PAIRING: Gina/Zoe
RATING: R
SUMMARY: She whispers, "Zoe". Then walks away.
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: My first time; You know better than me.
It happens sometimes. Often really. Mostly when she is in the crush of a crowd, the motorcade ahead, her body shielding, her eyes alert.
The split-second registration of recognition, the flash of fear, the report of gunfire, the desolation of loss. The ridiculous stereotypical reality of time slowing down and the crawling buzzing fog in her head. As, for the longest of nanoseconds, she knows that she has lost everything worth living for.
Then the moment passes and the rough shoulder belongs to a sweet old lady just wanting to get close to the governor. And she returns to cool professionalism. Just another highly trained, tightly coiled, supremely competent Secret Service Agent.
Because no one suspects. No one must. Least of all her.
****
Past midnight at a nameless bar, the weight of responsibility temporarily suspended though never relinquished, she contemplates her glass and her exile. She never used to drink. In DC. She never used to need to sit at nameless bars, wet with memory. She liked being aware then. Every sense extended to touch her. Each glance simultaneously a mantle of protection and a silken caress. Each whiff of perfume a call to attention and a narcotic. Each physical touch (always proper, always permitted) a benediction.
****
She had trained so hard for that assignment. Two years of blood, sweat and tears. Knowing why, deep down, but never acknowledging it to herself, in case it compromised her ability to serve - having more than one reason to throw herself in front of that bullet if it ever came. Telling herself that no one must ever suspect this one thing she guarded (like she guarded her love): her love.
She thought she was successful, straining never to linger longer than necessary. But sometimes she caught her catching her looking. And before she could turn away, there would be that arc of connection between them. For her, perhaps no more than gratitude or admiration or companionship. A young woman's comfort in knowing that another kept her safe.
But for her, burning, scorching, consuming.
Not that she would have changed anything, regretted any moment of aroused restraint.
Until the shooting.
After the recognition, the flash of fear, the report of gunfire, the desolation of lost, when reflexes took over, she had bundled her charge into the nearest car. Tight against her, huddled in the back seat, the thin film between fear and fever threatening to slip away, she had held her. For reassurance. Forever, if she only could. The shiver of terror so much like sex, it was overwhelming. The muted sobbing so much like want, she could, even without closing her eyes, believe that the hand inside her was real.
And she wondered if it was just her, or did the smell of desire fill the entire claustrophobic cavern of the careening limousine, desperately fleeing danger. Which was when she realized that there was no escaping the danger she carried in her heart.
It tainted what should otherwise have been the relief and triumph and pride of having successfully protected the President's daughter.
It seeped into the bittersweet months after, when the request for transfer had been made but, as is often the case in these matters, not yet acceded to. It numbed her from the wounded accusation in those eyes the last time she looked into them. On the day she left, stone cold with resolution, bleeding with duty.
*****
A small dark-haired Asian woman presses up against her back and whispers an invitation without ambiguity. A hand slides under her shirt to confirm the offer. A nipple stands up hard and eager. She catches her breath as the hand's companion, also cold and delicate, traces an opposite path down past her belt. She knows she is ready and suddenly, it is all too much to hold back. She turns around, breaking their contact painfully but without regard, and roughly picks the woman up. The alleyway outside the bar is suitable. Dark, humid and anonymous. She kneels. The Asian woman is moaning now, waiting for her mouth, impatient (like her) with the tight leather skirt and the sheer silk panties.
She is hard and quick. As is the woman.
At the woman's orgasm, she pushes her hand against her clit and comes. In the center of that intensity, for just the fleetest of moments, the discipline breaks, the guard cracks.
She whispers, "Zoe". Then walks away.
****
TITLE: Walls: Sightings
RATING: NC17
SUMMARY: Was that our Gina in the corridor?
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters, except the Governor, is unfortunate enough to be a creation of mine.
"Was that our Gina in the corridor?"
"Ah, Mr. Lyman. So free with my door and your pronouns. And would that be 'our' in the possessive sense, as in 'of or belonging to us'? Or the genitive plural of that friendly first personal pronoun: 'of us', as in "said Gina who, of late, might have been found among us?' Or, simply, used familiarly with a Christian name to denote a relative, especially a child, or acquaintance of the speaker?"
"You missed out a possible imperial or royal use, Mr. Seaborn."
"No need to state the obvious."
"Obviously."
"So which?"
"Just outside the Oval Office."
"Usage, not corridor."
