My body is sated -- langorous, even -- and Donnatella Moss is leaning against the doorframe, watching me.  She's wearing only my crumpled white tuxedo shirt, carelessly buttoned over her navel.  And gaping in all the right places.

It takes me a moment to get over the delighted shock and remember the events of the last few hours.  The Inaugural Ball.  Donna in that jaw-droppingly gorgeous dress.  My incredibly suave line -- "Come home with me" -- and my utter shock when she agreed.

And then...

I can't even put it into words.  There is no way to adequately describe the events that occurred once we reached my condo.  Donna, who initially expressed some doubts as to her, shall we say, abilities -- doubts foisted upon her by that unforgivable asshole Dr. Free Ride because he was too damn egotistical and self-centered to appreciate the amazing gift he had for a brief time in Donnatella...  What was I saying?

Oh, yes.  The sex.  With Donnatella Moss.

Sex with Donnatella Moss is truly a life-changing event.  Before tonight, I thought I could live without her.  I don't know what I was thinking.

It's quite clear to me -- and to her, if the soft smile on her face is any indication -- that we are wonderful at this.  We are as good at being together as we are at... well, at anything we do as a team.  Argue, banter, make love; Lyman and Moss are easily gold-medal material.

You know, now that I think about that last thing we tried, I'm not sure a mere gold medal is enough.  There needs to be a whole new awards system.  Because we are unique.

Lyman and Moss, lovers extraordinaire.

At this point, I am grinning stupidly at Donna from my position sprawled out over most of the bed.  I roll onto my side and prop my head on my hand to watch her.  "Hi."

"There's no food in your fridge," she says.

Not exactly what I expected for pillow talk, but then again, she's not even in bed anymore.  I'm going to have to do something about that.

"I haven't been home much, lately," I say, patting the bed beside me.  "Perishables have this nasty habit of perishing."

Donna shifts her weight slightly and the shirt moves with her, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her curves.  I am instantly aroused again.  I have no idea how she does this to me; I am not eighteen anymore.

"I'm hungry," she says with a sexy little arch of her brow.

"So am I."

"Joshua."  Donna grins.  "I'm talking about food.   Did you see that dress?"

"Donna, the memory of that dress is burned into my brain.  That dress nearly killed me."

Donna smirks at me.  "Got you here, didn't it?"

"Yes, but this is my place."

She shrugs.  "Got me here."

I hold her gaze for a long moment.  "You didn't need a dress for that, Donna."

For a moment, I think she's going to cry.  But she merely blinks a couple times and says, "You're missing my point."

I follow her lead.  Because, really, it's only been a couple hours since we were boss and assistant.  And friends.  It's not time yet for declarations.  So I grin at her.  "I thought the point was that you used your incredible dress to, you know, lure me to your island."

"My island?" she repeats, amused.  "I certainly hope you didn't break your boat on the rocks."

"No, my boat is fine," I answer with a pointed glance down my body.  My boat is more than fine, as she can quite easily determine for herself.  My boat is fast becoming a yacht.  A ship, even.

Donna's gaze travels slowly down my body, only partially covered by the sheets, and I swear I can feel her desire.  That, plus the sight of her in my shirt is nearly unbearable.

"Well, Josh," she says, pushing away from the doorframe.  "Get your boat over here."

I don't move except to raise my eyebrows.  "I think my current location is more conducive to a meeting of the minds."

"I'm hungry," Donna repeats.  "How about meeting some food products?"

"Why are you so hungry?" I ask, exasperated.  "There were obscene amounts of food at the thing."

"Do I need to draw your attention back to the dress?"

"I don't think my attention's been anywhere but the dress and what's underneath it all night," I point out.

Donna blushes.  It's incredibly endearing.  Then she recovers and positively drips sex appeal when she says, "So you can certainly remember how tight it was."

I groan.

I actually groan in response.

Now she's grinning at me.  "Obviously you remember."

