this point. She’s speechless, breathless and complimentary. This is good. This I can understand. I can also understand the ‘please don’t stop, please don’t stop, yes, yes, oh yes, Josh, yes, Josh, ahh,’ that comes from her a mere minute or two later.
She lies in a heap on the bed for a minute afterwards before sitting up and starting to work on my pants as she kisses my chest and stomach. It’s nice, but I really don’t need all the preliminaries; just get me naked and let’s go. Not wanting to be killed, I don’t say this out loud.
And apparently, I don’t need to, because not a minute later my pants are around my ankles and she’s running her fingers gently over me through the gap in my boxers. “This is nice,” she says, squeezing it and pulling an indescribable sort of growl-moan-choking sound out of me. “You usually keep it under things,” she says, grinning.
I take a few deep breaths and push her back onto the bed, then finish taking my pants off and tossing them towards my shirt on the bottom of the bed, then I climb in on top of her. “You’re making fun of me? Now?”
She rolls us over and straddles my waist, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “Always,” she says as she pulls down my boxers and tosses them to the side.
As predicted, I don’t last long, but it is long enough for one more head thrown back scream from Donna. The hot-ness of this look as she does it on top of me cannot be expressed in words, 760 verbal or not.
So, we finish, quickly, and then lie there as the awkwardness comes inching its way back in. It’s not as bad as it was this morning, but there’s still something in this we’re not quite getting right. For instance, Donna’s got the covers pulled up over her breasts as though I haven’t been staring at them as they bounced in front of my face for the last twenty… ok, ten… minutes. I say drop the covers and let’s have a little post-sex make-out session! Who’s with me?
So, instead of the post-sex making out, there’s a little small talk and a little television, and then we’re disrupted by Ronna, who has apparently been gifted this ability. But it’s ok, because it leads to laughing and clothes searching and discussion as to whether or not I have Donna, which hell, at this point I just don’t know.
When I throw on enough clothes to answer the door, Ronna and Edie, who also has the gift of interruption, are gone. I close the door and turn back to Donna, who’s looking for something. “Where’s my bra?” Oh, that.
“Umm… I think it’s…” I look around and see it down next to my feet where Edie and Ronna most certainly would’ve seen it had they been there a second ago. I bend down and pick it up, then pick up her shirt next to it, and walk them over to her. “Here.”
She looks at me like she’s waiting for me to do something, but I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do, so I stand there staring at her with raised eyebrows. Finally she just sighs and drops the covers so they pool around her waist. It’s a shame to keep those under things, is all I’m saying.
She shifts so her back’s to me and puts the bra on. “How about my…” She turns her head back to look at me and she’s blushing. This I’m able to pick up on and I walk back to the other side of the bed where her pants and underwear are.
I hand them to her and she slips into her underwear with this unbelievably sexy hip wiggle thing that has me ready to go again. But then her pants are on and she’s mumbling about going on television while smelling like me, which I don’t know, is that bad? She pulls on her shirt and walks to the bathroom, studying my hairbrush and then using it to touch up her hair, then runs her fingers under her eyes and around her lips. Whatever. But then she’s back out in the bedroom, immersing herself back into business mode and looking immaculate. How did she do that so quickly?
“You’re going to look at the Minnesota numbers?” she asks, pulling on one shoe.
I stare at her a second, still standing half-dressed in the middle of the room, my confusion back. What the hell’s going on here? “Uhh… yeah.”
“And Massachusetts? Maybe the rain stopped in Boston.”
“The first numbers for California and Texas might be out. I need to check before I go on the air.”
Maybe what’s happened is that I’ve created a monster. If I taught Donna all she knows about politics, and I still claim that I did, perhaps I went a step too far. Perhaps I’ve created the ultimate political machine.
She stands up and walks to the door, and just as she opens it I run over to her and grab her arm. She looks up at me questioningly. “Josh, I’m in a hurry.”
“Wait. Just… wait.”
She sighs and folds her arms over her chest, propping the door open with her hip. “What?”
“I…” I run my fingers through my hair, which I’m guessing didn’t hold up as well as hers. I… need to know what’s happening here? I… need to know what this means? I… need to know if we’re just relieving stress? I… need to know if you’ll marry me? Oh shit, where’d that last one come from?
“Lou needs me on MSNBC and you need to check the polling numbers.”
“I know but…”
“The sooner we win this thing, the sooner we can come back here,” she says quietly, leaning in and kissing me quickly before jutting off down the hallway.
I lean back against the doorway and stare at her walking down the hall for a second, and I still don’t know what in the hell’s going on. “You’re very confusing,” I shout after her.
She turns around, walking backwards away from me and smiles, then without ever breaking stride turns back around and holds a hand up, wiggling her fingers in a wave. Then she disappears around a corner.
I don’t understand women.