TWW: Insatiate #6 (Donna)
This is all Kate's fault. Actually, it's all my fault, but I'm going to blame her.
Title: Insatiate #6
Author: voleuse
Fandom: West Wing
Character: Donna (Donna/Josh)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: Set after 6.13
She keeps running into Josh. She stumbles out of her room when he emerges, and fumbles with her keys just as he appears at the end of the hallway. Their schedules have been synchronised for so long, it's hard to break the habit.
One night, she freezes in place, listens to him as he fumbles with his own doorknob. She's half a step inside her door, and she wants to turn, catch his arm, pull him inside.
But then his keycard clicks, and he's inside his room. She takes a deep breath, and steps into her own.
Once the door shuts behind her, she leans against it, closes her eyes.
The sheets of her bed are cold, and so are her hands. She writhes, and prays he'll be gone tomorrow.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.
Title: Insatiate #6
Author: voleuse
Fandom: West Wing
Character: Donna (Donna/Josh)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: Set after 6.13
She keeps running into Josh. She stumbles out of her room when he emerges, and fumbles with her keys just as he appears at the end of the hallway. Their schedules have been synchronised for so long, it's hard to break the habit.
One night, she freezes in place, listens to him as he fumbles with his own doorknob. She's half a step inside her door, and she wants to turn, catch his arm, pull him inside.
But then his keycard clicks, and he's inside his room. She takes a deep breath, and steps into her own.
Once the door shuts behind her, she leans against it, closes her eyes.
The sheets of her bed are cold, and so are her hands. She writhes, and prays he'll be gone tomorrow.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.