AUTHOR: Teanna (email@example.com)
ARCHIVE: List archives, others ask me, please
DISCLAIMER: Bla bla Aaron Sorkin etc
SUMMARY: When they fire at her, Mandy swears at least she won't die unfucked
NOTES: Mandyfic, and she's a dyke. Just the way we want her. For (not a) soundtrack, meaning the title is by Bettie Serveert. Beta by Leea, who kept this for so long I almost forgot, and made up for it by a super beta. It's for CGB, captain of my heart
Tomboy by Teanna
When they shot her former lovers, Mandy was keeping busy trying to get laid.
She was in the priciest dyke bar in DC, pretending like she'd taken a well-earned night off, when the truth was that she didn't exactly have anything else to do. Fuck you, Josh Lyman CJ Cregg Toby Ziegler Mr. President SIR.
This congressional aide was trying to get her attention, but, the aide being a Republican, things were progressing too fucking slow for Mandy's taste (not that she had a lot of taste when it came to women - but she had fucked CJ Cregg once, and CJ was the thing, this year, this president) - the aide was moving closer one half inch every fifteen minutes. Mandy was on her third cigarette - she would give the woman one more before moving in.
It was a real dyke bar, at least - no men hogging the bar, waiting for some hot lesbian action - but the place had kept the Exciting Eighties' look, and between sly glances at the aide, all Mandy had to look at were her own face in the huge ceiling mirror or some paintings of naked women with three breasts each. The artist, Mandy mused, had been to impressed by the impressionists. Heh.
Oh, well, there was the TV above the bar, and she kept one eye on it, of course - old habit, came from having been in more campaigns than she could count. Keep one eye on the TV at all times, make sure we get everything that is being said about the Candidate. The President.
The congressional aide tried to slide her stool closer by dropping her purse and then dragging the stool with her as she came for it. Mandy considered celibacy. For about two seconds - the woman was a natural blond.
Then, the TV lights flashed and the coverage of a flood in Minnesota was interrupted by shots of the Newseum in Rosslyn, fuck, that's where the president was gonna be tonight, what had they done-
"Shots fired, we don't know if the President has been hit, I repeat at this point we have no information about the President-"
Mandy froze, her mouth open, the cigarette falling down on the counter, ashes spilling everywhere.
GW. People had been hit. Gunmen. Gunmen.
This was DC, and all the lesbians were politicos first and lesbians second, and so the whole bar gathered around the television and just watched, stunned.
Josh. CJ. Ziegler. Sam? Yes, all, all of them would've been there. All but her, cause Mandy wasn't in the inner circle, she'd never get in there. Leo, he'd be there, dammit.
They watched for what must've been a very long time, and then the congressional aide started crying.
"What the fuck are *you* crying for," said Mandy, "you're a fucking *Republican*."
The aide only cried harder, and before Mandy knew it, she was holding the woman in her arms, and her white blouse got stained with black mascara, that would be a bitch to get off, she thought.
"Hey, come on, get a grip..."
She ought to get back. Really, they might all be dead back there.
But the aide clung to her.
"Please... I need..."
And she pushed her breasts against Mandy's, and hell, Mandy had come here to get laid, and her boss might well be dead, along with all her colleagues and former lovers. They could be coming for her, next. Jeez, they could be waiting for her...
"I won't die unfucked," she promised herself, aloud. The aide sniffed in her arms. Mandy helped the woman to the bathroom, where the stalls were big enough for three. Biggest public bathroom in DC.
The aide tumbled down on the toilet seat, sat with her back to the wall. Big Bambi eyes looked at Mandy.
"I've been traumatized," she said.
"You're a very disturbed woman," said Mandy.
"Do you remember Kennedy?" said the woman, and sniffed delicately.
"No! I'm not *that* old!" cried Mandy. "Do you wanna fuck or what?"
The aide wiped her nose and nodded her head. Spread her legs. Mandy smiled. Sat down on her, humped her, rode her a bit. They kissed - a long, deep, kiss. The other woman sighed and buried her head between Mandy's breasts. Mandy pushed against the woman, whispered in her ear:
"I won't be gentle."
The other woman unbuttoned Mandy's blouse.
They spent some time getting touching and playing, the way you do. Feeling each other. Then Mandy got off her and crouched by the toilet seat.
"I want you to spread for me, come for me."
This one, was so easy, she wanted it, she wanted to be told what to do. Not like other women Mandy had fucked: women who always wanted to be in control. Women too like herself.
"I'm going to fuck you with my finger." She held up the finger in question, wiggled it in what she hoped the other woman would think was a naughty fashion, and put it in her own mouth, first.
Mandy hadn't stroked the aide's clit for a very long time when her cell phone rang. Timing being everything.
She kept fucking the woman with one hand. Thank god for cell phones - the handsfree was a weapon in Mandy's personal fight to fuck as many people as possible while still doing her job.
Someone was shouting. For a second, she felt sure someone (Josh CJ Toby someone Mr. President SIR?) was calling her from the Newseum with their dying breath - and who, miss Hampton, would you like it to be? Maybe Josh and CJ at the same time, trying to tell her it had never been better than that time with her -
Her finger stopped then, for a moment, but the woman moaned and, on autopilot, she continued, tried to find out who was calling.
"...andy!... Gonna do...?"
"Daisy?" Her assistant. Her assistant, not at Rosslyn, not someone at Rosslyn. No. Of *course* not.
"I said, what are we gonna do?"
"Do? We're gonna pack our fucking cars and get the hell outta Dodge, that's what we're gonna do," said Mandy.
"Pack our cars? Mandy, the President..."
"The President? Fuck him, they're gonna come for *me*, too."
"Ohmygod," said the Republican aide then, "that feels so good!"
"Come for you?" said Daisy, which just fit like a glove.
"Yes," purred Mandy, "come for me, bitch."
She closed the phone and gave the aide her best tongue-and-fingers, a real Mandy Hampton Classic, a real once-in-a-lifetime orgasm supreme.
Woke up in a roadblock and a cop in riot gear told her people were dead and the President in surgery. She shook her head and said, "I need to be in New York City now," and they let her drive on. on and up and away.
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