SUMMARY: If you're gonna get your heart broke, you better do it just right. Josh, Donna, and an elevator. Post-ep for Election Day, Part One.

THANKS: As ever, to Jo March and Em Meredith for encouraging the madness. ;)

Josh Lyman was not the most romantic man in the world.  He knew that.  Or, more accurately, he'd been told that.  Repeatedly.

More than one woman he'd disappointed over the years had cited his single-mindedness and his tendency to miss even the most obvious signals as reasons for their inevitable departure.  He missed the signs.  All kinds of signs -- romantic signs, one-night-stand signs, I-find-you-repulsive signs, don't-bother-hitting-on-me-because-I'm-a-Republican signs.  He'd probably missed every conceivable sign over the years.

But not even Josh was stupid enough to miss this particular cue.

In fairness, the impromptu kiss and the key-left-on-the-table sign had been typically difficult for Josh to interpret:  Was the kiss a euphoric mistake?  Had Donna really meant to leave her key for him in that way?  But those two events in combination with this single-entendre-laden conversation -- well, Josh was pretty sure that Donna really had just invited him upstairs for sex.

Reasonably sure.

And as much as Josh knew he shouldn't ruin their nine-year relationship for mindless, mind-blowing, election night sex...  Well, hell, it was Donna, and when he let himself be completely honest about this particular subject, he'd wanted to have mind-blowing sex with her for nine years.

Which brought him to this moment, walking as fast as he could on oddly unsteady legs, trying to catch up to her before she got on the elevator.  He wasn't any good at this, but even he knew there was a window of opportunity here for... something, and once it closed--

Josh flung his arm into the elevator as the doors began to slide shut. The elevator bleated its protest, but the doors retreated.  Breathing unevenly now, Josh stepped in, stopping just inside the doors, which also happened to be about as far away from Donna as possible.  "Hi," he said stupidly.

Donna smiled, then reached over and pressed the button for the 7th floor.  She stood calmly against the side rail, watching him with curious eyes.

Josh couldn't seem to stand still as the elevator started its climb.  It was just the two of them in the elevator car, and his fingers ached to touch her.  He itched with the need to kiss her, to prove to himself that this was real.  But he retained just enough of his common sense to know two things: 1. the hotel was crawling with campaign workers and press; and 2. once he touched her, he wouldn't stop.  As impatient as he was, he really didn't want their first time to be in an elevator, and then splashed across the front page of the New York Post.

He fidgeted in his corner, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and tried to avoid the heated looks she was giving him.  She shifted, just enough to draw his eyes down the lines of her body.  Donna's lips curved just enough to let him know she understood exactly what she was doing to him.  He glanced up to check the elevator's progress, then started to pace in tight circles, each loop bringing him closer and closer to temptation.  Three more floors.

Donna moved closer to the door, closer to him, and turned to face forward.  If he was reading her correctly, he wasn't the only one having some trouble with patience.  Josh was close enough to smell her shampoo, and he inched closer almost against his will. Two more floors, and Josh couldn't resist any longer.  He reached out and traced his fingertips across her lower back, the same place he'd touched her countless times over the years.

This time, though, their connection sparkled.  Her soft sweater shifted beneath his fingers, and he lifted his gaze as she turned to face him.  She touched his jaw and he closed his fist around a handful of cashmere, pulling her up against his chest as their lips collided.

The elevator lurched to a halt and dinged.  Josh didn't care, didn't want to move from this particular spot until -- ever, but Donna, as always, reined him in.  She slipped from his arms just as the doors opened, stepping out into the hallway with nonchalance.  Josh could see the wrinkles he'd put in her sweater.

He didn't move until Donna turned back with a smile.  "Coming?"

Josh stumbled out of the elevator as the doors began to close.  "God, yes," he answered, unable to take his eyes off of her as they started down the hall, not even to nod to the agents standing guard in the hallway.  He hoped she remembered where his room was, because he was pretty much reduced to Donna-good, Republican-bad at this point.  He gained on her, reaching out to touch her waist.

"Josh, Donna," greeted a familiar gravelly voice.

"Leo," Donna answered, sounding a bit surprised as she stopped to talk to Leo, looking impossibly fresh in a crisp white shirt and deep blue tie.  Only two agents were with him, keeping a discreet distance since the campaign had this entire floor secured.

