Bitten by the muse

The good stuff....

2007-09-26T03:37:38Z

I've decided to friend-lock the smut, so anything of the NC-17 variety you'll need to be a friend to read and you'll need to be over 18 to do so.
Comment here to be added :0)

Scarlet (1/1)

2007-09-25T12:03:54Z

Title: Scarlet

Spoilers: General S1 and S2. Doomsday.
Rated: G

Keywords: AU!Reunion.

Summary: Rose takes a sabbatical
Inspired by: Scarlet, by Brooke Fraser.

Notes: Here’s a characterisation of Rose I don’t believe in, and a quick fix ending I always think of as lazy writing. But if I didn’t get these thoughts out there now they’d just spoil a perfectly good fic later down the line.

Also, this is completely AU.

SCARLET

Middle of nowhere,

finally you can breathe.

Nobody knows your name,

it’s easier.

She left Torchwood. Seven years to the day of signing on she realised she simply couldn’t do this anymore – and handed in her notice. She had itchy feet. Seven years of being in one place had taken its toll on her. She laughed to herself sometimes, when she thought of how many years she had stayed in one place, in her old life, on her Original Earth. Original Earth, that’s what she called it when no one was nearby, when no one could overhear. This Earth was her home now, but her heart wasn’t here. Perhaps, she wondered, it was a need to go abroad, to see places on this planet that weren’t London. She loved her family, loved the home they had given her, but she couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t stay in one place anymore. He had shown her such wondrous places amongst the stars, and if she couldn’t have that she could at least journey across this terrestrial home and explore all the places she had never been. He had given her such a mouth-watering taste of alien cultures, but why look to the stars when she had a myriad of Earth cultures to discover?

So she purchased a large pack, organised her passport and visas, booked a flight – and said goodbye.

She travelled, country after country, aware of the way some of these countries were different here than on her Earth, unaware of others. She explored Europe, one country at a time, never really staying long enough to make a friend. Her Original Earth German was useless here, the dialects so different they could be two completely different languages. She supposed that they actually were.
She travelled, never really stopping, never really seeing anything, just getting out of her head for a while and doing that living thing she swore she’d do once she got settled on the parallel Earth. He had given her a second chance, but she felt like she’d just thrown it all away. Deep down she knew she had sabotaged it. She couldn’t ever be happy, not like she had been with him. She refused to allow herself to enjoy her life, because to her it wasn’t a life, unless he was at her side.

Shut your eyes tightly,

clench your fists ‘til they almost bleed.

Cautiously, lightly,

gently expose what’s underneath

It wasn’t until she stepped foot in Asia that she finally began to let herself feel again. She stood, one warm autumn afternoon, on a section of the Great Wall of China. If she stood there, on such a mammoth feat of human engineering, could she too be seen from space? She knew the answer, but couldn’t help raising a hand quickly above her head and giving a fleeting wave to the heavens above. Feeling silly, she dropped her hand back to her side, but her eyes stayed cast upwards, searching for a reply.

Deflated, she dropped her head and closed her eyes, her face contorted in the pain from the pressure in her head. She clenched her fists, and swore to herself she would stop searching, stop looking for someone who couldn’t be there. It was impossible, she knew that. Two universes would collapse. Hell, he had burnt up a sun just to say goodbye to her. He couldn’t be up there, above this Earth in this universe. It just wasn’t possible. And it was time to stop waiting for him. It was time to breathe again.

And all you feel now,

is the scarlet in the day.

Even if it’s real,

you can’t stay.

The sun warmed her, its rays penetrating the cold shield she had put up to protect herself. Slowly, the ice in her veins melted. Would she be forever damaged from the ice crystals in her cells, or would she be the girl he had moulded her into while at his side, the girl with the unbreakable spirit, the girl with fire in her veins. She could be that girl again, even without him. She could live and love and be happy, but she couldn’t do it here. Even if she had started to feel again, this wasn’t the place for her. She hadn’t found that place yet, so she would move on, keep searching until she found it. It existed, she knew that now.

++++++++++++++++++++++

So there you go,

You’re gone for good.

There you go,

Gone for good.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Your mind is swollen,

from months of thought without release.

They’ve taken their toll on you.