"All of the above, except possessive. Our Gina will never be yours or mine, Sam."
"Really? Returning to serve and protect again, or simply visiting? I wondered how long she would last with that redneck excuse for a Democrat."
"Visiting. The sorry excuse has an appointment with the President."
"Why?"
"Hoping to rub-off a little Presidential sheen on the way to a photo-opportunity at Ground Zero in New York."
"Gina, not her governor. Down in the polls?"
"At a nadir. And, as you know, our Gina prefers guarding girls."
"Prefers, yes. Exclusively, I was hoping not."
"Definitively, I'm sad to report."
"Not even that ...?"
".....beefcake in the security detail for Hoynes....?"
"Tantalizing friendly, weren't they?"
"Smokescreen."
"Oh."
"VERY Intense about it, I'm given to understand. Unswerving loyalty, deep devotion. The flame unrequited but undying. Always keeping watch over you. That sort of thing.".
"Oh."
"Yes."
"Rather awkward."
"Yes."
"Reason she asked to leave?"
"It would appear."
"Source?"
"My Donnatella. Pronoun used advisedly."
"The impeccably imformed Ms. Moss. No chance of misinformation, then?"
"None."
"I thought not. Pity."
"As in the disposition to mercy or compassion?"
"Regrettably not, it would appear, for me."
"Perhaps, then, you'll settle for a feeling or emotion of tenderness aroused by the suffering, distress, or misfortune of another, and prompting a desire for its relief?"
"In the corridor, huh? Outside the President's office"
"Implacable and unreachable, Sam."
"Ah well. And you were offering?"
****
"Was that our Gina in the corridor?"
"Mr. President! Wonderful to see you looking so well. Wonderful!"
"Governor...."
"Superb speech at the Foreign Correspondents dinner the other evening..."
"Governor..."
"That reference to ..."
"Governor. You can stop shaking my hand like that. It's fragile, like my regard for you, and might fall off at any moment."
"Ah... well...."
"I'll let you in on a trick, the cameras only catch one action at a time. Best to keep them right here. Waistlevel. Hold. Smile. Are we done?"
"Well, I was hoping...."
"'But when you fast, brush your hair and wash your face.' Matthew 6:17. Excellent advice for all public occasions. Abbey reminds me whenever I forget. Bit of lint there on your right shoulder. Might show up in the photos, I'm afraid. So. Was that our Gina in the corridor?"
"Well, as you know..., umm..., she's mine now... I mean, she's ...."
"GOVERNOR. You're about to introduce a bill that will make it legal for your state troopers to inter someone simply because you don't like the way they look, or worship, or fuck. You call it patriotic, riding on the coattails of a national disaster. But we all know what it is. Now, I understand that you feel you have no choice because you squandered half the Democratic vote in your great state by failing to take any position on anything and therefore owe your continued existence in that hideous baroque state house on sufferance to a feather-thin Republican majority. They elected you. They deserve you. And I'll shake your hand for the cameras because the essence of democracy is compassion. But you would do well not to come into my house and rashly use associative pronouns that demean the bravery and courage of a woman to whom my daughter owes her life. So, I repeat. Was that our Gina in the corridor?"
"Ummm, Mr. President. Yes."
"Well, don't just stand there. Charlie here will let you out. And you make sure you send her in. I know some people who will be very glad to see her indeed."
"But, but,.. we're leaving for New York in 5 minutes...."
"Excellent decision. Governor. I'd leave myself if I were you."
"But...."
"And Charlie... If she's around, will you send Zoe in too?
****
"Wasn't that your Gina in the corridor? Zoe?? Helllooo... Earth to Zoe."
****
She had thought it would take, at least, a sighting, a chance encounter, a passing-by, to make her melt and harden at the same time, to transport her again to that edge of need and fear, to undo her.
She had been so wrong.
***
TITLE: Walls: All Fall Down
RATING: R
SUMMARY: My love is tall and comely
SPOILERS: None at all
DISCLAIMER: "The West Wing" and all the characters are owned by Aaron Sorkin. This is strictly for fun and no copyright infringement for profit is intended.
A slight historical diversion.
"Ring around the rosies,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes!
Ashes!
We all fall down."
Alternative version recorded by Newell circa 1790 in New Bedford, Massachusetts:
"Ring a ring a rosie
A bottle full of posie
All the girls in our town
Ring for little Josie"
Which raises a question for the curious - just how good was little Josie, that she managed to set all the girls in New Bedford, fortified by their bottle of posie, ringing?
