ficpost: "Like Boy Scouts in the Dead of Winter" Josh/Mandy
My porn battle's going great; I'm on my second fic and already it became too long for comments. An edited version will be posted here [mine; light]. I'll do a porn battle round-up post next week. Hope all y'all are having just as much fun.
Title: "Like Boy Scouts in the Dead of Winter"
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Mandy
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and lots of profanity. Hi, Mandy.)
Warnings: Run-on sentences.
Spoilers/Timeline: Sometime in S1, I feel.
Notes: For the porn battle (see above). Prompt, from honeymink, was "wet."
Summary: Mandy is not a patient person.
Wordcount: 1170
Like Boy Scouts in the Dead of Winter
Mandy is so fucking wet it is not fucking funny, because Josh called her an hour ago and said, in what could pass for seductive if a man with Josh's massive masculinity issues would ever cop to possessing any sexual mode more sophisticated than grunting me want, "I'll be over in five minutes," and because Mandy knows Josh and because Mandy knows that Josh is not just an insensitive lover but wouldn't even know what "insensitive" meant if he happened across it in a dictionary between "incumbent" and "international crisis," she plugged in a vibrator and got herself all worked up thinking about how much she hates Josh Lyman and the stupid, arrogant way he smiles when he knows he's going to get laid, and his goddamn affected five 'o clock stubble that burns when he kisses her, and his ridiculous sports-related boxer shorts that he wears because he knows if he ever does persuade a woman to take them off, she'll need all the convincing in the world to believe that he's actually a man and not an overgrown, upright-walking puppy, because damned if she is going to miss her first opportunity in a year to have sex just because Josh doesn't have the common decency to finger a woman for a few seconds before going right to the "thank you ma'am" part (though she's a lucky woman, really, if Josh manages a thank you and not just, "I need to get a whip-count before eight A.M. so don't call me,") so she is now prepared, over-prepared, Boy Scout prepared and Josh is fucking late, which means he's probably not coming.
This doesn't mean that Mandy can't come; unlike Josh Lyman the vibrator can start what it finishes, and also unlike Josh Lyman the vibrator can be unplugged when she's done with it, doesn't mind when she screams at it, and has never heard of a Senate vote that it can't peacefully ignore because it is, after all, just a piece of very expensive plastic that runs on batteries, which is, really, why Mandy is so fucking angry, because tonight she is a little bit drunk and a lot a bit horny and would really like human contact of the kind that involves skin of some kind touching her cunt (and possibly even her breasts or thighs or the spot right above her ass that has some kind of electric connection to her clit, but really, right now, all she would like is something warm between her legs, and she's not at all fastidious about what and any second now it might actually be the pizza boy who's trying to find an apartment in her building and is randomly knocking on doors as he is apparently unable to read numbers, but she bets he'd be a better lover than Josh because he is actually here. In her building. She could conceivably whisper something nasty to him and he would hear her, because he can hear things other than the sound of his own ego expanding. Goddamnit she is so wet that she could scream.)
She's wearing a short black dress of which Josh is not worthy. For Josh, she wore a designer dress and got herself turned on and poured a drink (beer, because Josh believes that alcohol in any other form is effeminate or pretentious or both, as if she didn't know perfectly well that if Josh's pretensions were removed, only a warm body and a caffeine habit would remain where once stood the third or fourth most powerful man in Washington). She hitches up the skirt and puts a finger to her cunt, to see whether arousal really is ninety-five percent mental or whether she is, in fact, so wet she's practically gushing, and now her hand smells like arousal and the smell is turning her on even more, and she knows if she comes it'll only make it worse because this is a multiple orgasm kind of night, hot and steamy and pissed the fuck off. When Josh finally (at one in the morning) announces over her intercom that he's here for his evening of manly conquest, she is so goddamned wet and tired and pissed that she doesn't even bother to slap him but undoes the first three buttons of his shirt while sucking on his neck and his hands fly up in surprise and actually, miraculously, land somewhere in the vicinity of where her bra would be if she were wearing one, which she's not. He rubs her uncertainly and she bites down hard, not even as punishment (which he's practically begging for and will be, before she's done) but because if she doesn't put something between her teeth, she'll scream, and she doesn't want to start screaming before Josh even gets his pants off because he doesn't need any more ego than he already has. "Will you fuck me already?" she says, working on his fly.
"I would be happy to..."
"Shut up," she hisses.
"Shut up, check." He actually does, mostly because Mandy has deigned to kiss him and talking when your mouth is full of someone else's energetic tongue is difficult even for Josh. She hopes she's turning him on because God if he's not hard soon he's going to have to go down on her, which is not a bad idea except the idea of Josh trying to think of someone else's needs is too unlikely even to contemplate. Fortunately she knows thirteen ways of making Josh hard without touching him, and considerably more when she has the full use of her hands and feet and mouth. When she takes a breath, Josh says, "Are you really going to undress me with your toes?"
"I told you to shut up," she says, working his boxer shorts (Knicks, the fuck?) down with her left foot.
"That's kind of unnatural."
"Blow jobs are unnatural. The electoral college is unnatural. Lipstick is unnatural. Naked men in my apartment aren't unnatural, but they're so rare I'm beginning to think they're an endangered breed, so would you just take off your socks and start fucking me?"
When they finally (finally) achieve proneness without any undue accident, when Josh finally (finally) pushes into her, when he finally (finally) props himself up and starts to thrust in what she's sure he thinks is a dignified fashion and when her arousal finally (fucking goddamn finally) erupts around him like a very bad sex scandal the day before election day, powerful and single-minded and world-destroying, when Josh comes with a predictable grunt and dismounts, she smirks at his dick and is pleased to see that it is covered in her come, shiny and fucking very wet.