She travelled to Japan, down to Taiwan, across to Thailand, before reaching Australia. But Australia held no joy for her. Asia was calling her, calling her back. A quick stop in New Zealand and then she was on her way to Nepal. The reason behind that decision eluded her, though she wondered if one Kiwi’s fascination with Mount Everest had inspired her.
At the foot of the mountain’s majestic slopes, a sight so much greater than the mountain itself stopped her in her tracks and almost forced her to her knees in shock. A blue box… The blue box. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. She found her strength on shaky legs and cautiously approached the TARDIS. She knocked on the door – and he opened it. She almost cried in the absurdity of the moment. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, before exiting the TARDIS and closing the door behind him.

“Out of order,” he remarked before moving to pass her.

“Doctor,” she rasped out, not knowing what else to say.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “What did you call me?”

With forced composure, she held his gaze. “I’m Rose,” she said, more firmly that she realised she was capable of in that moment.

“Okay, Rose,” he said slowly, “now what did you call me?”

“You’re the Doctor.”

“I’m sorry have we met?”

She laughed, but the sound lacked mirth. She knew this wasn’t her Doctor. “In a previous life, in an alternate universe, we travelled together.”

“I travel alone.”

“We were friends.”

“You must be someone special then.”

“I am.”

He laughed, good-naturedly, at her self-assurance. “I like you. So, Rose, what are you doing in Nepal.”

“Searching.”

“For?”

“You.”

“For me? Or for my parallel version.”

“The latter, I guess.”

“Well, can I help you or is he the only one who can? And tell me, do we look the same?”

“You look like him when I first met him, he regenerated while we were together.”

“Is he ginger now?”

“No," she told him. His smile faded and he frowned slightly. At his expression, she added, "and he was disappointed as well.”

A rumbling stopped their tête-à-tête and both turned to look up at the mountains before them.

“Avalanche,” The Doctor said, taking hold of her hand. “Run!” He pulled her towards the TARDIS, pushed her inside, ran to the consol and started the machine. Rose helped, her fingers on the consol, the memory of the machine still in her mind. The TARDIS responded and whisked them away. Her familiarity with his girl not going unnoticed by him.

“I really shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” The Doctor said once the danger had passed. “I should have asked your permission first.”

“Why start now?” Rose asked, smiling.

And this very moment,

of timid and fragile honesty.

Is precious and rare,

and fleeting.

“I travel alone,” he repeated his earlier words, this time with a smile tugging at his lips.

“So do I.”

“Though I have been known to make exceptions.”

“So have I.”

“Rose, Rose, Rose.” He let his tongue roll over her name. “Rose who?”

“Rose Tyler.”

“Well Rose Tyler, I’m the Doctor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to see you again.”

“Take a seat, Rose. Tell me about this other life we shared, how we came to part.”

So, she did. For four hours they sat and she told it all and by the end he was completely ensorcelled.

“Come with me, Rose.”

And so, she did.

So there you go

You’re gone for good

There you go

You’re gone for good

THE END

Inspired by ‘Scarlet’ by Brooke Fraser

http://www.brookefraser.com

The One with the List

2007-08-30T04:36:55Z

FANDOM: The X-Files
RATED: G
NOTE: Response to PPoS challenge #15 (Write a fic that has
boredom as a main subject)

THE ONE WITH THE LIST
By B.C

Reaching out blindly, I grasped the nearest pencil and pitched it
up towards the ceiling. Without tearing my eyes away from the
baseball article in the sports section of the paper, I reached
out again and threw another pencil.

The Yankees were doing well this year.

Standing, I walked over to the hook on the back of the office
door and lifted the worn Yankees cap from it. With the paper
still grasped firmly in one hand, I pulled the cap on my head
with the other and tugged at the front until it sat snugly.
Returning to my seat, I opened the paper back to the sports
section, grasped a pencil, circled a few interesting scores, gave
Joe Torre fangs, pouting lips and a monobrow and then threw the
pencil up towards the ceiling.
With yet another HB now grasped between my fingers, I scanned
the scores.

The Orioles weren't having one of their best years.

A couple of scratches with the pencil and they're top of the AL.
Glancing back at the Yankees scores, I remembered the Orioles
were good - but not that good. A few more scratches later and
Yankees are back on top.

