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Preamble to the Pillowfight

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"So I've thought this through," Donna said, abruptly.

Her voice woke Josh from his post-coital doze. He raised his head slightly off of his pillowed arms and blinked at her.

"I want you to know that I'd be willing to convert."

Josh had already put his head back down and closed his eyes, but that snapped him awake. "What?"

"I've done my research, I know Jewishness is passed down through the mother," Donna said, "and I know your dad never got the chance to meet me, and I don't know if your mother would even care, but it still seems like the right thing to do."

It was becoming abundantly clear to Josh that he'd had one scotch too many, because he was having a surprising amount of trouble following this conversation. "...okay?"

"There's no getting around the part where her mom is going to look like the Corn Princess from Nebraska," Donna continued, "--or, I mean, his mom; I shouldn't make assumptions -- but one way or another, it seems like I ought to just become Jewish. Right?"

Holy shit. There was really no other way to interpret that.

Josh rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Elation warred with panic in the pit of his stomach. "I would like to say, for the record--" he said, making an effort to keep his speech slow and even, "and please notice that I'm not panicking, and I want to be clear that this is not a deal-breaker, though I wouldn't have minded if there had been, oh, some kind of consultation, maybe some fact-finding on the matter of birth control, though I recognize that that was easily as much my responsibility as it was yours, so if you're telling me that you're pregnant, honestly, Donna, I think the putative Jewishness of our future offspring is the least important--"

And then his voice froze up, because his brain had finally caught up with what he was saying, and who was he kidding, he was fucking terrified.

But having a kid with Donna was going to be amazing. And leave it to Donna to figure out what he wanted before he even knew it himself. That was kind of the story of their relationship right there, actually. Josh and Donna in a nutshell.

God: they were going to have to get married. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Because now it was going to look like he was only proposing because he wanted their kid to have married parents. Which wasn't the half of it.

"Josh," Donna said gently, and waited until he turned to look at her.

When he did, she grinned. It was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Donatella Moss, future mother of his child, half-covered by a sheet, propped up on her folded arms and smiling at him as though she knew something wonderful that he didn't. Which was, if he were honest with himself, the case more often than not.

"Psych," she said lightly.

Of course he yanked the pillow out from under her and whapped her with it.

"Hey!" she yelled, and squirmed out from under it and grabbed at his pillow to attack him in return. But Josh pressed his head back, unwilling to give her the ammunition.

"Fine, be that way," she said, tossing her hair out of her face, and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss started out playful, but it got serious fast. Josh dropped the pillow; he had better things to do with his arms now.

Josh pushed her onto her back and she yielded willingly. Her expression said what are you going to do now, huh? So he reached for the lube, slicked two fingers, and pushed them inside. He was utterly mesmerized by the wash of pleasure across Donna's face. It was addictive. He was determined to figure out how to keep putting that expression there.

And he had some ideas. He'd known Donna for a long time; he'd learned a thing or two about what made her tick. At least he hoped he had. But this was a whole different way of knowing somebody. How had he never realized before how much he needed this?

"Hey," Donna murmured. He twisted his fingers and was rewarded by a slight gasp. "You're thinking. Stop thinking."

Busted. "Right," Josh said. "I'll try."

It felt like a promise. And that felt right.