"Tense evening," he answered, with that impish grin, and Josh knew that Leo knew exactly what he and Donna were about to do.

"Leo," Josh sputtered.  "Uh, hi.  Leo.  Hi.  We were just--"

"Going over some numbers," Donna interrupted smoothly.  "Most of the staff is taking some personal time tonight, so it's just us left."  She gave Leo a what can you do? shrug and glanced at Josh with a tense smile, clearly willing him to keep quiet.

Leo raised an eyebrow, all but smirking as his gaze shifted between the two of them.  "You don't have to explain anything to me.  This isn't my first campaign."

Josh opened his mouth to stammer something about the importance of winning Texas when Donna casually stepped on his foot.  "Ow!"

"Sorry," she murmured, never taking her eyes off of Leo.  "Leo, have you eaten?"  She nodded toward his agents, who were doing their best to blend into the tasteful wallpaper.  "We could all go down to the grill and get something to eat.  Josh and I can go over the numbers a little later."

For a split second, Josh nearly protested this plan, because -- what about the mind-blowing sex they were supposed to be having?  But Leo was standing there in the hallway where Josh's room was and Donna's room wasn't, smirking at them about tense evenings and campaign sex, and Josh thought he might never be able to look Leo in the eye again.

"I've eaten, Donna, thank you," Leo answered, not buying what Donna was selling.  "And something tells me you two would have a better time looking over those numbers of yours than entertaining an old man like me."

Mortified, Josh shook his head a bit wildly, fixing his gaze on the subtle pattern of Leo's expensive silk tie.  "Leo, really, we--"

"Josh," Leo interrupted, as he reached out to pat Josh's shoulder.  Almost involuntarily, Josh looked up to find Leo grinning back at him.  "I'm just stretching my legs.  Now, go on."  Leo gave Josh a small push, nodding at Donna as he moved past them toward the elevator banks.

Josh half-turned, frowning a bit as he watched Leo trudged toward the elevator.  Because if that was supposed to be some sort of sign from Leo, some sort of tacit approval, well, Josh was really bad at reading signs.  Probably the smile was a good sign, though.  Maybe.  Unless it was more of a smirk.

"Josh," Donna murmured, startling him out of his confusion.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

She tilted her head towards his hotel room door.  "Key."  He pulled it out of his pants pocket, and Donna made an amused, exasperated sound and took it from him, her touch sparking along his skin.  "Hopeless."

As she worked the lock on his door, Josh glanced back at the elevator, just as the doors were sliding shut.  Leo, still smirking and flanked on either side by blank-faced Secret Service agents, dipped his chin almost imperceptibly.

Okay, that?  Definitely a sign, Josh decided.  He was almost certain that Leo had just given them his approval.

"Josh?"

He turned back to Donna, who had his door open, but hadn't stepped inside.  The sight -- the implication -- brought his lust back full force, and Josh couldn't worry about Leo's approval or the morning papers or the polling numbers or the candidate, or even what this would do to he and Donna if it went badly.

All he could think about was Donna.

Donna, who was smiling at him in that particular way of hers, blue eyes sparkling with affection and exasperation and attraction, her lips curving softly.

"Yeah?" he asked belatedly, his fingers itching to touch that soft cashmere, and the softer skin beneath.

"You okay?"  She reached out, her fingernails sliding along his cheekbone, and that was all it took to propel him into action.

They were kissing again, suddenly and aggressively, as if someone had flipped a switch.  He didn't remember moving toward her, but she was wrapped tightly in his arms, her lithe body pressed flush against his, and there were sunbursts behind his eyelids and he heard the hotel door slam shut behind them as they bumped against the wall.

"I'm fine," he told her, panting a bit as he pressed his face against the soft skin of her neck.  And it was election night, and he'd had about fourteen espresso shots in as many hours, and he was possibly throwing away years and years of this great... thing he and Donna had for one night, but... he was fine.

Better than fine.  Damn good, actually, and getting better.

And possibly, just maybe, he was figuring out how to read the signs.

THE END

Feedback (macha[at]healthyinterest.net) would be delicious, especially since I apparently can't write WW anymore.  Some days, I really miss those guys.