I nod slowly.  "I don't think I'll ever forget that, Donna."  I'm not just talking about the dress.  The feel of her body surrounding me, the astounding realization that I was actually inside of her -- that's burned into my brain right along with that first moment she drifted into the room in that amazing dress.

Donna holds my gaze.  "Me neither."  She's not talking about the dress either.

Before the moment gets too intense, I smirk at her.  "My boat is feeling awfully seaworthy."

"Josh," she warns, "if you make one crack about putting in to port, I will see to it that--"

"I promise," I interrupt, holding a hand out to her.  "Now come here."

She shakes her head.  "I'm hungry."

"Are we talking in circles, or is it just me?"

"It's just you," she answers breezily, tossing a pair of boxers in my general direction.  "Now come unearth something for me to eat."  I open my mouth to comment, but Donna beats me to the punch.  "Food, Josh.  Don't make me hurt you."

***

Turns out Donna's right -- I have no food in the house.

My kitchen is pathetically understocked.  In fact, the sum total of my food products: a box of white rice, two eggs from god knows when (or why), a mostly-eaten jar of creamy peanut butter, and a bottle of chocolate syrup.

Donna gives me a hopeful look.  "Tell me you have a secret stash."

"A secret stash?"

"Yes."

"Of food?" I grin.

She raises an eyebrow.  "Are you going to brag about the potato-bong again?  Because you really put way too much effort into that.  Poke two holes in a Coke can and--"

"Donna!" I am smiling like an idiot.  "Are you admitting to using illegal drugs?"

"Did you hear me admit any such thing?"

"No.  But you implied--"

"You know," she interrupts, "a Coke sounds really good right now.  'Cause Coke has a bunch of calories, even if it's not food.  I wish you had something to drink other than Sam Adams."

"Water?"

"Tap water?"

I shrug.  "I thought I had a Brita Filter at some point..."

Donna laughs at me.  "How can you not have food?  Don't you eat?"

"At the office, yes.  You want me to run to the store?"

Donna gives me that about-to-get-mushy look.  "You would run to the store?"

"Yes."  I think I may be blushing a bit.

"At 2:30 in the morning, really?"

"Donna, don't start with that tone--"

"That's just so sweet, Joshua," she interrupts, her eyes glistening.

"Do you want food or not?" I grumble.  I can't handle her tears.  I just can't bear to see her cry.

"Yes," she grins at me.

"Okay.  What do you want?" I ask, glancing around in search of my keys.  Can't quite remember what I did with anything so inconsequential once I got my hands on Donnatella Moss.  Hell, they may still be hanging in the door lock.

"Many things," Donna purrs, reaching into the cabinet to grab the bottle of chocolate sauce.  "Maybe I'll just have some of this while I wait."

"Wait--"  I stop and try again.  "Wait for what?"

Donna is pouring chocolate sauce onto her fingers.  "For you to bring me food."

"Food?" I repeat stupidly.  I have ceased all movement, because I think every nerve in my body is focused on that dribbling bit of chocolate on her fingers.

"Oh," she says with a saucy grin, "something sweet would be nice."

"Sweet?"

Donna holds my gaze and slides her fingers into her mouth.  I swear I can feel her mouth on my cock, which is, I should point out, at full attention.

I may even be whimpering.  "Do--Donna?"

She licks her fingertips clean, that agile little tongue flicking against her skin, and I swear I'm going to come just watching her.

"Yes, Josh?"

I take two quick steps towards her.  "You're going to have to take that shirt off now."

"Really?"  She smirks at me, still holding the bottle of chocolate.  "Why?"

"Because it's a rental.  And I don't want to have to explain the missing buttons."

***

Turns out, Donnatella Moss tastes worlds better than mere chocolate sauce -- I did a taste test.

Donna, in her typical contrary fashion, does not remove the tuxedo shirt quickly.  Instead, she halts me in my tracks with the quirk of one eyebrow.

I know that look.  I've learned in the course of the last few hours that Donna gets that expression just before she does something that she knows is going to blow my mind.  So to speak.

