Broken Things

Pairing: Donna/Leo

Rating: NC17

Notes: For MichelleK and the __broomcupboard secret Santa. MichelleK asked for Donna/Charlie or Donna/Leo, no pining for the Josh. Which is not exactly on the list of things that I tend to write. I hope I did it well enough for you, Michelle. Merry Christmas!!

Disclaimer: So, Donna and Leo and the other West Wing characters do not belong to me. John Wells writes bad Sorkinfanfic and gets paid for it. I write bad Sorkinfanfic and don't get paid for it.

Note 2: MichelleK would've been the best person to beta this, but for obvious reasons, she couldn't. So, it hasn't been beta'd.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including Impact Winter

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His doorbell rang a second time before he remembered that Nurse Chakravardi wasn't there to answer it.

He pushed himself out of the overstuffed arm chair, and pulled the front door open as far as the chain would allow.

"Oh." It was a single syllable that said volumes.

"Expecting someone else?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone, actually," he said it while disengaging the chain to let her in.

She brushed past him on her way in, and he bristled slightly at her presumptiveness. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"Are you saying I should go?" She was leaning against a wall just inside the front foyer, and he could see that she was still favoring one leg.

For a moment, Leo thought that she was a bigger poison than alcohol. He ran his hands over his face and then back through his hair. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Come on in; sit down. Go ahead and take your coat off, too, if you want."

She slipped her non-descript trench coat off and hung it over the back of the dining room chair. He noticed the struggle she made to keep from limping as she moved into the living room.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" he asked as she sat.

"Hmmm . . ." she muttered by way of agreement, or perhaps it was disagreement. He couldn't really tell.

He sat next to her, angling his body slightly so that he could be closer without actually drawing nearer to her.

"Now, I'm going to ask again, and please know this in no way means I want you to leave, but what are you doing here?" He reached out to set a hand on her leg, and then, thinking better of it, pulled back.

"I quit today," she announced, her voice a dispassionate monotone.

"I heard." Leo fought back a smile.

"Josh?" she asked, again without emotion.

Leo nodded. "He was surprised."

"No shock there," Donna responded with almost a growl, and leaned into the sofa.

"Look, Leo," she sighed. "I'm not here to talk about Josh." Exhaling again, she asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and he stood. "Just fine." Changing the subject he added. "I’m going to get a glass of water; do you want anything?"

She shifted her weight on the couch. "N-no, that's okay."

In the kitchen, Leo stuck a glass under the faucet, and then clutched the edge of the counter, breathing deeply, even as the glass overflowed.

He jerked the handle down to cut the flow of water, and drank it all in a few deep gulps.

She had kicked her shoes off and tucked her legs underneath her while he was gone. The movement had caused her sweater set to shift, and he could make out the faintest line of a scar running down her breastbone and disappearing to areas he couldn't see. He could, however, imagine them quite well.

He sat down – a little closer this time, and reached for her hand.

It was ice cold, and he put his other hand beneath it in an attempt to warm her.

"My daughter's your age," he said when he finally spoke.

"I'm not your daughter," she said, meeting his eyes frankly and without hesitation.

Leo swallowed hard, and reached to run his thumb along her jawline. "No," he agreed with her. "No, you're most certainly not."

He kissed her then, and she returned it -- nibbling possessively on his lips as though she would, and could, consume him.

She tugged at his oxford, popping buttons from the finely tailored cotton as she struggled to get it off. He shivered as she ran her ice-cold hands down his own scar.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Not much," he lied.

"That's good," she said, again running her fingers over the scar, studying it with an expression akin to one of reverent wonder.

He pulled her hand away, and gently kissed her finger tips. Then, he pushed against her gently to remove the twinset.

There was a sprinkling of freckles over her chest, and down through the middle of them ran a pink, puckered scar.

Her bra was a thin scrap of black lace with a front clasp, and rather than try to figure out its workings, he simply slid the straps off her shoulders and freed her breasts.

Her nipples peaked under his thumb and he then slid backwards slightly to suckle her.

She gasped, surrendering to the well-practiced expertise of his tongue. He moved his attention to the other breast. "Mmmm . . . Leo . . ." she groaned.

He grinned wolfishly and slipped his hand inside her waistband. That was quickly replaced by a somewhat confused glare. "Where's the . . . zipper . . . on these?"

She smiled, her eyes dancing. "On the side – here." She lifted a hip to grant him access, and started the zipper for him.

He was startled, as he slid her pants down, to discover the scar running the length of her leg. "They really did a number on you; didn't they?" he asked. He let his fingertips just barely graze over the contour of the scar, testing its texture.

"Beautiful girl," he whispered and traced the line of her hipbones and then carefully removed her panties. Her blonde curls were damp, and he moved his mouth hesitantly to her clit.

She moaned, and bucked against his mouth, and he continued gauging just how and where, to lick, suck, and nibble, based on her reaction.

She ran her fingers through his hair, and wrapped her legs over his shoulder. All too soon, she came.

Feeling the tiniest echoes of her orgasm on the cheek he'd rested on her abdomen. Her fingers were laced through his, and she squeezed his hand, gently.

"Your turn," she whispered huskily.

"Oh, Donna, really . . ."

She pointed to the obvious tent in his trousers. "Don't tell me you're not interested."

All he could do was nod, when Donna reached for his belt buckle. Nod, and gasp, and sigh, after she had freed his erection and taken him into her mouth.

Her tongue was velvet smooth, and swirled around his head for a few moments, until she then pulled back began to plant wet, kisses along the rest of his shaft. He groaned shifted his weight – trying to avoid bucking into her mouth. As she retook all of him, he couldn't hold back any more.

"Donna . . . soon!" He managed to choke out, but she kept, until he'd come in her mouth.

Swallowing, she smiled. "I think I'll go get that glass of water now.

He watched her go – unashamed in her nakedness, and her hips swaying ever-so-slightly as she moved into the kitchen. He was exhausted, spent, and felt very much alive. They had both come so close to death, and cheated it. They were, he realized again, quite a pair.

The End

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