o f f . t h e . r e c o r d

Off the Record
[by victoria p.]

Rating: adult

Summary: "You really do have a great rack." "I know."

Spoilers: Through "The West Coast Delay"

Notes: There's something weirdly meta about writing porn in which the character based on Tommy Schlamme has sex with the character played by Tommy Schlamme's actual wife... Anyway. Chalk up another new fandom written in. Heh.

Date: October 10, 2006

The headache that started when Marty showed him the clip of Lenny Gold is still throbbing behind his left eye, but they triumphed over what could have been a bad situation and the show was a success, so his body's humming with post-show adrenaline that will keep him awake until well into the morning. When Danny gets back to his office, Marty is there, leaning against his desk, scribbling in her notebook.

"You coming for drinks?"

She nods, smiling. "Of course." She closes the notebook and runs the end of her pen down over her impressive cleavage.

He can't help but eye the path she's tracing, and grins in appreciation. "You really do have a great rack."

Her smile widens into a smug grin. "I know." The words sound like an invitation.

He swings the door shut behind him, moves to stand in front of her, right in her personal bubble. He can smell moisturizer and hair care product. He wonders what her lips taste like. He says, "I'd like to thank you for the heads up. Without it, this could have been an even bigger debacle than it was."

"You guys pulled off a nice save," she answers. "It was...impressive." She taps her pen against her lips. "Even if you aren't quite clear on how the seven-second delay works."

He laughs. "Cal knows, and he's the one who has to." He raises a hand to run it through his hair, finds his glasses still perched on his head, and folds them and slips them into his pocket. "We have a great staff and I trust them to run the show. Did you note that? I want that on the record."

She nods. "Noted." She clips the pen to the front of the notebook and tosses the notebook onto the desk. She cocks her head, still grinning, and holds his gaze, her eyes intent. "You mind being a little late to the bar?" She uncrosses her legs and he steps between them, already leaning forward to kiss her.

"Off the record?" he asks, just shy of her lips.

"Off the record," she agrees.

"I don't mind at all." He slides one hand into her hair, the other up the smooth skin of her thigh, like he's been dying to do since Jordan introduced them. The kiss is hot, wet, sloppy. Her mouth is minty fresh, and he almost feels bad that he can still taste stale coffee in his own, but not really, because she doesn't seem to mind, if the way she's kissing him is any indication.

His fingers slide against her wet cunt and he pulls back in surprise. "You're not wearing any underwear."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. God, no." He kisses her again so he doesn't keep babbling. "God, you're hot," he mutters against her lips.

She laughs into his kiss. "I really am."

And then she gasps and grabs at his shoulders as he slips two fingers inside her, thumb circling over her clit. Her hands are all over him, up under his shirt, warm against his skin, and then sliding down to rub his cock through his jeans, before she unzips them and shoves them and his boxers out of the way, wrapping her fingers around him and stroking.

"Can you--" He pauses, sucking in a breath as she brushes the head of his cock with her thumb. "Top left-hand drawer," he manages. "Can you reach?"

She pulls away and arches her back, giving him a great look at the long line of her body, angled and curved like an Art Nouveau sculpture. She fumbles with the drawer, and then, "Got it." She turns back to him, already tearing open the foil packet. "I won't ask why you keep a box of condoms and some lube in your desk drawer," she says. "At least, not tonight. But am I going to be facing a jealous and angry Matt Albie later?"

He laughs. "I won't tell if you don't." An answer that's no answer, because there's no point in discussing Matt right now, not when he's all bent out of shape over Harry, and Danny's got Marty spread out on his desk like some kind of sex goddess ripe for the taking.

Her eyes narrow, and he knows she knows there's something there, but then she's rolling the condom on him and shifting so he can push inside her, and there's no one in the room but the two of them. He fucks her hard and she wraps her legs around his hips, trying to pull him in deeper. Her nails are fierce against his back and her mouth is hungry under his, and he's so keyed up from the show and their banter that he's not going to last much longer. He slides a hand between them, fingering her clit again, and she presses her face into the crook of his neck, her breath hot and teeth sharp against his skin, and it's like doing the show all over again, it's like doing coke--his heart's beating nearly out of his chest and he thinks he's going to live forever if he doesn't die right here and now.

She moans low in her throat and clenches around him, hot and slick and tight, setting white-hot sparks alight behind his eyelids, and pleasure uncoiling in a rush as he comes.

He slumps against her for a minute, trying to get his heart rate under control, gratified by the way she's still gasping against his neck.

He gives her another kiss, slower, softer, and pulls away. Gets rid of the condom and gets cleaned up, back turned to give her some privacy if she needs it.

"Well," she says when he turns back, and she's all put together again, the only indication that she's just come apart in his arms a slight flush on her chest and face, and the way her lips are swollen from his kisses. "You make quite an impression, Danny. I might have to go off the record with you more often."

And he laughs and gives her one last kiss before leading her out the door.

end

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End note: See, what happened was, I mentioned this idea to and then, unbeknownst to me, she started writing it, and unbeknownst to her, I started writing it, and she finished first. But she kindly said I could post my version anyway, even though they're very similar. Hers is much more Sorkinesque though.

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Disclaimer: All Studio 60 characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, Tommy Schlamme, and other corporate entities. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on their copyright.