A flick of the wrist and yet another pencil heads for the ceiling.
I reach for another but feel nothing but the smooth surface of the
desk beneath my fingertips.

It's past midnight, I can't leave until my partner returns with
autopsy results, and I'm bored. I don't often get bored. It's a
strange feeling.
I could read x-files I have memorized, or I could get a cup of
coffee. Coffee wins.

With the cap still sitting securely on my head, I leave the office
and walk quickly down the deserted halls of the FBI. Thankfully,
no matter where you are in the building, you're never far from a
pot of coffee. It may not be fresh coffee, and it may not even be
warm anymore, but it's still caffeine and right now even a stale pot
of coffee sounds better than falling asleep on the desk.
If I drooled on myself I have a partner who'd never let me live that
down.

==========

With a steaming cup of black coffee in my hand, I meander through
the corridors. The slower I walk, the less time I have to wait
in that office alone. Plus the idea of spilling hot liquid over
myself isn't at the top of my list of things I wanted to achieve
today. Not that I have such a list. Although if I find another
pencil I may be bored enough to write one. I could always boot
up the computer and type up a colorful list using bright font
and print it off for the world to see.

Pushing the office door open, I enter with my mind full of ideas
for my list - and that is my explanation for why it took so long
for my brain to register that my partner was sitting in the seat
I'd recently vacated.

"I never knew you were an artist, Scully."

New list: Explanations for the artwork.

"The fangs are a nice touch, but next time use your own
pencils."

He's going to make me retrieve those pencils.

Revised list: Possible places to find ladders in the F.B.I.

THE END

Pallas Athene

2007-08-30T04:30:49Z

Fandom: The West Wing
Rated: G
Summary: Josh didn't girl-look.
Notes: A little 155-word scene I threw together in an
attempt to drag myself away from SG-1 fic.

155 WORDS:
PALLAS ATHENE
By B.C

"Is my assistant in there somewhere?"

"It's cold in here," Donna told him, her words somewhat muffled by a thick woolen scarf.

"You don't think you're just being a wimp?"

"A wimp?"

"Oh, here we go."

"Last time I got sick you phoned me constantly with silly little questions you could have answered
yourself had you actually looked."

"I recall phoning less often than you just stated _and_ I had looked.
Your filing system is horrendous."

"No, you boy-looked."

"I what?"

"You opened the filing cabinet, glanced inside, didn't instantly find what you wanted, and phoned me."

"I--"

"You boy-looked!"

"Wow."

"What?"

"I'm not feeling impatient yet. I think I'm becoming immune to your--"

"Athena-like wisdom."

"Incoherent babbling."

Donna scowled. "If you need me, I'll be basking in the warm glow of my computer screen."

"It's not that cold, Donna," he told her disappearing form.

"Yes, it is!" She yelled from the hall.

THE END

Disclaimer: Josh. Donna. The West Wing.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.

C. Oct 26 2002

Shelter

2007-08-30T04:25:25Z

FANDOM: The X-Files
RATED: PG-13
WARNING: Adult themes
SPOILERS: Duane Barry' and 'Emily'
SUMMARY: Scully's musings on certain aspects of her
life.
DISCLAIMER: Nothing XF related belongs to me.
All hail the almighty CC, I am but a meek servant girl
who means you and your creations no harm.

SHELTER
By B.C

I'm fully aware of the territory that comes with what I
do for a living. I accept it. I have little choice.
So I put on a brave face, and I distance myself from the pain
that threatens to envelope me. I investigate the crime by
attempting to collect answers from both the living and the
dead.

The victim.

The innocent victim.

I'd stood in the cold morgue, alone, and viewed 'the body', not
the once living breathing girl who had thoughts and feelings
and hopes and dreams. I'd flicked that professional switch, which
automatically blocks it all, and separated Dana Scully from
Special Agent Scully.

Dana from Scully.

No matter how hard I would try to leave it all behind when I headed
for home, a small part of what I witnessed in the room would remain
with me.