I am only an arms-length from her, and she's holding me in place with those incredible eyes.  It takes supreme effort for me to tear my gaze from hers, but I can see her free hand drifting towards the line of buttons.

My breath quickens as Donna's fingers work the shiny buttons from their holes with agonizing leisure.  She reaches a hand inside the flap of the shirt to separate the sides and I am groaning aloud.

"Josh?"

She's using that voice the drives me to distraction.

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't want you to have to explain any damage to the shirt," she says with a hint of what I would have to call a smirk.

"Okay," I gulp.  "Then take it off."

She smiles.  "With pleasure."

Donna carefully deposits the bottle of chocolate sauce on the counter, then does this incredibly sexy shrugging thing with her shoulders that not only draws my attention to her shifting breasts, but also starts the shirt on its journey down her arms.  To the floor.

Leaving her gloriously naked in my kitchen.

I think I've had this dream before.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

It's almost imperceptible -- a slight shift of her weight, a tiny arch of her back -- but with the movement, Donna positively radiates sex.  "Shirt's gone," she observes with laughter in her voice.

"Yeah," I agree.  "It is."

She lets one finger drift lazily down the outside of the bottle.  "So?"

"So," I manage, "you need to come here right now."

My eyes sweep down the expanse of alabaster skin in front of me.  She is truly a work of art.  Those long, dangerous legs; the enticing curve of her hip; the way her neck meets her shoulder.

Donna lets me look, a small, knowing grin on her lips.  Her amazingly talented lips.  "Don't you think you should come here instead?"

I stare at her.  "Why?"

"Because I'm closer to the chocolate sauce.  Also, the countertop."

I am grinning like an idiot right now.  "Good point."

And then she is in my arms, my hands clutching at the naked skin of her back, pulling her as close to me as possible.  I want to be inside of her right now.

Donna tilts her head up and kisses me passionately.  I groan and press her back against the counter, one hand fumbling for the bottle.  Then I upend it over her shoulder without backing off an inch.

"Josh!" Donna yelps as the cool liquid hits her hot skin.  "What are you doing?"

I waggle my eyebrows at her.  "Midnight snack."  Then I lean down and run my tongue over her nipple.

Donna gasps and arches her back, pressing herself into my mouth.  "It's 2:30," she points out, a little too reasonably, in my opinion.

I suck a little harder, then release her and look up.  "You're arguing semantics with me?"  Before she can answer, my mouth is on her again, trailing up to the bit of chocolate drifting down her skin.

Donnatella Moss tastes way better than chocolate.

Just to reconfirm that, I drop to my knees.  A little too enthusiastically, considering this is a tile floor.  I groan in pain, then pleasure as Donna widens her stance for me.

I glance up and she's leaning back against the counter, one hand supporting her, the other reaching for me.  I lace my fingers through hers, then lean forward and lick my way across her navel.  She is making these incredibly little noises now, and I am desperate for her.

I ease one hand in between her legs and find her clit, working it in the small circles she seems to like.  Then I lean closer, placing an open-mouthed kiss on her sex.

Donna jerks against me.  "Josh!"

I lean back and look up at her.  "Yes?"  I am smirking, my fingers still busy on her clit.

She opens her eyes and meets my gaze.  "I want you, Josh."

I can't take it.  The look on her face and the sound of her voice, it's too much.  I redouble my efforts until she climaxes against my mouth, her legs shaking.

"God," Donna mutters, "Josh..."

"Yes?"  This time I'm not smirking.  I'm beaming.  I'm ridiculously proud of myself for being able to give her so much pleasure.  And I'm also looking forward to being inside of her as soon as possible.

"You," she manages.  "Get up here."

My knees protest a bit on the way up, but I clamber to my feet and Donna pulls me to her.  She rests against me, still shaking a bit, and I kiss her soundly.

"Okay, Josh, against the wall," Donna orders briskly.

I can't help it, I start laughing.  "Yes, ma'am."

