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Lose This Number

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A resigned hand emerged dutifully from Dan Egan's covers and grasped for the device buzzing on his nightstand.

It was probably work. Not because it was two-thirty in the morning and therefore the perfect time for some national crisis to wake him, but simply because it was always work. A DC area-code was a requirement to make it onto his contact list, a criteria that intentionally excluded most of his family. 

So the groggy man was both surprised and irritated to find a text message from Jonah Ryan occupying his inbox. Of course, as the office pariah, Jonah still constituted "work" though he could not decipher whether this message had any implications relevant to their office - he doubted it, given the source.

J: So, are we gonna do this or what?

Do what? Dan couldn't help but wonder with a leading question like that.

He immediately dismissed the, surely unintentional, predatory tone this text seemed to carry as standard-issue Jonah creepiness.

D: Or what, I guess. Since I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.

The annoying timing and vague content of this message created a delay in which Dan collected his thoughts. Eventually shooting-off this response for fear that any further pause be construed as care.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Great, Jonah clearly had some sort of agenda and there was nothing worse than that.

J: You know what I mean

J: When are we gonna cut the will-they-won't-they bullshit and just do this already?  

The fact that Dan's mouth was dry from sleep did not dissuade his body from attempting a spit-take when his eyes met the screen.

"What the actual fuck?" The sheer presumption was cause enough for the man who was barely awake to assume an upright and decidedly more alert position.

There was never a doubt in his mind that Jonah Ryan was absolutely starved for any sexual attention. But to outright proposition him in such a blunt manner? This knocked the wind out of Dan's sails.

D: That's really your opening line, Jonad?

Dan could not quite put a finger on why he opted for such an open-ended response rather than directly shutting the other man down and ending this nonsense.

J: Jonad? Who've you been talking to in the West Wing?

D: Everyone. I fucking work there.

Dan sensed some grave miscommunication was happening on the other side of this correspondence which, if mined properly, could prove extremely fruitful in their ongoing humiliation game.

 J : Yeah, I's just, things are a little more high-octane with POTUS' staff.

High octane? This ridiculous statement confirmed Dan's growing suspicion that Jonah was texting the wrong number. To make matters worse, he was now attempting to "humble brag" about his position in the White House to the one person who knew, better than anyone, the true extent of his worthlessness.

D: And you're our village idiot - which is saying a lot considering your competition.

He once saw Gary Walsh literally cry over spilled milk.

D: Don't forget that I'm the one who got you back into Selina's good graces.

A decision Dan regretted everyday and one that would surely reveal his true identity.

J: Shit.

J: Dan?

The lag between the first and second message shed light on just how slowly and shamefully this realization was hitting a likely half-awake Jonah.

D: What gave it away?

Who the fuck did Jonah think he was talking to anyway? Dan shuttered for the poor girls on the receiving end of texts like that from the demented goliath.

J:   Shit.

J: Just ignore these, okay?

Jonah seemed to miscalculate the free ammunition he'd just dispensed.

D: Unlikely

When Dan's days generally started at two in the morning, it was hardly for anything this amusing so he was entirely unwilling to ignore the feast of mortification Jonah had so graciously laid before him.

J: Whatever Dan, they obviously weren't meant for you.

D: Oh really, Jonah?

Their bickering could sometimes manifest itself in a pseudo-sexual manner, "flirtations" that were clearly more effective when Dan wielded them. A failed thirsty bat-signal tacked with a "sorry, wrong number" upon rejection was a pretty weak game.

D: Because I'm pretty sure I'm in your fucking phone. In fact, I know I am because I keep telling you to lose my number.

A request Dan understood would never be honored since his idiot co-worker was fucking obsessed, and borderline infatuated, with him.

J: I just hit the wrong contact for fucksake!

Dan could almost hear the man's voice raise a distressed octave, only making him want to press further and see what else he could break.

D: What's his name then?

This was almost becoming too much fun for the smirking White House staffer.

J: Shut up, Egan.

J: SHE'S that hot new assistant from counsel's office.

He had yet to meet the woman in question but, if gossip on the hill was to be believed, it was improbable that the likes of Jonah Ryan scored her number.

D: You couldn't come up with a better lie than that?

J: Not a lie - your boy's got game Egan. Maybe you should be taking notes.

The all talk, no walk government official was not helping his case.

D: Jonah, there's no way in hell any woman voluntarily gave you her number.