The body, the dead vessel, had belonged to a child. Barely
nine years old she hadn't even started to experience life, yet
it was taken from her; it was all snatched away in the blink of an
eye by a man - a monster - whose heart and mind had showed no
remorse. His dark soulless eyes revealed a man who had never
received love. And a small part of me felt for him, wondered
what it must be like to have no one show any feelings for you
ever. But my true nature hated this man with a fury that burned
hotter and deeper than hell itself.

This child had been murdered in cold blood by an uncaring
machine that was so overpowered by it's needs it would do anything
to satisfy the desires.

And so, he had.

Now whatever 'life' he'd once had was gone. He had only the inside
of a bland room to stare at and project his desires onto for
however long he would cling to his miserable existence.

I reached up and clicked off the tape, wrapped the body and wished
I could leave everything in that room in Agent Scully's mind and
pull Dana Scully back into awareness.

==========

I sit in my living room and add the final word to my report.
Taking my fingers off the keyboard, I reach across and switch my computer
off, only to fix my attention onto my own apartment wall.

The photographs are permanently burned into my mind. The marks on her
neck, the expression on her face, the violation her body had been subjected to.
Her death, not due to exsanguination or asphyxiation, but exposure.
He'd left her to die alone on a cold winter's night.

I find myself thinking of Mulder, my partner, a man with a
photographic memory who had witnessed his sister's abduction and I
wonder how he's survived all these years with the memories.
Whether fabricated or real, they're as much a part of him as this
girl's death is now a part of me.

I've been touched by this a lot deeper than I normally allowed.

The image of a family portrait in the victim's home comes to me.
It had showed happier, carefree times and I feel tears burning at my eyes
for her parents.
Two loving people who will grieve for an eternity. The pain they now
feel will eventually subside - but the emptiness will forever remain.

A part of them died last night.

I feel their pain; I identify with it.
In my work I've watched too many parents, too many wives,
husbands, lovers and friends close their front door
completely shattered.
I've watched them retreat into their now silent world and grieve, allowing
no one to reach out and touch them.
Allowing no one else in.
I know what goes on once that door closes because I've been that parent.
I've lost that child too soon.
But I pulled through, I witnessed the effect of my pain on those around me
and I became strong so not to bring them any further down with me.

I found my life again and I left my apartment to return to
what I have to do to make ends meet.

I left my apartment.

My home.

Home is a sanctuary, a shelter, a familiar warmth that surrounds you and
keeps you safe.
It is *not* a place that strangers can break into and pull you out of.

It wasn't meant to be...

Forcing myself out of my reverie, I stand and glance around the
room feeling more than a little uneasy.
My sanctuary had betrayed me once before and the memories
of that time still keep me awake at night.
It's become too empty here.

Too dark.

Too silent.

Without a second thought I reach out for my phone and
dial a familiar safe number....

==========

"Mulder."

"Mulder, would you mind coming over for a bit?"

He doesn't ask why I want him at my apartment, he doesn't
need to.
He senses I'm uneasy and he'll be here for me.
He'll chase away my demons because he's my friend, and with
him in my life I could never be truly alone.

THE END

C. Jan 14 1999

If they went to Earth....

2007-08-30T04:21:52Z

Fandom: Farscape

Rated: PG

Episode: Daedalus Demands

Summary: If they stayed on Talyn, if they went to Earth, there didn’t have to be another Crichton.

Disclaimer: John. Aeryn. Farscape.

Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
A/N: There is a tense change in this fic. Did it work for you or feel clumsy? Let me know.

IF THEY WENT TO EARTH

By B.C

She had practically moved into his room, into his bed. She couldn’t recall the last time she had slept in
her own quarters onboard Talyn. When the night cycle kicked in she would instinctively fall into his
bed, and no matter how exhausted she was sleep was rarely the first thing on her mind. Crichton was
a drug. She was intoxicated by him.

Every night, every moment they could, they found themselves a tangle of limbs.

And every night she tried to push away the dark shadows threatening to envelope this moment, but
deep down she knew it couldn’t stay perfect forever.

When their desperate moans died down, and the room became silent, her mind strayed to Moya, to
the man she knew was waiting there. She swore to the man beside her she wasn’t thinking about
the other Crichton, that the only time she did was when he brought him up. But it was a lie. If they
stayed on Talyn, if they went to Earth, there didn’t have to be another Crichton.
If they went to Earth…

She could pretend that he was the only one. She could lead him to the bed, undressing along the
way, and lose herself in him.

