Josh doesn't mean to look. Or, if he does, he doesn't mean to look at her in that way.
Yes, he could argue that he was fully coherent when he was looking at the filing cabinet behind her, then continued having a coherent thought when he glanced out the window at a particularly stunning sunset across the tree line. But things get a little less coherent when he turns back to her, when his eyes fall on her skirt bunched tight across her thighs as she crouches down to get some papers he had dropped. And the whole paper thing, that was a complete accident. A slip of the hand, sending a whole stack of forms scattering and fluttering to the floor. Never mind the fact that it was because she had appeared in the doorway whilst he was reaching for something, and he looked up, hoping it was her.
There was always something of a lapse in reason whenever he was with Donna. Then again, at those same moments, he often felt as if he had never been more lucid.
It was getting ridiculous.
But now they're both here, in this office that always seems at once too large and too small whenever they're both in there alone. Time slows down, and Donna is still on her knees, looking up expectantly at him with those bright blue eyes that he's spent almost two years looking into and wondering, just wondering-
"You trailed off there."
He feels the heat rise to his face, and so retreats behind the safety of his desk when she gets up to her feet, trying to find something to type or annotate or do anything to stop himself from looking directly at her. "What... what was I saying?"
"I said that you had a meeting with the FEC commissioners in about an hour, and you wanted me to fax something beforehand."
"Oh. Oh! Yeah, can you email, uh, Steven, the itinerary prep? He mentioned this morning that his got waylaid somewhere, and he asked for another copy. Considering I wrote it for him specifically, I'm left to wonder how exactly he rose up to the dizzying heights of having executive powers for an independent regulatory agency." he paused. "Or any form of conscious agency at all, now that I think about it."
Donna rolls her eyes. "I'll get on that."
He pretends not to notice that quick backward glance she gives him just before she closes the door. As soon as he hears it shut, he sinks his head down on the desk, every part of him burning in a way he had no real experience to compare to. He can feel his heart racing inside his ribcage.
There was a strip of white fabric just along the outside of her thigh. That was what caught his eye- the tiny buckle caught in the light as the sun was just beginning to disappear behind the trees, outlined with white lace.
Josh counts down from ten, then counts down from twenty, then counts every ethics philosopher he had ever studied in college. Once he returns to something resembling coherent, work-related thoughts, he lifts his head off his desk, and gets on with the rest of his evening.
It was completely normal until it suddenly, definitely, wasn't. They're working late that night, late enough to be the only ones left in the wing, and that feeling never really went away, did it? It settled on his thoughts like heavy, perfumed fog: the knowledge that if he undressed her now, right now, he'd find something pretty underneath. And underneath that...
He stops typing, hands hovering just above the keys. Josh can hear her working in the next room. Can hear every rustle of papers, quiet phone calls across time zones, a gentle sigh when she rested the phone back in the receiver.
Without quite knowing what possesses him, he calls her name.
His own voice sounds thick and strange in his own ears, but now she was standing in his office (how did she look so perfect at this hour), and he was getting up and locking the doors. He didn't know what divine power had moved him toward her, to lift her skirt ever so slightly to reveal the lingerie, ghosting light fingertips along the outside of her thigh- but he had a feeling that it was one of no benign influence.
"Are you wearing lingerie?"
With his other hand he draws her closer, guiding her towards him like he would guide her down corridors. The familiar weight on the small of her back in such a new situation almost makes her laugh, and his face brightens at her smile.
They were so close they spoke barely above a whisper. "I was wondering when you would notice."
"You were just waiting for-"
"So you don't have a date or anything tonight?"
"Not that I know of."
"So I'm not... wildly misreading this situation? There are no political c-listers lurking in the shadows that this is for specifically?"
She smiles sweetly. "None bar one."
He doesn't realise that she had laced her fingers in his belt loops until she pulls him gently towards her, closing the gap. Drawing him closer, so much closer, than he would dare. Even her breath on his skin was making his heart kickstart into gear, and she knows this. She presses her lips gently to his cheek, feeling his heat, his blood and his body trembles; a fine, unsuppressed shiver. The movement was gentle, an odd kind of reverence that he seems to save only for her. The soft rush of his breath at her ear is like a drug and slowly, letting him wait, letting him want, she shifts to kiss him.
He lets out a soft, needy sound, deepening the kiss, and that was enough.
