This is the last part of this story, but there are subsequent stories in
the series. If there are any readers interested in them, I'll continue.
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: R Disclaimer: I'm having fun with these characters, but they're not mine.
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
By MAHC
The one-year anniversary of the First Lady's death came and went with subdued recognition. The President had requested it to be that way. Only a small acknowledgement on the networks, showing the motorcade moving from the airport at Manchester toward the Bartlet family farm. From there, America could only imagine the private moments their leader spent at his wife's grave, could only envision the tears that splashed on the rocky soil.
Donna imagined it, too. Wondered what he was feeling. Wondered if he had thought about their moment anymore, if he had let go, yet. If he ever would. She knew he had wanted her. That much was physically obvious during their embrace. But was he ready? She had told him she would be there when he was, but what if he never was? What if he kept drifting away and never really came back to them, to her?
She was in the West Wing when he returned. Even if she had not known he was arriving, she could have told by the atmosphere in the building. His presence charged it with energy, with purpose, with life. She wanted to go to him, to welcome him home, to tell him it was okay. She would be there just to play Trivial Pursuit, if that's what he wanted. But she couldn't. He had to decide. He had to make the move.
Exactly one week after the anniversary, Charlie appeared at her door, a note in his hand. Without a word, he placed it on her desk and weaved his way back through the bullpen. Fingers shaking, she lifted the crisp white envelope and slid the folded note out. In bold, confident strokes, the words invited her: Dinner. 7:30. My place. J.B.
She arrived at 7:25, could have been there at 6:25 because she had been ready since a quarter of six. She smoothed down the straight red dress, pleased that it accented her best attributes but a little worried about her boldness, because, except for her shoes, that was all she wore. The secret service apparently expected her. They merely nodded as she passed on her way to the residence. When she reached the door, Charlie greeted her with a tentative smile.
"He's waiting," he said, unnecessarily, opening the door, then closing it behind her.
The President stood by the fireplace, almost in the same position he had the last time they had been alone together. Except this time he was dressed for dinner. Boy, was he dressed. Black tuxedo, black tie. Wow. Turning, he smiled when he saw her and she blushed at the blatant appreciation on his face.
"Donna! You look beautiful."
"Thank you, Mister President. I could say the same for you."
His brow rose.
"Well, handsome, anyway."
"I, uh, I took the liberty of selecting dinner. Blackened halibut with a Cajun puree. I hope that's all right." He seemed so earnest, so eager to please that she couldn't help smiling.
"It sounds wonderful. But I'd eat it just for the hal-i-but - "
He paused and she watched as he absorbed the punch line. His smile made her grateful that he allowed her this horrible pun without a groan or sarcastic comment. Setting her purse down by the couch, she took the offered glass of wine from his hand, purposefully brushing her fingers against his. Oh yeah. The spark was there, just as strong as before.
When she lifted her gaze, a tremor ran through her. He was watching her, his eyes running up the red fabric, lingering a bit at her breasts, then rising to her face. She could tell from the tight jaw that he wrestled still with his emotions, but letting her gaze drop, she also saw the obvious evidence of her effect on him. He followed the line of her eyes and blushed when he realized she was aware of his arousal.
Clearing her throat, she pulled the glass away and asked, "When's dinner?" Even though if he asked, she would admit she really didn't want dinner. Not now. Not yet. No. I want -
He shrugged, and his flush deepened. "I, uh, I told the kitchen I'd - let them know."
What? Oh wow. Okay. That meant - that meant he wanted - Okay, calm now. Breathe. Outwardly, she hoped she maintained at least a semblance of casualness, even though her heart pounded, and anticipation tingled between her legs.
"I'm not really hungry right now, anyway," she said and watched his eyes widen.
Finally, he sighed and set his glass on the low table. "Donna - "
"Yes?" Yes. That's my answer.
"Donna, I've thought a lot about what you told me, and - maybe, well - maybe I'm not -"
He lowered his head, words coming uncharacteristically hard for him. Despite what his body was urging him to do, Donna could tell his heart still held him back, still gripped the sinew that bound him with a woman he had loved for over thirty years. As she watched, the heart began to win, to pull him back. He was drifting away again.
Still not meeting her eyes, he mumbled, "Donna, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
No! "Mister President," she began, then stopped and rethought, moving to place her hand on his forearm. "Jed." She put all the compassion she could into the name.