I start to pull away, but she tightens her arms around me.  Then she moves me backwards until my skin comes into contact with the cold surface of the refrigerator.  "Donna!"

She grins up at me.  "It's closer.  Now lose the boxers."

She doesn't have to tell me twice.  But I'm far too close to losing it to allow her to go down on me.  It's not that I don't appreciate the thought -- God, how I appreciate the thought -- but I want to be inside her.  I need to be inside her when I come.

And so I catch her by the arms as she kisses her way down my chest.  Then I give her a grin and spin us around so her back is up against the fridge.

Donna yelps and arches her back.  Which does amazing things to her breasts.  I fill my hands with them and edge one leg in between her legs.

"Josh," Donna smirks, "you're planning to do this here?"

"Why not?"

"Against the fridge?"

I shrug and give her what I consider my rakish grin.  "Sure."

She's laughing openly now, even as I work her nipples with my fingers.  "What about the coils?"

I stare at her.  "What?  What coils?"

"On the back of the fridge?" Donna answers.  "You know, the part that makes it cold?"

"That's what makes the fridge cold?"

"Well, actually, it's the freon--"

"Forget I asked," I interrupt with an exaggerated roll of my eyes.  "I don't need a lecture on how freon makes the refrigerator cold.  I trust you."  I smirk at her.  "Now get your ass over to that wall."

"No way," Donna argues.  "You're not a college student anymore, Josh."

I gape at her. " What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you shouldn't be having sex up against a wall," she answers calmly, taking my hand in hers and tugging me towards the bedroom.

"I can have sex up against a wall," I defend.  "I'll show you sex up against a wall."

"Josh," Donna shrieks as I yank her into my arms and press her against the wall in the hallway.  "You're being ridiculous!"

"Maybe so, but I am not an old man.  I can still have sex up against a wall."

"Fine," Donna grins at me.  "But I don't want to be thinking about gravity and, you know, tumbling to the floor."  She tilts her head towards my bedroom, all the while holding my gaze.  "I want to be thinking about how you feel.  I want to make love to you in there."

I can read the emotions in her eyes, and it's almost too much.  I nod stupidly and follow her to bed.  Donna turns back to me when she reaches the mattress, leaning up to kiss me.  My arms are still locked around her, so when she lets herself fall back onto the mattress, I follow her down, laughing.

It is so much fun, being here with Donna like this.  I never thought it would be this fun.

Maybe that's how I kept myself from obsessing over her, I think as Donna spreads her legs beneath me.  I realize, as I push slowly into her body, that it's never been just sex or sexual attraction with us.

It's the best I've ever had because it's us.  It feels like home because it's Donna.  I want to please her because it's her.  This isn't just about reaching climax; this is about forging a connection.  Donna pushes her hips up to meet each thrust because she's making love to me.  She urges me closer with her hands on my ass because I'm making love to her.  The reason she gasps my name, the reason I groan hers, is to reaffirm that it's us.

And when I come inside of her with the intensity of a supernova, it's because she is Donna.  It's never been this good with anyone else; just her.

As Donna settles into my arms, sleepily pulling the sheet up over our bodies, I lean down and kiss her on the top of the head, and that's when it hits me.

I am in love with Donnatella Moss.

My arms tighten involuntarily around her with the realization, and I come dangerously close to saying it out loud.

Donna laughs into my chest as I crush her to me.  Then she places a kiss on my skin and drifts off to sleep, leaving me to contemplate this epiphany.

I have never been so ecstatically happy and so unbearably sad at the same time before.

Because it's us.

***

What remains of the night is torture. I  can't sleep.  I can't waste one moment of this night on something so trivial.  I have Donnatella Moss in my arms, and this is probably the last time I'll have that.  Because when she wakes up, I have to break her heart.

That conversation is immeasurably worse than I thought it would be.  I'd rather lay there in dread for a thousand years than live through that conversation again.  Donna doesn't understand, I know she doesn't.  She hasn't been in politics long enough, but I have.

