Galatea Rising

Title: Galatea Rising
Author: Just Me/xyellowroset
Rating: Adult
Summary: He fell in love with his creation, only to discover she didn't need him anymore.
Disclaimer: John Wells plays in the Sorkin-verse and gets paid for it. I don't.
Timeline: Starts at Inauguration Part II and follows a left hand, but parallel, path from there – ending in Season 6.
Thanks: To my betas – (in alphabetical order) Bex, Christine, Shelly, and Sternel. Thanks also to my wonderful roommate – Uisge Beatha for the general feedback.
Feedback: Love it? Please let me know. Hate it? Please let me know – criticism makes me a stronger person and a better writer. Want to flame me? Feel free, but I reserve the right to mock you in my livejournal.
Few Notes: The whole story had its genesis when I let my mind wander while jogging, and thought, "wouldn't it be nice, if at the end of West Wing, we found out that Josh & Donna had been sleeping together for a while, just like Mulder & Scully on the X-Files."

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PART I: I Could Have Danced All Night

It hadn't happened as she'd thought it would. All those nights, lying awake, indulging in her private, forbidden fantasies had been, in short, blown apart.

For one thing, unlike her dreams, real life didn't bring any happily ever after. For another, not every ball brought the promise of true love.

So, she'd fucked Josh. Or he'd fucked her. Or they'd fucked each other. Something like that.

Fucked. Her mother hated that word, but really there was no pretty, sanitized euphemism to describe what they'd done. It wasn't lovemaking. There hadn't been any love between them.

She wished she could write the evening off as a mistake – an exercise in poor judgment supplemented by too much alcohol and adrenaline.

The truth, however, was that the mistake hadn't been what happened that night. The mistakes, and there were plenty, had been in what had led up to that night and in every day thereafter. That night had been the only thing that made sense. That night, she'd allowed herself to stop thinking and just live.

* * * * *

Josh Lyman never hesitated to go after what he wanted, and that night he had wanted her.

Like some stone-age alpha-male, he had descended on her apartment and begun to attack it with snowballs. She'd looked out the window, seen him ready to lob another, and hushed him.

In the end though, she knew this was a battle she would lose, for the only way to quiet him would be to go down there, and she knew that once she did that, there was no turning back. The entrance to her apartment may as well have been the Rubicon.

He had apologized then, in his own way, and she had accepted, as they'd both known she would.

He looked back at the cab, and then at the group that would be riding with them. "You're going to have to sit in someone's lap." He put his hand possessively on the small of her back and steered her toward the cab. There was no question of whose lap she would be sitting in.

The cabbie tried to argue against all of them climbing in, until Josh reminded him of the extra passenger surcharge he would be turning down if he didn't agree to take all of them. His face registered sudden understanding, and he nodded directing them to get in. Donna slipped in last; Josh wrapped his arms tightly around her. "No seatbelts," he whispered.

She leaned back against him, her heart quickening. The rational part of her brain screamed that this was wrong, and dangerous, but the more imprudent part of her soul wanted this, and had for a very long time.

DC's notoriously pothole ridden streets only grew worse during the winter months. With every bump, she shifted slightly on his lap, and she came to realize he had an erection.

She shifted slightly away from it, and in response, he loosened his arms around her and turned to look out the window. "I'm sorry . . ." he mumbled, "I . . ."

They hit another pothole and he tightened his arms around her reflexively. She inhaled sharply in surprise, and he began to run his hands slowly up and down her arms.

"Relax," he whispered. His breath brushed warm across her ear, but nevertheless raised goose bumps, and she found herself struggling to obey. His erection still bulged through the fabric of his trousers against her thigh, and she remained stiff in order to avoid stimulating him any further.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, they were at the ball. Josh began to fumble for his wallet, when Danny stopped him. "This one's on me." He grinned knowingly. "Remember this the next time you need to leak something."

Without waiting for Josh to ask, Donna returned his coat. If anyone other than she noticed that he walked a little awkwardly as they entered the ballroom, they didn't say anything.

* * * * *

Stargazer lilies served as the centerpiece of the massive flower arrangements that dotted the ballroom. With mock stealth, he removed one of them and presented it to her. "Josh!" she scolded him, and struggled to suppress a laugh. "You can't take that."

"I already did," he contradicted her, "and anyway, it doesn't look like any of the guards there are going to stop me."