It worked. He raised his head to look at her, clouded eyes showing that he still warred with his feelings. They both knew what was about to happen. Knew this moment was inevitable, if only because he had probably reached the point at which his physical needs overwhelmed his emotional turmoil.
Removing her hand, she set down the glass of wine and faced him, summoning the courage to deliver her desire in a bolt of frankness. "I would like for you to make love to me."
Even though he knew that's what the evening was all about, her stark announcement floored him. She saw the shock on his face, watched the blood rush into his cheeks, saw him swallow hard once, twice. Please don't say no. Don't keep drifting. Please.
After a long, long moment, he drew a breath. "I've only been with Ab-with one woman. I was going to be a priest, you know," he smiled, his face flushing even more.
Donna shook her head and stepped closer, placing her hand against his cheek. He looked up, eyes filled with the pain of guilt, of infidelity, of adultery. She tried to smile. "You've got to start living again," she whispered. "Abbey's gone, but you're here. And I'm here." She took a deep breath. "And I want you to make love to me, and I want to make love to you. You won't be betraying Abbey."
Looking into his eyes, she now saw something else. The heart faltered a bit, gave ground enough for a decision. A resolution. A coming to terms.
"Donna," he said slowly. "Are you sure?"
Her answer was to press her body against his and drag her tongue across his lips, parting, then moving between them. Her hand on his chest felt the jump of his heart just as her hips felt the pulse against them. Thank goodness! Was this really happening? Would she let it happen? Did she really want this? Oh, yes! Oh, yes, she did.
"Donna," he groaned into her mouth as she pushed the tuxedo jacket off his arms.
"Mmm?" she managed to respond as his feverish kisses left fiery trails down her throat.
"It's been - it's been over a year since - "
She arched her neck and smiled at his confession. "Don't worry, we'll - go slow."
"I don't know if I can go slow," he admitted, pulling back so she could see his grin, the first true, deep, genuine smile he had shown in months. It looked so good on him.
"Then we'll just go - a lot." She pulled at his tie until it unraveled, then opened the first two buttons of the crisp, white shirt.
His eyes darkened and he caught a breath at her insinuation. "Oh, Donna, I want to make it good for you. I want to take as long as you need."
She moaned, unbuttoning the shirt all the way and running her hands through the hair on his chest. That sounded exactly like what she wanted him to do.
"But," he added, his voice cracking, "it's been too long. I can't wait-"
She stopped him, her hand over his lips. When he looked at her with a question in his eyes, she answered by stripping off her dress, bearing her body to him. His hands reached up to caress her breasts, to rub at the nipples. She pushed him backwards until they fell onto the bed, her weight on him, the hard ridge pressing into her. Groaning, she lifted off him long enough to rip his trousers and boxers down. Oh wow! Very nice. Very nice, indeed. Their eyes met briefly as he guided her over the impressive erection. Straddling him, she slid down in one firm thrust, moaning at the sensation. She saw the ecstasy on his face, watched his head lean back, felt his hands on her hips driving her onto him harder and harder. He needed this. He had to have this now. Later there would be time for a slow love, heat building and building until they could not hold back, but now he needed the release that he had denied himself for over a year.
She thought only to let him come, to relieve him of his intense need, but he surprised her, holding out as his hands touched her intimately, expertly, the slick path of his tongue igniting a flaming desire in her, until she found herself bucking just as wildly as he was. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip and she felt him pull her to him then turn so she was beneath him. He withdrew long enough to rid himself completely of all clothing except his shirt, which he couldn't shed quickly enough because of the binding cuff links.
She moaned, aching for him, and shook her head for him to forget the damned shirt. The plunge back inside drew a gasp from her lips. Oh, this was so good. He was so good, and he was so close, she could tell, and he would come hard, no question about that. She felt him stiffen and she arched her hips so that he was buried as deeply as she could take him. His cry was wrenched from deep within as he came violently, thrusting, throbbing, pumping. Over and over, he thrust into her, tears tracing paths down his face. His climax triggered an unbelievable explosion inside her, her own muscles spasming around him, and she lurched her head back, screaming his name with each pulse.
A long time later, she found herself sprawled under of the President of the United States, their exhausted bodies slick and sticky. She reached up a hand to run it through his hair, wild and damp. Wow.