Afterwards, she covers herself up with minimal clothing and reaches for his journal. He stirs behind
her and is soon searching for his own clothes. When he returns to the bed, he finds a comfortable
spot behind her, his fingertips caressing her bare thigh, and listens while she sounds out the English
words.

She would need to know this, if they went to Earth.

THE END

TeaLTalitha@gmail.com

c. Aug 24^th 2007

Lessons

2007-08-30T04:17:10Z

FANDOM: The West Wing
SPOILERS: ItSoTG. Noel. Commencement.
RATED: PG
KEYWORDS: Post-Ep.
SUMMARY: "I'd caught a glimpse of an eleven year old with thick chocolate-brown
braids peering over my shoulder from behind."
DISCLAIMER: Josh. Donna. Joanie.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
NOTE: Josh's POV

LESSONS
By B.C

Joanie continues to teach me as I grow older.
As children, the five year age gap between us had given her countless opportunities to
pass her five extra years of knowledge down to me.
She was my older sister, and every word she spoke to me was the absolute truth.
I had boundless trust in her.

I lost her.

I missed the sound of her voice.

There would be over thirty years of silence before I heard it again.

-----

Mourning my father as the plane began to taxi down the runway, I had gazed out the
window and watched the city disappear under a wispy gray shroud.
I had caught my reflection in the window and for a fraction of a second could have sworn I'd caught
a glimpse of an eleven year old with thick chocolate-brown braids peering over my shoulder
from behind, trying to sneak peeks of the earth through the gray clouds.
I'd turned quickly to the seat beside me, but my eyes had only found the same white-haired
elderly woman who had claimed the seat after I had boarded.
Her attention focused on the small paper bag in her hands, I'd shifted in my seat and
resumed gazing out the window, watching the mist as it flew past.

And then I heard her voice in my ear.

The carefree tone, the voice always filled with mirth, had become more serious, and
somewhat funereal.
Or maybe it had seemed that way due to the dark place I was in at that moment in time.
No amount of sadness could change the fact the voice was Joanie's; it had still belonged
to my eleven year old sister.

"He loves you so much, Joshua."

"He watched _you_ win tonight."

I had believed those words as I studied the reflection in the window, desperately needing to see
her again, but only finding my own tired eyes staring back at me.
I understood, and still cherish, those words.

"We're both so proud of you.

It was her final words that hadn't been so clear. Their true meaning had eluded my addled mind.

"You made the right decision."

----------

Rosslyn.

The President.

I had awoken late at night from a drug-induced sleep to view an ashen Donna through
the haze clouding my vision.
She had been sitting vigil at my bedside while a voice had whispered familiar words - but
the susurrus hadn't come from my assistant.
It had been Joanie telling me President Bartlet was fine, telling me I, too, would pull through, telling
me I had to. For her.
For Joanie. I had assumed.

----------

Later that year it had again been Joanie's voice murmuring soothing, nonsense, words to me
while I'd sat transfixed, watching my own blood as it flowed down my palm.
I had felt no pain while she had calmed me.
My eyes had fallen upon the broken glass on the carpet, and I'd seen her in the shards. I'd once
again caught only the briefest glimpse of those long braids, curled at the ends.

"They love you, Joshua."

"Let them help you."

"She was the first to know."

Joanie's final words had again left me perplexed - until Leo had spoken to me as the carolers sang
in the background.

----------

Tonight we lost Zoey.
Soon after the news of one lost daughter, sister, friend, came to us, a long-lost daughter, sister,
friend, paid me a visit outside that club. Not her usual kind of hang-out. Or perhaps it would have been?
If only... Would she have--
Her voice had stopped me from once again asking the same tired questions, and she had comforted
me - as she always had.
Joanie assured me Zoey was alive. I was promised the scared, but physically unharmed, teenager
would be found.

She wasn't lost to us.

She had never been their original target.

Joanie's voice had lost any lingering warmth as she had warned me of the changes occurring.

I was needed elsewhere.

My bossy older sister had ordered me back to the White House.
However, unlike when I was a child and she ordered me places, this time I obeyed.