"What's gotten into you?" she asked, still smiling. "You're behaving like a crazy person."

"Just getting in touch with my wild side." He grinned and broke the stem off to tuck the flower behind her ear.

"You wild thing, you," she said with mock seriousness, and removed the flower to sniff it.

"Yes." He nodded solemnly at her. "In fact, that's how I want you to address me at all times in the future."

She rolled her eyes, and stifled a laugh at the same time. "Yes, sir!"

He took her hand then, leading her to the dance floor. They made slow, deliberate progress toward the other dancers, and she remembered dropping the flower, though she didn't remember where.

She knew they weren't the only couple on the dance floor, and yet, that's how it felt. At that moment, there was no one but them. All the other concerns – the need to remind herself of who she was, who he was, where they worked, and what that entailed – melted away until there was nothing but him, her, and the music. Nothing else mattered, and she didn't want the night to end.

Charlie's interruption, letting them know they were needed by the president, proved a mixed blessing.

* * * * *

She felt ridiculous, back at the White House, sitting at her desk in the blue ball gown. She could feel Josh watching her though every time she turned to look at him, he appeared to be absorbed in his work.

She pulled open her email, skimming through the ones that pertained to Josh - requests for interviews and meetings. She quickly answered them, carefully entering them into the large desk calendar – that, although he never consulted, she nevertheless felt compelled to keep. It was important that at least one of them knew where he was supposed to be.

Two emails still awaited her attention; they were personal. One, a long, rambling note from her mother, recounted her own impressions of Bartlet's Second Inaugural and concluded by asking how the day had gone for her. Donna sighed, wondering just how to explain this day – this week – to her mother, telling her enough that she wouldn't think she was withholding anything, but not telling her so much that she would worry. It was a fine balance.

Slowly, she began to type. Josh emerged from the confines of his office as she hit the 'send' button.

"Come on." He held a hand out to her. "We've done enough tonight; let's go to a party."

She raised her eyebrow, her expression somewhere between confusion and incredulity. "Are you sure?"

He held out a hand to assist her from her chair, and she reached back to flip off her monitor. The email from Jack would have to wait.

Josh guided her through the hallways with a hand on her back, and she found herself acutely aware of his presence. Every nerve ending vibrated a chord that only he could pluck. Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she shivered again in spite of herself.

He drew closer to her. "You're still cold?"

She shook her head, but he didn't seem to believe her, and again drew off his jacket to offer to her. "There, now let's get outside. I called ahead for a cab, and I don't want anyone else to swipe it."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. It was too much to take in, too much to consider; all she could do was hang on for the ride.

* * * * *

When she looked back on that evening, she would remember it not as a collection of moments, but as a mad rush of different sensory experiences. The mirror-like gleam of the highly polished dance floor, the subtly masculine scent of Josh's cologne, the syncopated rhythm of the swing band, and the dry sweetness of the champagne all combined in a heady mix that left Donna wondering whether she was dancing or flying.

Rising from a dip and unable to get her bearings amidst the sea of lights and colors, she reflexively steadied herself by gripping his upper arm. He pulled her closer and she could see herself reflected in his eyes. He narrowed them slowly, and she lost her reflection to something else – something she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to consider at the moment. Her heart made its way into her throat, and she had trouble speaking. "Little dizzy; too much to drink."

"Leave? My place?" he asked, apparently suffering from the same affliction.

They hadn't pulled apart – frozen in place on the dance floor even as the Brian Setzer cover band began their next number and the dancers around them began to move.

Her heart quickened, and then slowed, and she wondered why it was taking her mouth so long to form the answer that had been forgone since the day she first gave him his messages. "Yes."

Her mouth went dry even as she said it, and she saw the same mixture of surprise and relief she was feeling mirrored in his face. Not waiting another moment, he took her hand and led her from the floor.

* * * * *

At his apartment, Josh fumbled with the key, having trouble fitting it into the lock. Donna barely noticed. She wanted this; she wanted him. Beyond feeding the aching hunger that was rising in her very core, little else mattered.

The uncooperative door finally yielded, and he stepped aside and ushered her through with a sweep of his arm. She hesitated momentarily, almost imperceptibly, at the threshold and then stepped determinedly inside.