The expression on his face brought tears to her eyes. He was looking down at her, his blue eyes soft, his mouth opened slightly. Cupping her chin with both hands, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then rolled off her to lie on his back, pulling her against him, her head on his shoulder, a leg draped over his pelvis. Carefully, she removed the offending cuff links and pushed the damp shirt from his body, because they weren't through for the evening. Not by a long shot.
"My God, that felt good," he groaned.
She smiled, happy that she had given him such pleasure, but she wanted him to know it was mutual. "Well, let me just say that it felt pretty incredible to me, too, Sir."
He looked down, grinning. "I think 'Jed' is appropriate, considering the fact that my hand is on your breast right now."
Her turn to redden. "Jed," she whispered.
"Besides," he continued, "I've had a few more years' exp-"
She watched as he caught himself and she knew he was thinking about those years of experience and who they were with. She felt him tense, sensed the emotional withdrawal begin.
"Jed." She leaned over him, drawing his face to hers. "Abbey is not here. I am here. This is not a betrayal. This is life!"
His mouth parted to speak, but she shook her head. "No. Don't say anything, yet. Let's just - keep this moment a little longer. Please."
He hesitated, then nodded, dropping his head back onto the pillow while she drew invisible circles across his chest and abdomen. What now? What was he feeling? Thinking? She knew he would never stop loving Abbey. Knew that part of his life would always be with him. But she also knew he could not keep drifting away. He had to set a course, and she wanted to help him navigate it. Tonight, he had taken a step. A big step. But what did it mean to him? Merely a step toward getting past Abbey's death, or something more?
She cut her thoughts off, refusing to let them intrude on the moment. It occurred to her vaguely that the halibut might as well be consumed by the kitchen staff; she doubted it would make its way to residence tonight. Letting her hand drift lower, she smiled, discovering that, although he might not be emotionally ready to continue, he certainly was physically ready. She supposed a year really was a long time.
As she took him in again, she determined to be as patient as he needed. It had taken months for him to reach this point, and it might take months more for him to see that she loved him. The sudden revelation stunned her, stopped her so cold that he slowed and looked down in puzzlement. She recovered, moving her mouth to his and urging him with her hips to resume his delicious rocking. But it was true, she knew immediately. She loved him. Clutching at his back as they groaned again in climax, she felt the tears burn her eyes. She loved him. And she had no doubts, now, that he would not drift away, that one day he would love her, too.
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: R Disclaimer: I'm having fun with these characters, but they're not mine.
As I Was Drifting Away - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
By MAHC
The one-year anniversary of the First Lady's death came and went with subdued recognition. The President had requested it to be that way. Only a small acknowledgement on the networks, showing the motorcade moving from the airport at Manchester toward the Bartlet family farm. From there, America could only imagine the private moments their leader spent at his wife's grave, could only envision the tears that splashed on the rocky soil.
Donna imagined it, too. Wondered what he was feeling. Wondered if he had thought about their moment anymore, if he had let go, yet. If he ever would. She knew he had wanted her. That much was physically obvious during their embrace. But was he ready? She had told him she would be there when he was, but what if he never was? What if he kept drifting away and never really came back to them, to her?
She was in the West Wing when he returned. Even if she had not known he was arriving, she could have told by the atmosphere in the building. His presence charged it with energy, with purpose, with life. She wanted to go to him, to welcome him home, to tell him it was okay. She would be there just to play Trivial Pursuit, if that's what he wanted. But she couldn't. He had to decide. He had to make the move.
Exactly one week after the anniversary, Charlie appeared at her door, a note in his hand. Without a word, he placed it on her desk and weaved his way back through the bullpen. Fingers shaking, she lifted the crisp white envelope and slid the folded note out. In bold, confident strokes, the words invited her: Dinner. 7:30. My place. J.B.
She arrived at 7:25, could have been there at 6:25 because she had been ready since a quarter of six. She smoothed down the straight red dress, pleased that it accented her best attributes but a little worried about her boldness, because, except for her shoes, that was all she wore. The secret service apparently expected her. They merely nodded as she passed on her way to the residence. When she reached the door, Charlie greeted her with a tentative smile.
"He's waiting," he said, unnecessarily, opening the door, then closing it behind her.
The President stood by the fireplace, almost in the same position he had the last time they had been alone together. Except this time he was dressed for dinner. Boy, was he dressed. Black tuxedo, black tie. Wow. Turning, he smiled when he saw her and she blushed at the blatant appreciation on his face.
"Donna! You look beautiful."
"Thank you, Mister President. I could say the same for you."