Her parting words, as always, had confused me.

"She loves you, Joshua. Go to her."

The first time my sister had spoken to me I had been too surprised to question her.
The second time I had just awoken after life-saving surgery. When I had broken the window
my mind and my body had been in two completely separate places.

"Zoey?" I questioned aloud, my voice too quiet to be heard through the chaos engulfing the club.

For the first time, since I was six years old, I asked a question and gave Joanie the
opportunity to flaunt how much of a difference five extra years of wisdom really makes.

"Donna."

The End
-----
completed: May 19th 2003.
-----

Shift

2007-08-30T04:09:06Z

FANDOM: Doctor Who

RATED: G

SUMMARY: Maybe, just maybe, they had fallen in love.

DISCLAIMER: Rose. 10. Doctor Who.

Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.

Belated birthday gift for Jacey.

SHIFT

===================

“We’re starting again like the first time…

Constantly changing…”

==================

He swore he was still the Doctor, that it was just his appearance that had changed, but he was wrong. Had he said that to ease her initial discomfort with his new face, or was he unaware of the complete and total shift that had come with it?

She didn’t know the answer, and she didn’t ask.

She found him more charismatic now. She had, over time, found herself attracted to the first man she had met, but on New Earth she found her attraction grow for this second incarnation. Second. She laughed at the word, for she now knew he had gone through many regenerations before he had met her.

The feelings she had for him increased with the change. He was kinder to her; his voice was softer and he smiled more. He was gentler too, his touch warmer than before.

He was still brilliant, still had an answer for everything, but she found herself more amazed by his mind now.

She had loved who he had been before, but it went deeper now.

Maybe it wasn’t his personality that had changed, maybe inside he hadn’t changed at all. Maybe, just maybe, she had fallen in love with him and that love had changed the way she viewed him.

She was different now. He had been the one to regenerate, but she hadn’t come away unscathed. Rose had looked into the heart of the TARDIS and he had absorbed the energy, and together they had been altered. Her eyes were now a lighter shade, though only he would notice, and only he would wonder if it was because of the energy or because he himself looked through different eyes.

Her mind was sharper than ever, and he had absolute faith in her now where previously he may have questioned her.

He had cared for her before, cared more than he had for an assistant in the past. Assistant. He laughed at the word, for she had become more than an assistant, she was a companion, his plus one.

On nights when they slept side-by-side he often reached for her.

That too had changed. Before the regeneration she had slept in her own bed, now she slept in his. A one off event had turned into an almost nightly occurrence.

He had loved who she had been before, but it went deeper now.

Maybe there hadn’t been a slight shift in the tone of Rose’s irises, and maybe she had always been this resourceful, and this dependable.

Maybe, just maybe, he had fallen in love with her and that love had changed the way he viewed her.

The end.

Inspired by “Shift” by Eight

Autumn 1: Iphigeneia in D.C

2007-08-30T04:06:11Z

FANDOM: The West Wing
RATED: R (sexual situations)
SPOILERS: ItSotG. General S3.
SUMMARY: She needs to remember it, and so she etches this
image into her mind until the portrait is complete.
No lines, just shadows.
DISCLAIMER: Josh. Donna. The West Wing.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
Lyrics to '4 White Stallions' by Patrick Winningham.

--------------------
"She had skin like a statue,
milky, white and pure.
Carved by an artist,
whose hand is demure."
--------------------