He shut the door behind them – with more force than necessary, and they both jumped at the sound. She laughed nervously at her own reaction, and at the look of confusion on his face, reached out to brush a stray hair from his forehead.

Time seemed to move more slowly after that. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, planting a lingering, possessive kiss directly on her palm. She didn't pull away immediately after the kiss ended, but instead let her hand drift slowly downward, her fingers playing over his lower lip.

"Donna . . ." he sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"What do you want to do with me?" she asked. She didn't know what had made her so brazen, and even as the rational part of her mind was screaming that something about this wasn't right, that he was her boss, that she wasn't ready, that she wasn't sure where things stood with Jack, that they were drunk and weren't sure what they were doing, it was drowned out by the part that was composing odes to how he looked in a tuxedo and the part that had, on some level, wanted this for too long a time.

Ultimately, the irrational part took over, as it had been all night. Her eyes met his – issuing an invitation and granting permission, and he didn't wait any longer.

"This," he said; it was more a growl than anything else. He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her against the wall, kissing her so deeply that any cries of surprise were immediately muffled.

He was hurting her. She wondered whether the alcohol had dulled his coordination so that he didn't know his own strength, or if this was something that he'd really wanted to do. He bit her lip – not hard enough to make her bleed, but just enough so that she'd have a bruise – a lasting reminder.

She grunted against him, and struggled, but not enough to stop him. As she edged toward the ground, he followed her, breaking the kiss momentarily to gasp for air.

At the same time, he began to fumble around the back of her dress for the zipper. "No," she stopped him, "here," and reached over to the side, where the zipped was located.

He eased it down for her, and then began to push her dress up over her hips, and then help her out of it – gently, lifting it up over her head and tossing it easily aside. She sighed, and reached for him – her nipples erect and sensitive against the lining of her bra and a slow and steady flush spreading across her chest.

His hands trembled as he unfastened his cufflinks. She took one from him, and studied it, "NL . . . these were your father's."

"Yeah –" he took it back from her and reaching up, set it on the entry table with its partner. He didn’t say anything more, and she didn't press the issue. She watched him slip out of his tuxedo shirt, and her heart began to beat all that much more quickly.

There was nothing that she wanted more than to stay, and nothing more that she wanted than to run away. After having gone at a snail's pace for far too long, things were now progressing far too quickly; she wasn't sure she could keep up.

She took a deep breath and reached for his belt buckle. "Yes . . ." she whispered, an answer to his unasked question.

His erection bobbed and swayed after having been freed from the confines of his tuxedo pants. She studied it, mesmerized momentarily – and then reached out, tentatively, and began to run her fingertips along its length.

He choked out a gasp, and his erection sprang to even greater attention. He wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her closer to him, and then together they fell to the ground. He kissed her again hungrily, possessively gripping her shoulders. She'd have more bruises tomorrow.

He pulled her panties off and tossed them into a pile in the corner. Then, he spread her legs with his knee and entered her before she was ready driving into her with a possessive urgency that burned through her until she was just as frenzied as he.

She wrapped her legs his waist, and raked her nails down his back urging him deeper within her, willing him to go further. He nibbled at her breasts, her neck, her earlobe before finally kissing her – plunging his tongue into her mouth as though trying to consume all of her.

He came quickly, a primal yell and a shudder and he was spent. She never did, and the frustration and fullness she felt inside threatened to consume her for not having been given an outlet. Breathing rapidly, he kissed her once more before rolling away. Only then, did she realize they'd never made it out of his foyer. She was suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness, and reached for her dress.

"No –" Josh stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Stay. Come to bed with me."

She let herself be led in the direction of his bedroom – taking vague note of the clothes scattered around on the floor, the unmade bed, and the Chinese take-out containers piled on the bedside table.

She crawled into the bed, and nestled under the covers. He crawled in after her and pressed against her. He reached for her hand, and joined his fingers with hers. It was a gesture that was more intimate, more personal than what she'd just experienced in the hallway, and for some reason that she didn't fully understand it made her want to cry.

Her head still swam, and the dark paisley pattern of his bedding only added to that sensation. She shifted slightly and breathed deeply as the sense of dizziness increased to the point that it threatened to overwhelm her. She inhaled once again, and sighed as it passed.

"Josh?" she felt compelled to break a silence she didn't even realize she was keeping. That same silence was all that greeted her in response; he'd fallen asleep on her shoulder.