I know how this'll play if it gets out.  And to avoid breaking her heart later, I do it now.

I make it through the conversation without saying it, I help her back into that amazing dress, hell, I make it all the way to Donna's neighborhood before I break.  I am a weak man.

Just before she gets out of the car, I tell her I love her.  She tells me she loves me, and that pain I thought couldn't get any worse?  It does.

It takes supreme effort on my part not to jump out of my car and go chasing after Donna as she walks away.  She is obviously far stronger than I am, because she doesn't even glance back while I can't tear my eyes from her figure.

I shouldn't be this upset after only one night with Donnatella Moss.  But the thing is -- it's not just one night.  It's eleven months.  Eleven months of thinking she's crazy, but probably in a good way.  Eleven months of learning how her mind works and appreciating her ability to outfox me.  Eleven months of laughter and banter and the happiest, most idealistic time of my life.

And I honestly didn't know.  I had no idea before last night that it was eleven months of falling in love with Donnatella Moss.

Am I incredibly good at self-deception, or just colossally stupid?

That's probably a question I'll never know the answer to, but I suspect it's the latter.

Last night, when I nearly said those words to her... well, you could've knocked me over with a healthy gust of breath from a baby.  Or, you know, a feather.  Of course, aside from being in the midst of the most incredible sex of my life, I was just blown away by this swell of emotion.  This inexplicable connection I felt with Donna.

I know she felt it too, because she told me so.

And if this thing that happened between us, this amazing night, had been the product of mutual attraction, of sexual chemistry, maybe then I could have ignored the nagging worries at the back of my mind.  I've played Beltway poker too many times over the years not to know that situations like these are never secret for long.

If I didn't love Donna so goddamned much, I wouldn't feel obligated to protect her from the inevitable outcome of a relationship with me.  Not only am I uniquely bad at, you know, doing the romantic thing, any feelings, any love between Donna and I would be lost in the public trashing we'd get -- she'd get-when the Republicans needed a convenient scandal to mask some dirty deal.

I can't let Donnatella Moss become a sex scandal.  I can't let her become a punchline on political call-in shows.

And the only way to prevent that is to watch her walk away from me.  I can't let myself chase after her, and it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done.

Getting a pain-in-the-ass, liberal, economics geek elected President is nothing in comparison to the effort it takes to stay in my Audi as Donnatella Moss disappears around the corner.

***

I don't remember much about the drive to the White House.  It's a shame, really, considering how hard I worked for this day.  But it's all sort of... blurry.

Unfocused.

My attention is most definitely elsewhere.

The gang's all here, though, gathered and grinning in Leo's brand new office.  I nod my hellos and force a smile.  Then I drop onto the couch and run a hand over my face.  I don't think I can do this right now.

CJ raises an eyebrow at me when I finally look up.  "You weren't kidding when you said you'd be late."

"Yeah, I--"  I stop, because there's really nowhere I can go with that sentence.

From his spot leaning against the wall, Toby offers, "Overdid it last night?"

That's good -- let them think I'm like this because I'm hungover.  I give Toby a sickly smile.  "Yeah," I say.  "That."

"Okay," Leo says as he sweeps into the room.  "This won't take long.  No real business today, God willing, so feel free to bicker over who gets which office some more. I just wanted..." he trails off with a grin.  "President Bartlet wanted us to have a day to ourselves."

President Bartlet.  God, that sounds good.

CJ and Sam exchange brilliant smiles, and even Toby seems happy.  I try to match their mood.  I'm pretty sure I fail.  No one seems to notice.

Leo lets the silence build for a moment, then says, "We did it.  We're here.  You should all be proud of yourselves."  He gives each one of us a piercing look.  "Now don't screw it up."

Oh, God.  I think I'm going to be sick.

Luckily, Leo dismisses us.  CJ, Toby, and Sam fan out in search of the perfect office.  I watch them wistfully for a moment, then head for the door.  I'll probably end up with some dark, cramped office against a back wall somewhere, but I have more important things to do right now.

