long grey morning

nc-17 | sexual content

He wanted her to stop talking. He wanted it to stop raining. All it did anymore was rain, or at least, if there was sun, he didn't remember it.

She kept talking while the thunder rolled outside, so he figured he might finally have to accept the fact that he wasn't God.

Please stop, he urged her silently. They had been doing nothing but talking for hours that felt like years, and he was quite sure they had each spoken every word in the English language. Twice. His voice was hoarse, and if he saw tears well up in her eyes one more time, he thought he might break down himself.

And then suddenly, she stopped. She sipped her coffee, staring at him over the rim of her cup, and he wondered if she expected him to talk now. What more could he say?

"I hate them," she blurted out. "Sometimes," she amended.

He wanted to remind her that if it weren't for them, he never would have met her, but he doesn't. He wasn't sure if he was worth the price she paid - was still paying - for her association with him. He couldn't even be completely sure that, if he knew what he did now, he would have gone through it all again, just to have her.

He doesn't have her, he reminded himself. Not yet.

Now that she wasn't speaking, he found the silence unnerving. He touched the one part of her body within reach - her hand - but when she let out a shuddering exhale, he withdrew.

"I don't hate you," she said, in response to his unspoken question. She slid closer to him, cupped his cheek. His throat closed up.

"I don't hate you either," he said, without thinking. Her hand fell to his thigh as she began laughing. He shifted uncomfortably as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Good to know," she said wryly.

"Donna," he whispered. Her fingers kneaded his leg. She angled her head so her lips were right next to his, not moving any further, waiting for him to make the next move.

Was this a test?

"Donna," he breathed. "I never wanted ..."

"I know."

And he kissed her. Had he kissed her before? He thought he had, but that night was just a blur now. He hoped it was for her, too. He opened his eyes, and his heart fell as he saw she hadn't closed hers.

She didn't trust him.

But then she did close them, and she parted her lips, inviting him in. Her hands were on his face, his neck, his back. He had no sooner thought that she must be uncomfortable, with her body twisted as it was, when she crawled into his lap.

She moved, grinding against him, a motion that seemed designed to make him lose control, and the last coherent thought he had was that if it was a test, he was about to fail. His chest was tight as he slid a hand under her shirt, caressing the smooth skin of her back. He couldn't breathe at all, but it was okay, because when she tilted her head back, he heard her gasping for air. She wasn't wearing a bra, and after a swift move on her part, she wasn't wearing her shirt, either. He cupped her breasts, pushing her away so he could watch her reaction to his touch. His thumbs made circles on the round patches of pink, and he smiled as the skin began to pucker. When he leaned forward to put his mouth on her, she leaned farther back, gasping and clutching his shoulders so she wouldn't lose her balance.

His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely as he took a hardened nub into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. When she began to remove his clothing, he sat back, letting her finish her task before he started in on hers. Everything seemed to get stuck anywhere anything could get stuck, but then they were both naked, and he realized he hadn't taken the time to get her completely nude last time.

Bed. He should get her to bed. If he was going to do this right, it had to be in her bed. As if she read his mind, she scooted off his lap, stood, and offered him her hand. He wanted to be romantic, to sweep her into his arms, and carry her, but he knew his back wouldn't last two seconds. They stumbled to her bedroom, tumbling onto the mattress with an utter lack of grace.

Fortunately, she didn't appear to mind. His fingers skated down her sides, until they reached the apex between her thighs. He did remember some things, he realized. Like the fact that she liked being touched here. And here. And there. And -

"Say something," she moaned.

His mind went blank. Hadn't they talked enough? She was staring at him with wide eyes, so he started babbling the first thing that popped into his head.

"Uh. O-o-o-okay. Um. When in the, the course of human events, it, uh, becomes necessary for, uh, one people to ... dissolve the political bands which have connected them with, uh, another ..."

He was only vaguely aware of what happened next. There was a pulsing around the fingers he had inside her. She said his name, but it was trapped in a half-sob, half-laugh. Her nails pierced his skin, and he wanted to look in her eyes, but they were clenched shut.

"So the Declaration really does it for you, huh?"

She smiled what might have been her first real smile in hours. "Oh, yeah. You should see what happens when you read me the Constitution."

Article Two, Section 4. The President, Vice President and all civil officers of the United States, shall be removed from office on impeachment for, and conviction of, treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.

She kissed him, roughly, and he was starting to wonder if she really could read his mind.


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