J: Shut up, Dan - we've clearly got a thing going. She's just been too intimidated to give it to me.

It physically pained him that Jonah was blind to the hilarity of his own premise. Despite his over-grown frame, there was not a soul who would find him intimidating in any sense of the word. 

D: Then explain to me how you believed that you were texting her and not me.

J: Because I have her number

J:'s amazing what information unpaid interns will dig up for 20 bucks.

Real rich coming from someone who held essentially the same responsibility as an intern himself.

D:  That's a lovely story, Jonah - and I mean "lovely" in a sexual predator way - but it still suffers one major plot hole.

J: What would that be?

D: I'm pretty sure that girl from counsel's name is Natasha.

At least, that's the name he'd heard practically salivating male staffers mention all week.

J: And?

D: I know you don't have any friends Jonah, but "N" and "D" occupy fairly distinct regions of the alphabet.

J: Yeah well, she's just in my phone as "hot assistant".

Dan was waiting for that cartoonish behavior that women found so off-putting to reel it's ugly head, but now that it had, it raised more questions than answers.

D: Wait.

D: What am I in your phone as?

He was beginning to suspect it wasn't "Dan".

J: Nothing.

This conversation kept getting better - it was as though he were somehow uncovering priceless nuggets of gold with a broken metal detector.

D: You realize this isn't a choice now?

D: You either tell me or I sic one of those interns on you

Dan found himself unexpectedly eager to hear these results of this one.

J: Fine.

The silence between this message and the next filled the air with the energy of a labored sigh.

J: hot asshole

J: Cause you're an asshole.

Dan legitimately giggled at this response. He felt as though he'd definitively won the twisted game show he'd been playing since he'd met Jonah Ryan by hitting the personal embarrassment jackpot.

D: I always knew you were sweet on me, Jonad.

J: Shut up, Dan.

J: You're still a dick.

This exchanged evoked an odd sense of déjà-vu and, for some unimaginable reason, it had plastered a smile onto Dan Egan's smug face.

D: And a hot one, at that.

Every aspect of this was fucking delicious to the West Wing's resident fuckboy.

J: Don't break your back flattering yourself, Egan. The fact that you're attractive is like your only redeeming quality.

J: You can dress a turd up as much as you like, it's still shit.

Washington's oversized human punching-bag was not fooling anyone. While Dan's complete disregard for traditional "ethics" often fitted him with the label of "psychopath", he knew this heartlessness did more than just get him ahead in politics - people couldn't help but find his disinterest attractive and Jonah Ryan was undoubtedly the most notorious offender.

J: So, you're saying that will-they-won't-they shit doesn't apply to you and I at all?

Dan wasn't prepared to set the magnifying glass down just yet - he felt compelled to watch his colleague burn under the oppressive sunlight a bit longer.

J: no.

 By simply not responding, Dan began to smoke him out.

J: Why?

J: Do you?

D: All I'm saying is that if I responded to that first text with "fuck it, why not?" you'd be counting your lucky stars right about now.

J: Yeah, cause I still would've thought you were Natasha.

D: I somehow doubt you'd correct that error if I showed up at your door at 3 in the morning.

Dan's articulation of the thought provided enough detail for him to picture this scene for himself, which would prove a fatal mistake on his part.   

J: Fuck you, Dan.

D: Yeah, I bet you'd like to

Jonah did not reply as quickly to this one and, while awaiting a response, Dan's head began to flood with uninvited images. He strained against the full picture but snippets trickled through his sensors - his hand tightening around an oversized wrist, a lanky skeleton pinned against a wall yet eagerly grinding against its aggressor, a hot desperate panting in his ear. 


An exchange that was meant to stay firmly in the realm of relentless Jonah torment was quickly becoming something else, and to admit that would mean surrendering any higher-ground. In the dark, he'd managed to trip over the increasingly thin line between antagonizing Jonah and fantasizing about him.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. 

A series of texts came through at once, temporarily relieving his mind from the sights it had decided to conjure against his will.

J: You're the worst.

 J: Maybe I shpuld lose your number.

J: *should

D: Then who else would you text one-handed in the middle of the night?

J: That was autocorrect, you shithead.

D: Whatever you say.

J: This wasn't a fucking booty call, Dan.

D: Well, technically...

J: Fine.

J: But not for you.