His brow rose.
"Well, handsome, anyway."
"I, uh, I took the liberty of selecting dinner. Blackened halibut with a Cajun puree. I hope that's all right." He seemed so earnest, so eager to please that she couldn't help smiling.
"It sounds wonderful. But I'd eat it just for the hal-i-but - "
He paused and she watched as he absorbed the punch line. His smile made her grateful that he allowed her this horrible pun without a groan or sarcastic comment. Setting her purse down by the couch, she took the offered glass of wine from his hand, purposefully brushing her fingers against his. Oh yeah. The spark was there, just as strong as before.
When she lifted her gaze, a tremor ran through her. He was watching her, his eyes running up the red fabric, lingering a bit at her breasts, then rising to her face. She could tell from the tight jaw that he wrestled still with his emotions, but letting her gaze drop, she also saw the obvious evidence of her effect on him. He followed the line of her eyes and blushed when he realized she was aware of his arousal.
Clearing her throat, she pulled the glass away and asked, "When's dinner?" Even though if he asked, she would admit she really didn't want dinner. Not now. Not yet. No. I want -
He shrugged, and his flush deepened. "I, uh, I told the kitchen I'd - let them know."
What? Oh wow. Okay. That meant - that meant he wanted - Okay, calm now. Breathe. Outwardly, she hoped she maintained at least a semblance of casualness, even though her heart pounded, and anticipation tingled between her legs.
"I'm not really hungry right now, anyway," she said and watched his eyes widen.
Finally, he sighed and set his glass on the low table. "Donna - "
"Yes?" Yes. That's my answer.
"Donna, I've thought a lot about what you told me, and - maybe, well - maybe I'm not -"
He lowered his head, words coming uncharacteristically hard for him. Despite what his body was urging him to do, Donna could tell his heart still held him back, still gripped the sinew that bound him with a woman he had loved for over thirty years. As she watched, the heart began to win, to pull him back. He was drifting away again.
Still not meeting her eyes, he mumbled, "Donna, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
No! "Mister President," she began, then stopped and rethought, moving to place her hand on his forearm. "Jed." She put all the compassion she could into the name.
It worked. He raised his head to look at her, clouded eyes showing that he still warred with his feelings. They both knew what was about to happen. Knew this moment was inevitable, if only because he had probably reached the point at which his physical needs overwhelmed his emotional turmoil.
Removing her hand, she set down the glass of wine and faced him, summoning the courage to deliver her desire in a bolt of frankness. "I would like for you to make love to me."
Even though he knew that's what the evening was all about, her stark announcement floored him. She saw the shock on his face, watched the blood rush into his cheeks, saw him swallow hard once, twice. Please don't say no. Don't keep drifting. Please.
After a long, long moment, he drew a breath. "I've only been with Ab-with one woman. I was going to be a priest, you know," he smiled, his face flushing even more.
Donna shook her head and stepped closer, placing her hand against his cheek. He looked up, eyes filled with the pain of guilt, of infidelity, of adultery. She tried to smile. "You've got to start living again," she whispered. "Abbey's gone, but you're here. And I'm here." She took a deep breath. "And I want you to make love to me, and I want to make love to you. You won't be betraying Abbey."
Looking into his eyes, she now saw something else. The heart faltered a bit, gave ground enough for a decision. A resolution. A coming to terms.
"Donna," he said slowly. "Are you sure?"
Her answer was to press her body against his and drag her tongue across his lips, parting, then moving between them. Her hand on his chest felt the jump of his heart just as her hips felt the pulse against them. Thank goodness! Was this really happening? Would she let it happen? Did she really want this? Oh, yes! Oh, yes, she did.
"Donna," he groaned into her mouth as she pushed the tuxedo jacket off his arms.
"Mmm?" she managed to respond as his feverish kisses left fiery trails down her throat.
"It's been - it's been over a year since - "
She arched her neck and smiled at his confession. "Don't worry, we'll - go slow."
"I don't know if I can go slow," he admitted, pulling back so she could see his grin, the first true, deep, genuine smile he had shown in months. It looked so good on him.
"Then we'll just go - a lot." She pulled at his tie until it unraveled, then opened the first two buttons of the crisp, white shirt.
His eyes darkened and he caught a breath at her insinuation. "Oh, Donna, I want to make it good for you. I want to take as long as you need."
She moaned, unbuttoning the shirt all the way and running her hands through the hair on his chest. That sounded exactly like what she wanted him to do.
