Title: Restitution: Part Deux
Author: Shan
Email: shanray9@hotmail.com
Pairing: Leo/Josh.
Notes: The West Wing Season 5 Background: Episodes - A Constituency of One, Disaster Relief and Shutdown.
Rating: NC-pretty damn-17.
Sequel to: Restitution. And you do have to read that before this one. The original was written for Xanthe's 2003 Christmas Challenge, and this is for her Half-Millionth-Hit celebration. She's gotta stop with the challenges, cause I can't seem to say no...

Restitution: Part Deux by Shan

11:48 pm. Still Christmas Eve.

Josh Lyman fretted.

He felt ridiculous; Fullbright scholar and grown man, standing in front of a dark oak door in an old venerable hotel on Christmas Eve, like some overgrown prom date, cardkey in hand. Hesitating.

This wing of the hotel was deserted. Hardly surprising, since it *was* Christmas Eve, and other *normal* people had families to be with. And those who didn't were partying - elsewhere. The Grand Ballroom downstairs was pulsing with techno-music, but three floors and two fire doors safely insulated him from its mind-numbing beat and left him to think clearly about standing in front of Leo's door just before midnight on Christmas Eve.

And he was clearly thinking. Hard.

Leo had invited - damn near *ordered* - him here; his own deepest fantasy coming dizzyingly true. Sure, he took orders from Leo every day, but not these kinds of orders. The ones that made his knees soft and the blood swish around in his ears.

He stood two feet from the door, and stared down at the keycard as if it would suddenly sprout lips to tell him the obvious.

*Just slide me into the lock, wait for the little green light ... easy peasy.*

The keycard hovered less than an inch from its target. His hand trembled. His field of vision narrowed down to the leading edge of the hard plastic and the dark metal slot, designed to flush completely with the old dark wood.

Then, a overloud click as the tumblers shunted over, and suddenly, the slot, the door handle and the door itself were all receding...

"Are you coming in, or do you find the décor in the hallway particularly fascinating?" came the low familiar whiskey-shot voice.

Josh started, suddenly feeling even more foolish. He didn't help matters by uttering, "Uhh - I, er ---" rather intelligently.

Leo stood before him, smiling that rarely-seen smile that was tight and controlled but which reached all the way to his eyes. There was a fondness in their expression that Josh only caught every now and then, but which had the awesome power to alter the course of his day. The Chief of Staff had changed out of his suit, and wore a simple black v-necked sweater over black tailored slacks, in startling contrast to his blue eyes and fair skin. A small sprinkling of salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from under the black silk-knit at the throat, and Josh caught himself staring at it before consciously snapping himself out of it. He stepped into the foyer of the luxury suite and stopped.

Leo was most of the way back to the sitting room when he turned around.

"All the way in, Josh. I don't bite. At least, not hard," he smiled again, a hint of danger in the gleam of his baby blues.

Josh's breath hitched midway through doffing his coat. He made a show of looking around, folding the black wool jersey, to hide the flush that must be evident on his face from the furnace blossoming at the back of his neck. "I guess it's better than the two by four."

Leo was at the small wet bar next to the television screen that was perpetually on, running CNN continuously, a true omnipresent electronic entity that never slept, never took a day off; their necessity and bane. Blessedly, the volume was muted.

"I can offer you drinks of the soft variety only." He was already returning, a clear soda in a highball, with a lemon slice floating cheerfully in the ice. He raised his own glass of water. "L'chiam."

Josh smiled. "That's OK. Donna says I have a sensitive system. Salude." They drank their drinks in silence, and Josh shuffled over to the window, which looked out over a darkened park. Streetlamps threw golden pools of light among the bare branches and evergreens. The city skyline on the other side glistened and twinkled with Christmas lights, all the more sharp in the frosty night.

"I would've thought you'd be at the Uphoffs tonight," said Josh.

"I gave it up early," Leo voice seemed to materialize just over his shoulder. He couldn't suppress the light shiver that trilled up his spine. He could hear the humor in Leo's voice, almost feel the warm breath on the back of his neck. "I didn't want to be responsible for making Margaret the social pariah of the assistants' pool this year."