They break away, and neither of them can get to the chair fast enough. Josh more or less falls into it, only needing a few steps backwards, and Donna follows suit, straddling him, his waist on either side of her thighs, and it kind of surprises her how comfortable they both are like this, like it's completely natural.
He exhales slowly, tucking his fingers in between the strap of fabric and soft flesh. Her skirt has ridden up to her waist, and he drinks in the view of her white lace panties that the garter belts are attached to. "You know, this can probably be classified as an assassination attempt."
"I wore them for you. I thought that nothing was gonna happen, but it was fun to talk to you whilst pretending that- that something was, you know? Like, you were just going to lock all the doors in the office one day and..." she trails off, blushing and grinning, looking him squarely in the eyes.
"Who are you?" he whispers admiringly. His jawline catches in the low light of the lamp in the corner as he quirks his head up to look at her.
"I'm Donna Moss?" she beams, like they were meeting for the first time.
He reaches up to kiss her then, and she obliges, her hair falling to the side in a curtain as she tilts her head down. God, she's better than he even imagined, a mouth so sweet and hot and needy, biting lightly on his bottom lip and with a hand threading through his hair with just the right amount of pressure and this was for him-
"You could have chosen someone better, you know." he breaks away from the kiss a little to focus on undoing the buttons on her shirt. She's wearing a matching bra, all lace and white silk, with extra straps that crisscross across her chest, looping over her collarbones and down her back.
"I knew you'd think like that." she replies breathlessly. She moves to work on the space between his jawline and his neck and oh god, how did she know that that was the exact space he liked so well?
"You're, ah- punching well below your weight."
Josh is swelling against her, dick twitching as it fattens, and Donna rocks her hips, chasing the feeling, chasing his need. Open-mouthed, she kisses over his throat, drinking in the heat pulsing beneath his skin; hands roam her back, her sides, tugging at the hem of her skirt until it's hiked up further around her waist.
Donna presses against his body, shifts her hips, gets him nice and heavy and thick right at her centre. Only their clothes separate them now, but his fingers are branding her waist, and his hips are rolling up against her lazily, as if he doesn't even know he's doing it. She kneads his hard dick through the fabric with a free hand, and the moan that escapes him, he's gripping her hip hard enough to leave a bruise, the way she's grinding up against him, the way he ruts up into her desperately-
Suddenly she can feel his hand slip under all the silk and lace she's wearing. She squirms, trying to get him to touch her where she wants most. He responds, and cups the entirety of her, pressing two fingers into her folds. She's wet already, and he spreads around the wetness generously, explores everywhere he can touch. When his fingers finally circle her swollen clit, he rubs it carefully, testing her sensitivity. Immediately, Donna bucks in his hand with a muffled cry and clenches around him, her head resting against the crook of his shoulder.
He does it again, less carefully. And then again. He imagines eating her out of the sofa of his apartment, kissing her messily while his fingers are working at her deep inside, her hands tangled in his hair like this, not worrying about the noise, how sweet she would taste, and suddenly he's about as close as her, his cock throbbing against her hand, straining against the confines of his clothes.
"I can't believe you're this wet already," he groans. It had only been a few minutes and she was already soaking his hand. "This was for me?"
"It always is, I- ended up thinking of you every time I- fuck!"
Her inner muscles tighten on his fingers and she rides his hand and comes with a frantic, surprised intake of air, a noise he wants to hear every day for the rest of his life. He realises with dull recognition that it was his voice that brought her over the edge. He doesn't know exactly what he says, but a jumble of whispered praise falls out of his mouth as she rides out her climax on him.
"Do you have condoms?" she finally manages to say, after a minute or so.
"In the drawer. The one I don't let you into."
"Why do you have condoms in your office drawer?"
"Why do you wear lingerie to work?"
She leans back to lift her hips, shimmying out of her panties, letting them drop to the ground beside them. The after effects of her orgasm were still rippling their way lazily to the outer reaches of her body, settling low in her hips, making her muscles clench up and causing her fingers to fumble at the button of his pants. The condoms were on some important looking files in the drawer, which makes her laugh. A visible representation of Josh's priorities.
She gets comfortable straddling him again, finally manages to get the zipper down and reach a hand through his boxers for his erection. His eyes roll back in his head at that, and oh, the look of pure adoration he gives her shouldn't have such an effect on her. He tilts his head to kiss her again, swearing against her mouth. She pulls herself away long enough to tear the corner of the condom wrapper with her teeth, and goes back to kissing him, rolling the latex over his dick blindly.