AUTUMN:
IPHIGENEIA IN DC
By B.C

Lying on her right side, she props herself up on one elbow and leans
over his sleeping form. Her hair falls in front of her face partially
obscuring her view of him, but she smiles as she thinks of how she
doesn't need to be able to see him right now; she just needs to feel
him.
Still supporting herself with her elbow, she reaches out with her
other hand until she can feel the soft texture and warmth of his skin
beneath her fingertips. Slowly, still afraid of rushing things, she
trails her index finger down his chest, careful to avoid the now
static reminder of the night she almost lost him. He doesn't awaken
as she caresses his skin; she lightly moves her finger down to his
toned stomach, circles his navel, and then back up to where she had
started. The tickling sensation would have awoken her in an instant,
yet his breathing remains slow and even, and his eyes don't even
flicker.
She rests her palm flat against his chest, and, as his heartbeat
drums along strong and steady beneath her hand, she gazes down
through her curtain of pale strands at his smooth features and
studies this rare expression on his face. She needs to remember it,
and so she etches this image into her mind until the portrait is
complete. No lines, just shadows. Just light and dark with no creases
or folds. She can't recall a time when he'd looked so peaceful, and
she wonders if she'll ever see it again.
His chest continues to rise and fall, and she drags her gaze away
from his face until her eyes stop to the left of where her hand
rests. She thinks of how lucky he was that night, and then chides
herself for calling him that.
Had he been lucky he wouldn't have this reminder discoloring his
skin. He never would have been hurt.
She lifts her hand from off his chest, instantly missing his warmth,
and tucks her hair behind her ears. Lowering herself down, she shifts
a little until her head is below his chin and rests her cheek on his
chest.
The blankets had inched their way down their bodies during the night
so that nothing can now come between them as she melds herself to
him.
Her breasts press against his side and she drapes an arm across his
stomach. And while the blanket had come to rest at their waists and
covers them a little, she has all the warmth she could need on this
cool autumn morning as she snuggles into him. With her eyes closed
she's unable to see the movement from his right side, but she senses
it and smiles against his skin. Fingers tangle themselves in her
loose hair and gently work through the knots.

"I knew you were awake," she murmurs against him, her eyes still
closed.

"So you thought you'd crush me until I sat up gasping for breath?" He
asks dryly.

"I don't weigh that much, Joshua."

"No," he agrees, running his fingers through the knot-free strands
splayed out on his flesh, "you're light as a feather."

Opening her eyes, she smirks at the tenting of the blankets over his
waist. "And you're stiff as a board."

"And you're hilarious, Donnatella."

Still smiling, she uses his chest to push herself up and turns to
face him. His eyes fall on her body and he sees her clearly for the
first time.

==========

Last night, after stumbling into his apartment, neither had turned on
a light anywhere in the house. He'd closed the door quickly behind
them, taken her hand in his, and led her swiftly to his bedroom.
He'd been afraid if he'd stopped before reaching the bed, even if
only for a second, she'd begin to think about how he was her boss,
and leave him there alone. She'd been afraid if he'd seen her in the
light, he'd realize it was his assistant before him, and throw her
out. Neither had allowed themselves the time to stop and realize they
had never been anything as simple as boss and assistant. What they
had was deeper than that.
Once in his bedroom, they had shed their clothes quickly and tumbled
onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. She had come to rest on top, until
he'd wrapped her securely in his arms and rolled them so positions
were reversed.
Nestled between her thighs, he had then made the decision to slow it
down.
They could have easily kept their speed going and made love in a
frenzy that Bacchus himself would have been proud of. Ecstatic and
wild. Five years of sexual tension resolved in a matter of minutes.
But it hadn't seemed right. They were like tornadoes at work, always
in motion, and picking up speed. They never slowed down until the
force driving them dissipated and they had to leave for their homes.
Their relationship, which he could never really define, had
been the opposite. It had taken them five long years to reach this
point and he couldn't bear the thought of it being over too quickly -
so he had slowed it down as much as his body would allow.
She'd gazed at him through hooded eyes as he'd supported his weight
with one hand and traced the outline of her face with his index
finger.
She'd smiled at him, and he'd then traced her smile before trailing
his finger over her chin, and down her throat. Her skin had felt so
smooth beneath his fingers that he'd wondered for a moment if she was
real, and not just some exquisite statue shaped from marble and
placed in his bed while the real Donna was escorted off before he
could destroy her.

Artemis replacing Iphigeneia with a deer before she could be
sacrificed to the goddess.

He'd sworn to himself that he would never hurt her as she'd lifted
her head and captured his lips with her own. They'd kissed
desperately once they'd entered the apartment, and they'd kissed
hungrily as they'd removed their clothes, always working smoothly
together even with the passion between them. But once she'd found his
lips while in his bed, she too had slowed down and the kiss had been
a loving caress, soft and sweet.