Josh was about to make some smartass comment about recent pariahs in general, when he felt what had to be lips and evening stubble brushing across the back of his neck. He managed to freeze in place and shiver at the same time. And then that same brush came again, feather-light, accompanied by a breathy kiss that made his hair stand on end and warmth roll over him. A small groan emerged from his throat, and unconsciously, his head dropped forward a little.

A throaty chuckle, so close behind him, and then blunt fingers curling around his nape, sliding up behind his ears and into his hair, massaging firmly and hypnotically. A warm heavy tension rolled over him, and he leaned into the caressing fingers. He could feel the warmth of Leo's body behind him, and he set his drink down, his hands reaching for the buttons of his jacket.

"No. Stop." quietly ordered, sibilant and commanding, and his hands stopped midway, dropping back to this side. "Good. Good boy."

He shivered and closed his eyes. He was rewarded by the firm nip of teeth that made him snatch his breath. Butterflies began dancing in the pit of his stomach. Hands reached around him, undoing his jacket deftly and sliding it off his shoulders.

"Keep looking out there at the pretty lights," again the murmured directive.

Seemingly unable to do anything else, Josh stood there, dimly aware of the cold that seeped in the windowpanes, and that behind him, the lights in the room were being turned off, until only the dim lights from the television and the streetlamps lit the suite. He felt the touch of fingers warm through his dress shirt.


Confusion muffled his senses, and he turned his head.

"Don't turn around. Shoes, Josh," Leo's patient voice seemed disembodied, hovering just behind and over his ear, low and caressingly intimate. "Just think of standing here, in front of the window, and all those people out there in the dark, while I undress you."

Josh's head dropped forward, his moan a tiny pathetic sound, even as he toed off his shoes with less than balletic grace. Blood was pounding in his head, and filling his cock, drawing up the tension as Leo's blunt hands and deft fingers loosened his tie, pulled up his shirt-tails, unbuttoned and undid belt and pants. Somehow, his boss managed to stay out of his line of sight as he was methodically undressed. He stared out into the black chilly night, sprinkled with merry Christmas lights, as he was shouldered out of his undershirt, and stepped out of pants and boxers and socks.

The cool air against his skin was in sharp contrast to the warm hands that touched him, peeling away each layer of clothing to expose him to the cool air, and then the fingers stroking over the goose bumps fluttering across his skin in little overlapping waves.

A small part of his brain railed at him, standing there, allowing another man - his boss - to undress him. Peeling away each strata of clothing to reveal naked skin, allowing sharper insight to shrouded desires. Or maybe it was because it was Leo - who moved so efficiently and quietly, as layer after layer was deftly removed, and the chill of the air against his bare skin added spice to the shivers. He'd always prided himself on taking the lead with women ... well, in that patented Josh Lyman hide-behind-the-funny- rejoinder sort of way. Fear made him witty; his defenses resorting to his most dependable weapons - his intellect was his spear and humor was his shield.

But now here he stood, silently staring out into the crystal night, his barricades gone, his drawn battle lines dissipated. He had no defenses against Leo McGarry, he realized.

"Don't speak," came that low growl, right behind his other ear. Hands along his shoulders, and the quick scrape of evening stubble between his shoulder blades that renewed the shivers. "And stop thinking so loudly, Josh."

Startled, unable to stop himself, Josh turned in the direction of the voice, catching a glimpse of amused blue eyes, the familiar lines of a beloved face.

Leo sighed, and stepped further around into Josh's line of vision. The expression on his face turned stern.

"I can see you're going to be difficult about following instructions."

Josh bowed his head. "No, no, I - uh... Sorry." His breath hitched, a sudden unexplained knot in his stomach tightened, rolling up to lodge in the back of his throat.. The bright pinpoints of the city lights blurred. He cleared his throat, tear-blind, and tried again, "I'm sorry, Leo. I'm not ... I'm sorry -"

Arms came around him suddenly, pulling him into a warm hard embrace, pressing shivery skin against the soft silk-knit. Distractedly, Josh noted the surprisingly hard muscular definition along the sinewy arms that closed comfortingly around him. He buried his face in Leo's shoulder, leaning forward a little, feeling the tension bloom and then just as abruptly fade. He could almost watch it receding away from him, distant and dispassionate, relaxation rolling over him from behind like a warm comforter.