First on the agenda:  Find bar.  Get massively drunk.

***

It's only 2:45 when the bartender shuts me off.  I can't remember how many I had, but I started drinking around 11, so I'm pretty far gone.

I can't possibly drive, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure how far I am from home.  I'm almost positive I couldn't get there from here without help.  Especially considering I have only the vaguest notion of where "here" is.

Normally, I would call Donna.  Donna always helps me when I've done something incredibly stupid.  And I'm thinking that sleeping with my assistant the night of the Inaugural Ball, then skipping out on my first day as White House Deputy Chief of Staff to get shit-faced in the middle of the afternoon definitely qualifies as stupid.

But since it's the "sleeping with my assistant" part that's the problem, I can't very well call Donna to help me.

So whom should I call?  Whom do I trust to come rescue me from my blinding stupidity?  Other than Donnatella Moss, of course.

Leo would kick my ass eight ways from Sunday for using booze to soothe my pain.  Never mind the whole 'skipping work to do something unbelievably idiotic' part.

Sam would be way too cheerful, gleaning amusement from my idiocy.  Or he'd be Concerned Guy Sam, all compassion and helpful advice.  Neither of which I can take right now.

CJ would Tae Kwan Do my ass, because she would just know what I did last night.  I never believed in psychic ability until I met her, but CJ sees all.  Swear to God.  And she's already threatened me with bodily harm if I hurt Donna.  I'm guessing breaking her heart after taking her home with me probably places my kneecaps in grave danger.

Toby would glare and grumble and give me that annoyed silence he does so well.

Hmmm...

Toby it is.

Amazingly, I am able to remember his cellphone number without calling Donna for it.  Which would, of course, defeat the whole purpose of calling Toby to avoid bothering Donna.

I must sound pretty bad, because Toby doesn't grumble much, not even when I have to pass the phone to the bartender for directions.  Still can't quite remember where this bar is in relation to... well, anything.

As Toby instructed, I go sit on the curb and wait for the ugly-ass Dodge Dart.  When my small, strange-looking pumpkin arrives, I stagger to the car and collapse into the seat.

"Car's ugly," I tell Toby.  "Thought you were kidding."

Toby stares at me for a moment before pulling away from the curb.  "We can't always afford what we want, Josh."

I blink.  That sounded important, like he was talking about something besides cars.  But I can't quite puzzle out the hidden meanings.  Conversations with Toby can be so confusing.  "Huh?"

Toby shakes his head, a small, humorless smile on his face.  "You really are drunk."

I nod.  "Want my bed."  And then I remember what happened the last time I was in my bed.  I swear there are tears in my eyes.

I roll my head to the side and stare unseeing at the buildings whizzing past.

It takes me a moment to realize it when the car stops.  I try to sit up a bit.

"Josh?"

I turn to Toby.  "Thanks for th' ride."

Toby nods.  "Donna," he says.  "She was sick today?"

I stare at him, terrified that he'll figure it out.  That he has already figured it out.  "Yeah," I manage.  "Hungover."

He watches me for a long moment and I try not to squirm.  Or blink.

Finally, he says, "She'll be fine tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah," I say, but I swear it sounds more like a sob.  I have to get inside my condo.  I gesture wildly at him.  "Sorry I bothered you."

Then I tug the door handle and start to pull myself up.

"Josh."

I pause, half-in and half-out of the car.  "What?"  I can't look at him, because if I do, he'll know.

There's a steadying hand on my arm, helping me stay upright as I extricate myself from the car.

"Josh," Toby says quietly, "you did the right thing."

I'm pretty sure he's not talking about calling him for a ride.

I nod blindly and slam the door, stumbling up the stairs to my condo.  After a moment fumbling with the lock, I all but run through the condo to my bedroom.  I think I may be crying as the images from last night assault me.

I did the right thing, I tell myself.  Even if it hurts like hell.

Then I crawl into bed.  Alone.

THE END

04.29.01