you can't start a fire without a spark
mad men, roger/joan, words 438, rating pg 13 he figures she's just like the rest of them.
notes: for tooredlipstick. title from springsteen.
Do you have any idea how unhappy I was before I met you?
He's got his hand on some secretary's knee and the pretty young thing is all skin and bones. There's a Cuban hanging from his lips, tumbler of scotch at his elbow, head thrown back in a sort of languid pleasure that can't really be equated with satisfaction or happiness or anything really.
So, he isn't doing much more than being Roger Sterling when he first sees her.
There's a flash of red outside his office (Red) - and his eyes catch her silhouette a moment late. Buxom and full and he's on his feet in an instant, toppling pretty-young-thing from her perch on his lap.
His shoulder slumps against the frame of his door and he scans the office, mouth pressed to the rim of his glass and his free hand fixes the rumpled tie- and yes, he's Roger Sterling.
Ever the boy.
She flicks those baby blues at him, wide with faux innocence and calls him "sir" when he drapes an arm around the back of her chair and he figures she's just like the rest of them.
Perhaps a tad more glorious than he's come to expect.
A compliment here, a whispered promise there and he lures into the copy room, abandoned at lunch and tells her he's been thinking about those breasts of hers all day. She laughs into his mouth, her tongue sweeping a wicked path across his teeth and thanks him, kindly.
His head is buried in her creamy neck, lips teasing the tendrils of hair escaping her bun and his hand is pulling her skirt upwards to reveal more of those magnificent legs. He doesn't make it to her panties.
She's pushing him back and "not here". It's said syrupy sweet, blue peeping at him through the coy turn of her lashes but its firm and insistent and so are her hands, pushing back at his shoulder and yanking at his hair till he releases her.
He stumbles back, saying "Joanie" and there's a flash there and he can tell she hates it. Hates it- but she won't contest it.
Interesting.
His hand resumes it's stealthy path, slow- seductive.
"Not here." Her skin is flushed but she's adamant, so she walks that deliciously responsive body of hers back out the door.
She leaves him there, mouth hanging open, zipper undone and eyes still hungry for the swing of her hips and she doesn't look back.
Not here.
There's a key to a hotel room at her desk before the office closes for the day.