The fingers slid up his bare shoulder and the back of his neck, closing in his hair, easing his head back gently but firmly. He found himself looking into Leo's face, with the familiar crow's feet around the sharp blue eyes. The hand slipped around his neck, tipping his face up, and then Leo's mouth was on his, hot and keen as a blade . He was surprisingly and uncharacteristically relaxed, his own lips parted for Leo to explore, to taste. He closed his eyes, waiting for permission to taste back.

It came in the form of the slow stroke of Leo's thumb along Josh's neck, the slightly rough pad along the tender skin just inside the jawline, along with the gentle withdrawal of his mouth. Immediately bereft, moving without thinking, Josh leaned forward, blindly seeking, until he found Leo again, reaching for Leo's trim waist.

The Chief of Staff allowed the daring foray, letting Josh touch and taste. The slightly glazed look in the younger man's half-open eyes told him that for a change his brain was not engaged in its usual overdrive gear. *That* Josh Lyman was usually riding six policy conundrums at once and coming up with solutions for each one before lunch. Leo slid his hand down Josh's arm, fingers closing firmly around his wrist before breaking the kiss, and towing him towards the bedroom. Without looking, he anticipated and felt the slight initial resistance, and then the obedient compliance that made him smile just a little.

The bedroom was full of dark cherry woods and deep red drapes. Everything was classically stylish and understated, and unquestionably masculine. Leo had long since exorcised any hint of femininity from his environs. Everything from the beefy fountain pen to the well-worn leather portfolio to the crisp white handkerchief sitting on the bureau was substantial and male.

He left Josh at the foot of the large king-sized bed, and the younger man stood there, staring down at the maroon bedspread turned down over an expanse of creamy bed linens and a pile of pillows. He remained there even when Leo stepped into view by the nightstand, removing his watch, and then proceeding on to shoes and socks and clothes. His movements were smooth and not too quick, and he kept his gaze on the naked Josh, pale and lean, standing quietly at the foot of the bed, hands at his sides.

Leo left his clothes folded with almost military precision on the seat of the leather chair. Josh could not have looked away if he'd a mind to, watching the hard lines of shoulder and chest emerge from all that black material. Josh was taken by the unexpected muscle definition of his boss's body, his customary suits masking a frame that was still Air Force trim. He was transfixed as Leo casually and easily stepped out of the last of his clothing, morphing from dressed to nude without any discernible translation. As uncomfortable as nudity made him feel, Josh could see that it did not make the same psychological impression on Leo as to his state of dress. The younger man mulled on that novel idea for a moment, tilting his head to the side.

"You keep looking at me like that, boy, and you're liable to get exactly what you want for Christmas."

Josh drew a breath. "I'm just... revering."

And then Leo smiled. It was a very different smile, one that was full of soft warmth and open affection, bright as morning sunshine and rare as blue diamonds, throwing sunbright illumination on the hidden Leo McGarry that no one in the West Wing had yet been privileged to observe. Something deep inside Josh turned over; that white-light smile - it was the smile to slay dragons for... His eyes slavishly followed Leo as he came around the bed and took his deputy by the wrist. There was a small hesitation, and Leo looked Josh in the eyes.

Josh shrugged, a tad sheepishly. "Still with the revering."

Leo reached in, his hand sliding around Josh's throat and drawing him forward into a deep probing kiss that left him gasping. Then he was being drawn forward until the bed linens were suddenly coming up to meet him. He sank into luxurious cool bed, the fine Egyptian cotton caressing his bare skin as he buried his face in the throw pillows, seeking Leo's scent in the 300-count sheets.

Warm hands started at his shoulders and began stroking slowly down his back. He sighed at the touch, hyper-aware as they drifted lower, skimming his flanks and the small of his back, ghosting over the swell of his buttocks, down his legs to tickle gently behind the knees. And then the hands were returning up between his thighs, drawing them open as they neared his hips. He groaned and buried his head further, feeling terribly exposed and turned on, fighting the urge to rub his now-hard cock against the soft sheets.