But we digress...
***
"Ring around the Rosies" - Gina/Now
The roses in the garden bleed red for dusk,
Drip scarlet on lawn,
Their fragrance embalming my love.
We kiss to the lengthening shadow of night,
Stretch skin to lip, rig clit to hip,
In ardor so hungry it burns.
She lifts, she bucks, I lose my sight,
Put hand to her heart,
So wet and open and warm.
My tongue, usurped by my trembling,
Rings around her taste.
We fuck between the thorns.
***
"A Pocket full of Posies" - Zoey/Then
She had returned to me from her self-imposed exile, still so distant and reserved, sitting in stupid, silent seclusion across the room. Refusing to meet my eyes. While my father held court, in obvious self-satisfaction at his own brilliance in summoning us both into his presence.
So stubborn. So walled.
I wanted to slap her, to throw her to the ground and enter her right there. It would have caused a stir. But anything would have been better than that deadly banter. Which I usually liked, from my father, who is witty and charming and always knows when my heart is not in the scones and tea.
But I was impatient.
It had been too long.
I know now the exact moment it began. Her body pressed heavy against mine as she saved me. From danger, from blood, from frigid casual coolness. I had never been remotely close to that heated hunger. Not in the affectionate fumblings, the sincere intimacies, the comforting embraces. Tepid, well-meaning encounters that did not begin to compare with the searing of her unmasked eyes, her unsheathed hands, her unbound heart. Stripped by her fear for my safety, she branded me.
I know now the exact moment it began.
Then, I only knew terror. And thought it justified in the circumstances.
Then, I only felt my own heart trip. And failed to see it beat for her.
And by the time my silly, sloven senses woke. Weeks, months later. She had strapped on that armorplate and walked away. Leaving me shivering, between icy loss and fevered desire.
So now I really didn't want to wait much longer. Certainly not for the tea to cool and Daddy to finish regaling us with his latest theory. And definitely not till she found the strength to brick up the pain glistening behind the bright composure. The pain that belonged to me, that was all mine to eat up and swallow and put away. No one else deserved that pain. No one else could have it.
I glanced down at my hands and realized that I had systematically shredded the entire bouquet of yellow somethings that her pea-brained governor had brought for Daddy. The petals lay at my feet, sat on my lap, stuck to my shirt. A pocketful peeped out of my jacket.
She looked at me then. As if that ludicrous sight, my shedding petals, had forced her attention on me against her will.
Our eyes caught.
There should be some law against it. That kind of desire can raze a city block. It fried me up.
I stood.
"Daddy," I said, "You'll have to excuse me."
The crashing disappointment on her face at the prospect of my leaving gave me the sort of once-in-a-lifetime kick-ass courage I had always admired her for.
"Toscano," I ordered. "Come with me. I need you."
I don't know whose shock was greater. Daddy's or hers.
I walked out without looking back, through the doors, out into the evening. Knowing from the way my body ached that she was just behind me.
It had been too long. Not one moment more.
I turned, into her.
***
"Ashes, Ashes" - Gina/After
I must have nodded off for a second.
I never do that, never let sleep catch me napping, lose concentration. It's part of the drill. Drummed into my bones. One of the rules you have to live by, or risk death. And not the easy kind, where you don't get to live with the consequences. The sort which haunts you forever and makes you wish you were the one went down.
I guess I just broke all the rules. I hope to God it doesn't haunt me forever. But to be honest, I'd risk a little more than damnation for this. Her taste on my mouth, her come on my fingers, her now in my arms.
I hadn't seen it coming. That whacky thing she did with the flowers which made me want to laugh, and to lick each petal off her one by one. All at the same time.
Then that crazy command which dissolved my insides and made me wonder if everyone in the room could see me flowing out. Damned if I stayed. Damned if I left.
And I definitely hadn't seen it coming when she jumped me in the garden. Hands and lips and breasts suddenly on me. Stoking me. Feeding me. Fanning me. Until I was all fire.
Then she had suddenly let it go. Passed the control to me. Let me take her, again and again and again. Before she finally kissed me teasingly. "Aren't you all burned out yet?"
And when I whispered (truthful now, bare now) "never", she smiled as if in satisfaction.
And fell asleep.
***
"We All Fall Down" - Zoey/Forever
My love is tall and comely
My heart her strength surrounds.
From fears without she walls me
Within, we all fall down.
FINIS