Title: "Like Boy Scouts in the Dead of Winter"
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Mandy
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and lots of profanity. Hi, Mandy.)
Warnings: Run-on sentences.
Spoilers/Timeline: Sometime in S1, I feel.
Notes: For the porn battle (see above). Prompt, from honeymink, was "wet."
Summary: Mandy is not a patient person.
Wordcount: 1170
Like Boy Scouts in the Dead of Winter
Mandy is so fucking wet it is not fucking funny, because Josh called her an hour ago and said, in what could pass for seductive if a man with Josh's massive masculinity issues would ever cop to possessing any sexual mode more sophisticated than grunting me want, "I'll be over in five minutes," and because Mandy knows Josh and because Mandy knows that Josh is not just an insensitive lover but wouldn't even know what "insensitive" meant if he happened across it in a dictionary between "incumbent" and "international crisis," she plugged in a vibrator and got herself all worked up thinking about how much she hates Josh Lyman and the stupid, arrogant way he smiles when he knows he's going to get laid, and his goddamn affected five 'o clock stubble that burns when he kisses her, and his ridiculous sports-related boxer shorts that he wears because he knows if he ever does persuade a woman to take them off, she'll need all the convincing in the world to believe that he's actually a man and not an overgrown, upright-walking puppy, because damned if she is going to miss her first opportunity in a year to have sex just because Josh doesn't have the common decency to finger a woman for a few seconds before going right to the "thank you ma'am" part (though she's a lucky woman, really, if Josh manages a thank you and not just, "I need to get a whip-count before eight A.M. so don't call me,") so she is now prepared, over-prepared, Boy Scout prepared and Josh is fucking late, which means he's probably not coming.
This doesn't mean that Mandy can't come; unlike Josh Lyman the vibrator can start what it finishes, and also unlike Josh Lyman the vibrator can be unplugged when she's done with it, doesn't mind when she screams at it, and has never heard of a Senate vote that it can't peacefully ignore because it is, after all, just a piece of very expensive plastic that runs on batteries, which is, really, why Mandy is so fucking angry, because tonight she is a little bit drunk and a lot a bit horny and would really like human contact of the kind that involves skin of some kind touching her cunt (and possibly even her breasts or thighs or the spot right above her ass that has some kind of electric connection to her clit, but really, right now, all she would like is something warm between her legs, and she's not at all fastidious about what and any second now it might actually be the pizza boy who's trying to find an apartment in her building and is randomly knocking on doors as he is apparently unable to read numbers, but she bets he'd be a better lover than Josh because he is actually here. In her building. She could conceivably whisper something nasty to him and he would hear her, because he can hear things other than the sound of his own ego expanding. Goddamnit she is so wet that she could scream.)
She's wearing a short black dress of which Josh is not worthy. For Josh, she wore a designer dress and got herself turned on and poured a drink (beer, because Josh believes that alcohol in any other form is effeminate or pretentious or both, as if she didn't know perfectly well that if Josh's pretensions were removed, only a warm body and a caffeine habit would remain where once stood the third or fourth most powerful man in Washington). She hitches up the skirt and puts a finger to her cunt, to see whether arousal really is ninety-five percent mental or whether she is, in fact, so wet she's practically gushing, and now her hand smells like arousal and the smell is turning her on even more, and she knows if she comes it'll only make it worse because this is a multiple orgasm kind of night, hot and steamy and pissed the fuck off. When Josh finally (at one in the morning) announces over her intercom that he's here for his evening of manly conquest, she is so goddamned wet and tired and pissed that she doesn't even bother to slap him but undoes the first three buttons of his shirt while sucking on his neck and his hands fly up in surprise and actually, miraculously, land somewhere in the vicinity of where her bra would be if she were wearing one, which she's not. He rubs her uncertainly and she bites down hard, not even as punishment (which he's practically begging for and will be, before she's done) but because if she doesn't put something between her teeth, she'll scream, and she doesn't want to start screaming before Josh even gets his pants off because he doesn't need any more ego than he already has. "Will you fuck me already?" she says, working on his fly.
"I would be happy to..."
"Shut up," she hisses.
"Shut up, check." He actually does, mostly because Mandy has deigned to kiss him and talking when your mouth is full of someone else's energetic tongue is difficult even for Josh. She hopes she's turning him on because God if he's not hard soon he's going to have to go down on her, which is not a bad idea except the idea of Josh trying to think of someone else's needs is too unlikely even to contemplate. Fortunately she knows thirteen ways of making Josh hard without touching him, and considerably more when she has the full use of her hands and feet and mouth. When she takes a breath, Josh says, "Are you really going to undress me with your toes?"
"I told you to shut up," she says, working his boxer shorts (Knicks, the fuck?) down with her left foot.
"That's kind of unnatural."
"Blow jobs are unnatural. The electoral college is unnatural. Lipstick is unnatural. Naked men in my apartment aren't unnatural, but they're so rare I'm beginning to think they're an endangered breed, so would you just take off your socks and start fucking me?"
When they finally (finally) achieve proneness without any undue accident, when Josh finally (finally) pushes into her, when he finally (finally) props himself up and starts to thrust in what she's sure he thinks is a dignified fashion and when her arousal finally (fucking goddamn finally) erupts around him like a very bad sex scandal the day before election day, powerful and single-minded and world-destroying, when Josh comes with a predictable grunt and dismounts, she smirks at his dick and is pleased to see that it is covered in her come, shiny and fucking very wet.