The mattress dipped around him, and he could feel Leo's body heat radiating off him. The hands slid up his back, and suddenly, a wet tongue found his spine in the small of his back, stroking downwards in wet licks that made him want to whimper, and then the tongue accompanied by firm nibbles of teeth on his butt cheeks made his whimpers an embarrassing reality. And then the teeth were replaced by strong fingers holding his buttocks open, and the strokes across his balls and perineum and anus turning his whimpers into moans. Then the hot press of Leo's body, wet kisses on his tailbone, before the fingers returned, now slick with lube, to rim and probe and penetrate his anus.

He gasped out something. A soft raspy chuckle from Leo, and he realized he'd said, "Leo - please... "

The heated weight of Leo's compact body descended on his back, his thighs parted further as something smooth and hard and warm pressed against his crack, against his anus. His body tightened in automatic tension, and, gripping pillows hard, he forced himself to remain still, to press back against the demanding cockhead. Leo's hand held his hip for leverage.

And then the whiskey-shot voice right next to his ear, hushed with reverence, "So brave. So sweet."

The penetrating weight against his anus increased dramatically, and he cried out into the pillow when the sphincter gave and the thickened erection that felt like a club slid halfway into his body. Giving him only a moment to adjust, Leo pushed in the rest of the way, bottoming out in Josh's opened buttocks. With control sketching lines across his face that Josh could not see, Leo began to thrust, slowly but firmly, deeply, into that delicious tightness. He angled his hips to stroke across the prostate, and grunted in satisfaction when Josh arched and groaned. He stroked across the small nub relentlessly, relishing the cries wrenched from the shuddering body beneath him.

Then he leaned down over Josh's trembling back, reaching around the lean hips to encircle the hard and weeping penis in his lube- slickened hand. He tightened his fingers and stroked the shaft from balls to tip, pinning Josh as he bucked wildly against the crashing sensations. He began to time his thrusts with the strokes of his hand, pressing down against the desperate arching of the younger man's back. Resting his full weight on Josh, he reached down with his free hand past where his shaft opened the tight rectum, to grasp the full balls. He closed his eyes and timed his strokes together, and was rewarded by the drawing-up of the heavy balls and the fluttering of the belly. He pressed his lips against Josh's neck, sinking his teeth in at the moment Josh began to come, in long explosive spasms that ripped his body and hoarsened his voice. Hot semen flowed around his stroking hand, and the white-hot spasms in Josh's ass almost caused him to lose it.

He hung on, screwing his eyes shut with each clasping grip of the younger man's ass, feeling quaking shudders ripple through his lean length, sweat moistening and sweetening his pale skin. Only when the spasms subsided, the muscles losing their tension, did Leo draw himself up. He ran his hands up and down Josh's heaving flanks, to warn him, and then gripped the narrow hips, and began to pound, deeply and powerfully, into the post-orgasmic body.

*You're such a bastard, McGarry*, he told himself, disjointedly.

Shaky gasps emerged from the pillows, but the younger man began to respond, thrusting back, despite the evident hyper-sensitivity. Josh's fists were mauling the unfortunate throw pillows, but he was otherwise quiet, offering Leo whatever pleasure he would take.

Leo's orgasm came on him like a tsunami, thundering and crashing over him as he reared back with a guttural shout, balls slapping hard against the spread buttocks beneath him. His eyes flew open, staring wildly and seeing nothing but a blinding white fog, the roaring blood buffeting his ears, his brain melting into whirlpool sensations. His body arched through the initial seizures, spasms fading as the post- climatic tremors subsided. He retained some marginal intelligence to carefully lower himself onto Josh's damp back, and he nuzzled the younger man beneath him, even as he settled his weight on him, arms around the lean torso, drowning into the damp musky sex-smelling peat- bog of the sexual afterglow that enveloped them both.

After some time, when their breaths had calmed and their sweat had cooled, Leo shifted off the dozing body beneath him, groping blindly for the much abused sheets and blankets. He drew the semi-comatose Josh to him, draping himself around the long back, arm around his waist, knee thrust between his thighs.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked down at the face boyish in half-sleep. He brushed the curly dark hair back from sweaty forehead and bent and kissed his temple briefly.

Josh murmured, "Still ...with the ... revering." He reached back, resting his hand on Leo's hip.

Leo kissed him again, just because, and then glanced up at the nightstand where he had placed his watch.

"Goodnight, sweet boy," whispered Leo McGarry. "Merry Christmas."

The End

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