The Pleasure in a Drunken Stumble
(Multi-Platinum Remix)

Author: Tori Morris

Original Story: Something Comfortable in an Unlit Room by MelWil

Summary: Josh. Ainsley. Season Four.

Rating: R

Fandom: The West Wing

The fourth beer was barely a memory when he pushed his chair back and put his hand in the open fridge to root for another one. He couldn't trust his vision anymore, so it took him several minutes to realize the only thing still in there was salad leftovers. He sat and licked the vinaigrette off his fingers and thought of her.

Not Amy, of course. Donna. The girl with the silky golden hair and the pale blue eyes, who followed him like a shadow. Except where he needed her. Where he needed her the most.

A few moments later and he was down the stairs, poking around. He had to find her, she wouldn't come to him when he called anymore. He wondered where he was-- four years and he still got turned all around down here. Or maybe it was the beer, clouding his directional senses. No matter; he would find her. Declare his undying (for now) love and hope that she could make the world right again, orient it back in its proper settings. He felt so unbalanced.

And there she was, in the office that was still Jack's. He squinted. No, that wasn't her. It was someone else.

"What ya doin', Ainsley?"

She looked at him and he was glad he had been right. Not Donna at all, but if you didn't listen, and you didn't pay attention, it didn't matter. Did it?

"You--" and he was sure he was slurring so badly now, "you have a new office, Ainsley." And at this she nodded, primly. Not Donna. He sagged against the doorframe, letting it support his weight.

"What ya doing, Ainsley?" He repeated.

"You've been drinking." Matter-of-fact, and southern. It poured off of her like rain, that she was nothing at all like Donna, save for the hair, and the way she looked at you with humor when you were drunk.

"Drinking is good. Goodness. Good stuff. Need good stuff at the moment. It's a thing." He wondered if Ainsley would understand any of that. How he needed good things to fill him up, and ease the hurt that never went away these days. Before, he could pretend that every action he made wasn't the action of a man trying to live two lives and failing miserably. Before, he could pretend he was happy with the cheap sex for a vote with Amy. But that was before Stanley, and that was before Donna, and now he needed at least one of them to stay a while, and fix him. But neither was interested.

"You should go home, Josh."

"You could take me home. Take me to bed. Gotta get some sleep." He slurred again, he was sure, and he straightened himself against the doorframe.

"What about Donna?" What about her, he wanted to respond. She was out, out with Jack, that brawny, healthy, strong man who was undoubtedly making her fists clench and her toes curl right now. All things Josh could never be, would never be.

"Donna's ... Donna's out on a date. She's got a date."

Ainsely still watched him, pinned him under her gaze. "CJ?"

"She's not here. No one's here 'cept you, Ainsley. I need you, Ainsley." He felt desperate now, realizing that Ainsley was trying to pawn him off into the first set of arms she could find. And she couldn't. No one else had that long, golden hair. He wanted the long golden hair, so he could pretend. For just a while.

***

He fades out for a while, and when he wakes, Ainsley's opening her car door and pulling him out, letting him support himself on her. Under the layers, he can feel her warmth. She half drags him up the stairs, although she doesn't know it. Just to stay near that warmth. He's forgotten what touch felt like. She pulls out his keys and fumbles in the lock with them, eager to be rid of him, he surmises.

"Let's get you inside, Josh. Can't stay out here all night," she murmurs soothingly as she finds the right key, and pushes open the door. It's dark inside, and he stumbles in after her, tracking snow to melt on the formica floors.

"Inside ... my bed's inside, Ainsley." He mutters as she shuts the door behind them. He uses her name repeatedly, a reminder that she isn't the right person, but she'll do, if she wants to. "Do you want to see my bed?" He stumbles again, and pushes them against the wall, but he props himself up with his hand, quickly enough. He can feel the heat rising off her body, under the chill from outside. The thin breath rising from her partially opened lips.

He kisses her then, and uses all the tricks he knows. The ones that he learned first hand, during his drunken nights with Sam, and later, during the campaigns. The ones Mandy demanded from him and that Amy let him experiment with. She doesn't look at him, but at the ceiling, and he briefly allows himself to think about Donna's thin, innocent face. But this is Ainsley.

He leads her to the bed and pushes her down, and they unbutton each other quickly. He laps at her small pink nipples and her hand strokes his cock gently as he enters her. It goes by quickly, the thrusting and panting. It reminds him how good sex is, before he passes out on top of the sheets, letting the sweat dry on his skin and cool him off.

***

In the morning, the sunlight hits his face, and he wakes up, alone. There isn't even a sign that someone else was here, recently. The depression where her body should have been had already been destroyed by his shifting. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and began the mechanical process of getting ready for work, all while wondering what exactly it is that he has begun.

She doesn't come to see him that first day, and he's too unsure of his own feelings to go see her. He nervously wonders if he used a condom or not. He ignores the fact that Amy harasses him from afar, and Donna herself is playing the part of the good worker bee. And so it goes, for several days, before he decides to suck it up and go see her.

He stands in the doorway, and runs his hand through his hair. A little less every day, but he pretends not to notice. "I'm sorry." He says, the start of all good apologies, or so he has been told. Only then does she look up, a flash of confusion on her face.

"What for?"

He looks around quickly, and then passes the threshold, closing the door quickly, but quietly behind him, before leaning against it for support. "I'm sorry about the other night, with everything that happened. I was - I was drunk, you know."

It's not a lie, it's an overstatement. An elegantly outlined eyebrow curves at this, and her well-manicured hands replace the papers without looking down. "I'm not sorry."

He opens his mouth, but words don't come out. He wants to ask if she's attracted to him, wants to ask if she thought sleeping with him would lead to something more. He wants to ask where exactly in the South she learned to be so bold. "What?" He says, instead of those options.

"I'm not sorry," She repeats. "I'm not sorry we did what we did."

He nods, and then there is silence for a few moments, as he examines the way the carpet is laid upon the floor of her new office. "I've never really done anything like this before." He admits. He almost winces, at the realization that now someone else knows that the bravado is just that.

"It's a first for me too..." She says, and he can feel her watching him. He looks up to meet her eyes again. Another rub of his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

"We shouldn't...." He says.

"No." She responds, so quickly. His hand finds the doornob behind him, and he begins to twist it open. He looks back and she's sucking on the end of her pen. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Ainsley?"

"Yeah?"

"I enjoyed it." A rough admission, and then he opens the door. "Bye."

"Bye."

He closes the door behind him, and shakes his head. Then, with a clearer conscience, he walks up the stairs and goes back to work.

~end~

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.