"But," he added, his voice cracking, "it's been too long. I can't wait-"
She stopped him, her hand over his lips. When he looked at her with a question in his eyes, she answered by stripping off her dress, bearing her body to him. His hands reached up to caress her breasts, to rub at the nipples. She pushed him backwards until they fell onto the bed, her weight on him, the hard ridge pressing into her. Groaning, she lifted off him long enough to rip his trousers and boxers down. Oh wow! Very nice. Very nice, indeed. Their eyes met briefly as he guided her over the impressive erection. Straddling him, she slid down in one firm thrust, moaning at the sensation. She saw the ecstasy on his face, watched his head lean back, felt his hands on her hips driving her onto him harder and harder. He needed this. He had to have this now. Later there would be time for a slow love, heat building and building until they could not hold back, but now he needed the release that he had denied himself for over a year.
She thought only to let him come, to relieve him of his intense need, but he surprised her, holding out as his hands touched her intimately, expertly, the slick path of his tongue igniting a flaming desire in her, until she found herself bucking just as wildly as he was. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip and she felt him pull her to him then turn so she was beneath him. He withdrew long enough to rid himself completely of all clothing except his shirt, which he couldn't shed quickly enough because of the binding cuff links.
She moaned, aching for him, and shook her head for him to forget the damned shirt. The plunge back inside drew a gasp from her lips. Oh, this was so good. He was so good, and he was so close, she could tell, and he would come hard, no question about that. She felt him stiffen and she arched her hips so that he was buried as deeply as she could take him. His cry was wrenched from deep within as he came violently, thrusting, throbbing, pumping. Over and over, he thrust into her, tears tracing paths down his face. His climax triggered an unbelievable explosion inside her, her own muscles spasming around him, and she lurched her head back, screaming his name with each pulse.
A long time later, she found herself sprawled under of the President of the United States, their exhausted bodies slick and sticky. She reached up a hand to run it through his hair, wild and damp. Wow.
The expression on his face brought tears to her eyes. He was looking down at her, his blue eyes soft, his mouth opened slightly. Cupping her chin with both hands, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then rolled off her to lie on his back, pulling her against him, her head on his shoulder, a leg draped over his pelvis. Carefully, she removed the offending cuff links and pushed the damp shirt from his body, because they weren't through for the evening. Not by a long shot.
"My God, that felt good," he groaned.
She smiled, happy that she had given him such pleasure, but she wanted him to know it was mutual. "Well, let me just say that it felt pretty incredible to me, too, Sir."
He looked down, grinning. "I think 'Jed' is appropriate, considering the fact that my hand is on your breast right now."
Her turn to redden. "Jed," she whispered.
"Besides," he continued, "I've had a few more years' exp-"
She watched as he caught himself and she knew he was thinking about those years of experience and who they were with. She felt him tense, sensed the emotional withdrawal begin.
"Jed." She leaned over him, drawing his face to hers. "Abbey is not here. I am here. This is not a betrayal. This is life!"
His mouth parted to speak, but she shook her head. "No. Don't say anything, yet. Let's just - keep this moment a little longer. Please."
He hesitated, then nodded, dropping his head back onto the pillow while she drew invisible circles across his chest and abdomen. What now? What was he feeling? Thinking? She knew he would never stop loving Abbey. Knew that part of his life would always be with him. But she also knew he could not keep drifting away. He had to set a course, and she wanted to help him navigate it. Tonight, he had taken a step. A big step. But what did it mean to him? Merely a step toward getting past Abbey's death, or something more?
She cut her thoughts off, refusing to let them intrude on the moment. It occurred to her vaguely that the halibut might as well be consumed by the kitchen staff; she doubted it would make its way to residence tonight. Letting her hand drift lower, she smiled, discovering that, although he might not be emotionally ready to continue, he certainly was physically ready. She supposed a year really was a long time.
As she took him in again, she determined to be as patient as he needed. It had taken months for him to reach this point, and it might take months more for him to see that she loved him. The sudden revelation stunned her, stopped her so cold that he slowed and looked down in puzzlement. She recovered, moving her mouth to his and urging him with her hips to resume his delicious rocking. But it was true, she knew immediately. She loved him. Clutching at his back as they groaned again in climax, she felt the tears burn her eyes. She loved him. And she had no doubts, now, that he would not drift away, that one day he would love her, too.