A needy sound escapes him as she does that, rutting up into her hands a little. She spits onto her right hand and gives his cock a few strokes, then gently, slowly, eases herself onto him.
Donna kisses him and rolls her hips slowly, careful not to take him over the edge. God, he's big, she didn't get a good look but she can feel him, feel him filling her up. His head falls back against the chair, and hearing him moan, the sound coming from a place deep within him, only spurs her forward even though she had hardly recovered from her first climax. She kisses along his jaw and neck and gasps as he grips her by the hips, guiding her movements, squeezing hard enough into her skin that she knew it would leave a bruise. She wants it to. Wants to look at it in the mirror for days after and remember this feeling, how good he had made her feel. She could feel the pace he's silently asking for but resists it, taking him slow and deep, her thighs shaking. "Christ, Josh-"
"I adore you," he almost growls, gasping as he nips at her collarbone, trailing soft bites and kisses down to her breasts. "God, I feel like I'm gonna pass out, you feel so good-"
"I used to fantasise about you."
"Ah- so did I-"
Slow, slow- he throbs, and Donna tightens around him instinctively, holding onto the feeling, the fullness; he groans and swells and it's good, it's good-
"I adore you." she mirrors.
"Say that again." he whispers, like all the breath has been knocked out of him.
"I adore you."
She holds onto the chair behind him and uses the leverage to grind herself against him, quickening the pace, letting their mouths brush together but never fully kiss. Making him needy, so desperately, achingly responsive to praise as she's fucking him. They talk to each other, in hushed and husky voices: so good Josh, you feel so good and Donna, holy shit, don't stop. Her nipples skim just barely against his shirt until it drives her crazy, a good crazy, a desperate crazy, until she finally has to lean in against him to relieve the ache.
"Fuck me, Josh."
She buries her face against his neck while he grips her by the shoulders and pounds into her from beneath. Being fucked into in such a relentless, desperate way left her incoherent and gasping and alive, grasping at everything; his chest, his shoulders, his waist, his hair. And it's not even the sex that brings her to a shudder above him- though the sex is good, it's amazing it's mind-blowing- but no, what does it is his scent, right against her nose, and the sensation of being in his arms, in his lap- the intimacy and closeness of it all. His breath on her skin, the warmth under his clothes. Everything together is so overwhelming and comforting and perfect, that she falls apart in his arms all over again. And again, her orgasms arriving so close together that some faraway part of her brain debates whether she'll be able to walk at the end of all this. She thinks she can see stars.
Josh is almost there himself, or about to have an aneurysm, she isn't sure. Eyes closed, jaw clenched, purposeful. His thrusts speed up to an insane rate before he pushes in hard and deep and stays there, her name escaping him as he comes. She was still thrumming, could feel his cock throbbing inside of her, delightful little tremors squeezing him, riding it out. She brushes her fingers through his wet hair.
There's this moment of quiet then, him gasping into her shoulder as their breaths start to slowly even out together.
He kisses her sleepily. He pulls out and knots the condom calmly as she moves off his lap. He sorts his pants out and hands her panties to her when he stands up, and she wants to kiss him for how smooth he's being. He must be thinking the same thing, because after she steps into her panties and straightens her skirt again he kisses her soft and slow, tilting her jaw up towards him because wow, she forgot that he was taller than her when she wasn't wearing heels.
"We're doing this in completely the wrong order, by the way." he says, smiling into the kiss.
"We're supposed to date, then fuck, and then I throw yearning glances at you from across the corridor, after realising that my best friend- that you- are the love of my life. We're doing this all backwards."
She laughs, her heart soaring. "Well we have to complete the sequence now. We've gotten this far."
Josh brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear and his hand stays there, resting at the side of her face. She leans into the touch, his thumb gently grazing across her cheekbone. "Donnatella Moss," he grins. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
She answers by kissing him again, laughing.
When they walk out of the White House together, they're holding hands. They both know that they're going back to his apartment. That Josh will probably floor it driving them both back, barely stopping for red lights. That her hand will be arching higher and higher up his thigh as he does so, because they have two years of pining to make up for, damn it.
"You're my best friend too, you know."
"Yeah," he replies, his face hurting from smiling. "I know."