Dan took a deep breath as he approached an invisible threshold where he could either retreat to safety or plummet into the inevitably foreboding darkness.

A force resembling idiotic bravery - or just good old fashion senselessness - had surged through his system, propelling him forward. 

D: Perhaps it's your luck Freudian-slip then, cause I happen to be in a generous mood.

J: What the hell's that supposed to mean?

D: I think you know.

Dan wouldn't be surprised if Jonah were already squirming around and reluctantly rubbing himself under his sheets. However, he knew it would take more direct prying to get his co-worker to openly admit that and he was beginning to wonder whether it was worth the effort. After all, extracting any level of competence from Jonah was like pulling teeth.

D: Let's pretend, in a moment of grave misjudgment, I actually showed up at your place tonight.

D: What would you have done?

There was a deliberate pause, he could almost see Jonah physically deciding whether or not to travel down the path being graciously laid for him.

J: Been irritated, cause you're not Natasha.

Untactful evasion appeared to be the strategy. Apparently, the man's penchant for making Dan's job difficult exceeded the office. 

D: If you paid for a used Camry and the dealer accidentally brought you an Escalade, would you waste this much time complaining or just get in the goddamn car and drive already?

J: You're the Cadillac?

D: And you’re the idiot blowing his only chance to drive one.  

Another pause. He'd practically made this a fucking paint-by-numbers - to be fair, one would have to with Jonah.

J: Fine.

J: I guess I'd let you in.

Jonah could feign resignation as much as he liked, but his workplace bully knew it was bullshit - he'd felt the man's body go submissively limp under his touch on more than one occasion.

D: ...?

He nudged after a moment.

J: what?

Tone and inflection were characteristics often impossible to recapture over text, but Dan had managed to hear every tick in the other man's voice throughout their conversation. It surprised him just how amusing it was to sense the often-avoided presence of Jonah Ryan in the room.

D: Care to elaborate?

Because Dan did not appreciate the manner in which his libido had been filling in the gaps and he could no longer muster the will power to fight the movie screening in his subconscious. The thud of Jonah's back against the wall, the heavy hitched breaths he'd dispel as the smaller man drove toward his neck with lips and tongue and, eventually, teeth sinking into skin.

Though anticipating some response, Dan was beginning to speculate that he could start and finish this shameful descent on his own. But the instant he indignantly grasped his hardening cock, his phone went buck-wild as if to warn him against such treachery.

The son of a bitch was calling him.

"What?" He attempted to mask his arousal with irritation.

"Do we have to do this over text?" He questioned in an unfamiliar low, groggy tone that was undeniably working for Dan.

"Afraid some perv at the NSA will be jacking off to our texts tomorrow?"

Dan knew what the insecure man-child was actually worried about - that he the target of an unnecessarily elaborate prank that would provide comedic fodder on Pennsylvania Avenue tomorrow. When the unfortunate truth was that the man intending to mock him had become shamefully complicit in the act and found himself needing this as desperately as his co-worker.

"Seems like an uncharacteristic sense of privacy for a man who likely sends unsolicited dick pics to every woman unfortunate enough to make his acquaintance." 

"You jealous, Danny?" A regretful chill settled into Dan's bones because he couldn't decided which was worse - the nickname or the unearned confidence under which it was delivered. "I would have sent you one, but I don't think your phone as the storage space."

Dan simply hung-up on him after that, only to don a malicious grimace when he phone began to ring again.

"What the fuck was that?" Jonah demanded.

"A reminder that I'm the one doing you a service here." This wasn't necessarily true because, as Dan's occupied hand regretfully reminded him, he was getting something out of this too. "I don't need you to come, you're actually hindering the process."

"Do you always have to be such a dick?" The voice strained against the receiver.    

"I don't know, do you always have to be such an idiot?" Dan retorted semi-childishly.

The pace and content of these insults was school-yard and lacked their usual panache because their energies were being spent elsewhere on their bodies and they both knew it.

"Do you always cast idiots in you wet dreams, Egan?" The speed with which Jonah Ryan could regain confidence was beyond frustrating.    

"I'd classify this more as a waking nightmare." Dan grumbled. "But, despite being the furthest thing from leading-man material, you somehow managed to land the starring role. So don't make me regret it more than I already am."

"And what exactly am I doing in that un-pure imagination of yours?" Special Agent Pervert was unusually focused in his mission to extract the dirty images from his subject's mind.