He had been the one to break the contact, but only at their lips. His
fingers had trailed down her body and he'd found her centre, easing
her to readiness as she'd thrown one arm around his neck and murmured
his name repeatedly.
With fingers rhythmically bringing her closer, he'd leaned down and
kissed her shoulder before whispering her name against her skin. He
could see her exposed flesh below him, could still remember the
outline of her familiar face, but only once her name had been spoken
aloud had it suddenly seemed real. Donna herself had paused at the
sound of her name, and, as his fingers still moved between them,
she'd tested his name aloud.

"Josh."

Her voice had been husky, and he'd been afraid that if she used that
voice again he'd end up embarrassing himself. He'd silenced her with
a kiss on her smirking lips and unhurriedly explored her mouth.

Pulling back slightly, he'd braced his hands on either side of her.
She'd reached down then and aided him as he pushed into her. Once
fully sheathed by her, he'd stayed motionless for a moment, reveling
in the feel of being encased by her. Her legs had gripped his hips,
her arms had wrapped tightly around him, and her eyes had silently
begged him to move - and so he had.
They'd made love that night; they'd found that familiar rhythm and
met each other with every stroke. With Amy it had never been love,
with Amy it had been every derogatory word for the act. For Cliff and
Donna it had been one time - and for Donna it had been forgettable.

But this... this would stay in her mind forever.

As his strokes had become more urgent, he'd felt her body begin to
shudder and her walls begin to clench. Still feeling her spasms
around him, he'd only needed a couple more thrusts before his own
release had filled her and he'd collapsed breathlessly down on her.
Her fingers had found their way into his unruly hair and she'd placed
soft kisses on the side of his head while his chin rested on her
shoulder and he tried to catch his breath.
Worried he was crushing her, he'd eased himself out of her and she'd
whimpered, missing him already. He'd kissed her forehead and
carefully moved off her body. Pulling her into his arms, he'd held
her close and they had both soon drifted off to sleep.

==========

His eyes now travel the length of her torso as she sits up before him
and he smiles when his eyes reach her face and he finds her blushing.

"You're beautiful," he tells her with awe in his voice. As she ducks
her head he doesn't know how anyone could hurt a woman like this, and
he hopes he never has.

"What happens now?" She asks softly. She slides over until they're no
longer touching, and reaches down for the blanket. She pulls it over
herself, covering her body completely from her chin down. She turns a
little to face him and again asks, with a touch of desperation in
her voice, "What happens now?"

Josh sits up and traces her arm beneath the sheet. "We continue."

"And forget this?"

Josh shakes his head. His fingertips find her face and he sweeps them
across her hairline and down her jaw, tickling her skin. "Never."

She frowns and asks in a quiet, uneven voice, "What are you saying?"

"This isn't a one night stand." He pauses then and watches her
through narrowed eyes.

Her mouth drops open and she shakes her head at his
expression. "You're not one of my 'gomers', Josh," she tells him
firmly.

He cringes at the word. He had hurt her in her the past, he sees that
now, but he'll make up for it. He briefly wonders how many idiotic
things have left his mouth in her presence, but pushes the thought
aside as he fervently tells himself he has plenty of time to make it
up to her. "You're stuck with me."

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she asks, "Who says I
want you?"

He grins at her and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her body
against his own and moving them until they're again both lying on the
mattress. Josh on his back, Donna on her side. Once they're settled
and her arm is again resting lazily across his stomach, he tilts his
head a little and whispers into her ear, "I might have believed you,
had you not been grinning at me as you'd said that."

"Pity the girl who tries to get anything past you, Joshua."

He smiles into her hair as he tightens his hold on her briefly before
loosening his arms so she can move in his embrace.
She relaxes against him and throws a leg across his thighs.

They both know they'll have to let go soon and leave the bed.
With the President's second term about to begin, they know this isn't
as bad as it could have been - but they still have to break the news
to CJ.
For now, though, they'll stay in each other's arms until they have to
get out of bed and face the day, and as he watches her fight sleep he
begins to make a mental list. The more he recalls the nights he tried
to sabotage her dates, the louder he hears the hurtful words he's
spoken to her and the longer the list becomes. He will make it all up
to her, he has the rest of his life to do so - and it may just take
that long.

TBC...

c. Jan 28th 2003