Current mood:	mischievous
Current music:	shh - frou frou
Entry tags:	drabble, fic, ww, xmm

crazy drabble. Josh/Rogue.
You know how sometimes you read a fic with a very bizarre pairing and wonder: How did they come up with those two names? Did they draw them out of a hat or something?

Well, Helena and I decided to do just that. We wrote out the characters comprising our 'ships, put them into a box (the hat was too wrinkled to do the job, sadly), pulled out two and made ourselves write drabbles about them.

It was so much harder than I'd expected, and because I like to share the pain, I've decided to post one every day/couple of days, just to make your brains melt. Mwahahaha.

Be warned: this has not been beta'd (though it has been spell-checked and read over; I'm crazy, not evil), and, well, it's two names drawn out a hat. Need I say more?



"She's been calling all day, Josh. She says it's a matter of life and death." Donna's gaze was expectant, and he obliged her with a sigh and a,

"Don't they always say that?"

"Joshua. Sometimes when a person calls about a possible national security risk, it *is* actually *about* national security."

"So says the expert," he deadpanned, and before she sailed from the room, he could've sworn she stuck out her tongue at him.

By the end of the day, he was thoroughly sick of Marie D'Ancanto and her so-called 'urgent' demands for a moment of his time. Women who claimed the world was about to end were generally the Crazy Aunt Bertha type, sometimes with a little of the alien-tinfoil crowd mixed in.

"Mr Lyman," a strident voice called, just before his arm was seized by what must have been a behemoth of a woman, and he was dragged into a sidestreet.

"Mr Lyman," she said again, and he finally managed to wrench himself from her grasp with enough force to stumble into a nearby pole.

He caught himself and turned to face his abductor. She was petite. Pretty, with long dark hair and soft brown eyes. She wasn't at all what he'd expected, but nevertheless, she had accosted him, and-

"I really need to talk to you," she said, and his attention was momentarily directed to her pouty pink lips.

"Uh… what?"

"My name is Marie D'Ancanto, and I need your help."

Ah. "Ms. D'Ancanto, harassing a Senior White House staffer isn't exactly a wise move, and it really doesn't make me feel inclined to help you."

"So you refuse to help?" she asked slowly.

"Yup."

She smiled then, suddenly, brilliantly. "Then it would appear I have no choice. And, I'm afraid, neither do you."

"Huh?"

She advanced on him, and he caught her gloved wrists in his hands before she could do… whatever it was she had planned.

Her brow creased momentarily, then cleared, and she leaned forward and touched those perfect lips to his mouth. The kiss was slow, almost tender, until her tongue slipped past his lips and dove into mouth to duel with his own. He couldn't help himself; he moaned, then sank into the kiss with all the fervour of a man possessed.

His mind seemed to float, and he fell to the ground with her taste still lingering on his tongue.



Feedback would be, um, interesting. *g*

Cat