"Being much less talkative, for one thing." Dan stifled a slight groan. "I've got better ideas for that massive hole in your face."

"So you'd want me sucking you off, Egan?"

"That mouth of yours isn't good for much else, is it?" Dan concluded rather practically.

"Ask me nicely." Now he envisioned Jonah hovering over his cock, flashing his teeth in a taunting grin as he withheld the act.

"Jonah, if you do not put the entirety of that unnatural maw around my dick in the next five seconds, I'm hanging up on you again." This should not be as difficult as he was making it - the phone between them took out all the work, Jonah merely had to say words.       

"Fine. But since you insist on being such an ass about everything, you're not getting the full show right away."

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" He was almost afraid to ask when the other man was employing language like "the full show".

"It means I'm flicking my tongue up and down your unimpressive dick like a fucking garden snake and staring you dead in the eyes."

"God, I hate you." Dan tightened the grip on his shaft as he writhed under the tortuous weight of Jonah's utter garbage.

"Yeah well, for someone who hates me, it's unimaginably easy to make you squirm." He boasted.

Too engrossed in the task-at-hand, Dan could only manage a deep grunt into the receiver. Because he was, in fact, squirming and hated giving Jonah the satisfaction. He actually began to fear that he'd finish before the man even had a chance to pretend to blow him which was entirely too unsettling.

"Are you about done with your bullshit now, Jonah?"

"It depends." Dan wished he could reach through the phone and slap the smug look off the galoot's face.

"On what?" He acquiesced amidst mounting frustration.

"Is it working?"

"Fine." Jonah was shit-out-of-luck if he expected anything less begrudging. "But this whole thing only works because I don't have to see your smarmy fucking face."

"Says the one who's probably about to make whichever stupid o-face came with his factory settings." There was some shuffling on the other end of the line.

"Not that you've seen a lot of those, Jonah." He had a hard time imagining the man was responsible for many orgasms.

"You'll be moaning a different tune in a second, Egan."

"And why's that?" His patience was wearing thin.

"Cause I'm about to suck you off in five seconds flat."

"A lot of confidence for a man who's mom still packs his lunch." Despite the Jonah-of-it-all, Dan found himself drawing closer to ending this whole ordeal.

"No need to bring my mom into this."

"Sorry, I forgot she's in the other room isn't she?" He was elated to find that the fact that Jonah had somehow managed to turn him on didn't compel him to treat the man with any added respect.

"No." He defended. "Which you would've know if you had shown up here."    

"Now what would I have done that for?" Jonah seemed to forget that there was still a modicum of, admittedly fleeting, dignity involved with keeping this interaction over the phone.

"For one thing, you could shove your dick in my face since you're apparently so desperate for it." Jonah's tone emitted a knowledge that their games weren't always as one-sided as Dan like to pretend.

"I know you, Dan." He added, scratching at the smaller man's surface thoughts. "You want to tug at my hair while I run my mouth up and down your shaft - which I imagines' not a particularly long journey."

"That mouth of yours is ungodly, isn't it?" Dan chose to comment on the scene playing out before him rather than the snarky addendum.

"All the better to blow you with, Egan."

"Could you just shut up for one second?" He implored, not wanting to finish while the moron was spouting off ridiculous one-liners like that.

"What did I tell you?" He clearly didn't take to instruction well, but fortunately the grunt that punctuated his question indicated that he wasn't too far from wrapping up himself. "Five seconds flat."

"And what did I tell you? Shut u-ugh -" As much as he wanted to, Dan couldn't hold back any longer.

"What was that Dan?" The "all-knowing" snark was unbearable. "I couldn't quite hear it over the sound of you coming for me."

"Yeah, and I made the mistake of thinking that doing it in that spacious mouth of yours would grant me a moment of silence." Dan's eyes were already darting around the room, planning the fastest route to wash this sin off of him.

Dan's swiftly rebounding aggression managed to produce an unexpected reprieve from the grossly misplaced confidence that had been spewing through the line all night. In its place, he heard a brief yet unpleasant series of grunts and wheezes.

"Glad to hear the thought of swallowing down my sperm turns you on so much, Jonah." He dished out.

"Fuck you, Dan."

"In your dreams." Which he was now convinced Jonah had actually experienced.

On that note, he hung up, wearing a smirk that quickly dissipated once he realized the mess in his hand was a product of Jonah fucking Ryan.