Author's Notes: for Richel.

Maybe he'd been writing political speeches for too long. Take the facts, put a spin on them, gloss over the bad points and focus on the upside. Yes, that might explain why he was returning to the office when everyone else was headed home. Not that that was too unusual. Midnight oil was the norm in the White House, even if everyone else was avoiding it this particular night. Well, everyone but himself and. ...

Sam Seaborn stepped into the designated office. Not his. His was down the hall and to the right. Sounded like paradise to him right now, but he was here not there. He heard the door close before he could opt to run for it, but as promised, the huge binder holding the commerce report sat on top of the polished wood desk in front of him. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Josh really did want help to understand it, but his heartbeat refused to calm. He cleared his throat, reached for his voice and managed to find a few words, "Well, I guess we should get started."

Poor choice. He knew that before he heard the chuckle behind him. "Josh. ..."

Arms went around his waist a slightly larger body pressed against his own. "Sam." Josh Lyman's breath was warm against his neck. "If we're going to talk sampling data, I think we should take a few."

He sighed and found himself unable to resist leaning back into the embrace. "I thought we'd decided this was a bad idea." It had been more Josh's decision than his own, but he'd been unable to disagree. That made it all the more unfair that the bastard's hands were teasing his nipples through his shirt.

"Umm, is it my fault you're so damned sexy when you're playing poker?"

Oh, God. His back arched and his groin sprang to attention. "I hate you."

"Feeling is mutual."

Josh's clever hands made short work of Sam's tie. His shirt soon joined the length of silk on the floor.

He tried to find refuge in outrage, to get angry that Josh was stripping him without so much as pushing off his own shoes, but he moaned instead when his zipper came open. "Don't do this to me, Josh."

He didn't know whether to howl in anguish or triumph when Josh ignored him and pushed Sam's trousers down instead. Want giving way to sense at the touch of clever fingers to his arousal, Sam figured he lost the last of his credibility when he heeled out of his shoes, then kicked away his trousers. No dignified way to get his socks off. Strange how that bothered him. "Josh. ..."

"Lean forward, Sam."

Across the desk. His throat felt dry. That was his Josh. Not much on foreplay, but enough to drive a man insane with the main event. He knew he'd hate himself come morning. Hell, he was working up a good measure of self-contempt right now. It didn't stop him from leaning forward. He braced his hands on the smooth wood and spread his legs.

Josh pressed a kiss between Sam's shoulder blades, then his weight and heat was gone. He considered whimpering, but restrained the impulse long enough to hear a drawer open. A few moments later, slick fingers began to probe the entrance to his body.

Clinging desperately to the remnants of his pride, he bit back the moan at the familiar, but long absent touch. How long? A year? No, more than that. Before the nomination, before Mandy, but during the campaign. Nineteen ... oh, that felt good ... no, closer to twenty-two months.

The fingers withdrew, then were replaced by a thicker mass. Different instead of familiar, but the last time they'd been monogamous lovers, no condoms needed. As the latex covered cock pushed into him, he mourned the change until Josh's hand returned to his erection and drove any conscious thought from his mind.

Never a man to do things by half-measures, Josh began to thrust, hard and deep.

Sam's arms quickly gave way and he collapsed against the desk top, his nose practically in the middle of the commerce report Josh had used to lure him here. Then it stopped. What? ...

A moment of stillness, then the son of a bitch began to pull out. An inarticulate sound somewhere between protest and anger escaped his throat.

"Shh, it's okay," Josh soothed him, helped him to stand, then turned Sam to face him. A deep hungry kiss claimed him, while one arm held him tight against Josh's body, their erections pushed together. The other arm reached around Sam, then swept to the right.

With a clatter and crash that would have brought people running if they hadn't all had the sense to go home, the report and half a dozen other items impacted with the floor. Not breaking the kiss, Josh tilted him, lowering him down onto the cleared desktop. He cursed the bereft feeling that swept through him when Josh stepped back. He managed not to voice it and found reason to congratulate himself, not to mention enjoy the view, as Josh rid himself of his own clothing. With a grin, he even pulled off Sam's socks.

Together they managed to get Sam's legs bent back and out of the way, then Josh re-entered him. His pride soothed, then totally forgotten, Sam loudly voiced his enthusiasm for the flesh pounding into him. He moaned, gasped, panted, and even writhed beneath Josh, then he screamed as he came.

He managed to get his eyes open in time to watch as well as feel Josh stiffen, throw his head back, and close his own eyes. When those same eyes reopened, Josh smiled at him. "Oh, I missed this."

"You're the one who throw it away." The words slipped out before he could stop them, the bitter sound surprising him, but Josh didn't bat an eye.

Instead he pulled out of Sam, then helped him to his feet.

He would have reached for his clothes with the intent of getting dressed and putting this night behind him, but Josh pulled him down to the floor, onto the nest of their discarded clothing, then settled him against his chest.

He considered escape again, but his orgasm had made his legs weak and Josh's body was warm, while his embrace was possessive. That both annoyed and intrigued Sam. When he felt strong enough to handle the answer, he asked, "What's going on, Josh?"

"I was right, you know. Our affair could have cost the President the election."

Yes. Such was the state of the nation. To resume their affair could also cost Bartlett a second term and would certainly put an end to their collective careers in politics. Not that Sam minded. He'd believed in Josiah Bartlett, so he'd walked away from an extremely lucrative job in the private sector, but when the eight years were over, he'd be happy enough to go back. However, he knew Josh wouldn't be happy unless he was in the thick of things and that he had been careful not to burn bridges with the Vice President. "Far as I know, nothing's changed in that regard."

"One thing did."

"What's that?"

"I gave the card back."

"What card?" Vaguely he remembered some bizarre conversation with Josh over a mysterious card.

A kiss pressed against his temple. "The NSC gave me a card with instructions as to where I should go in case of a nuclear attack. They wanted me with the President."

Made sense. Where else would they want the Deputy Chief of Staff? "And?"

"It bothered me that I couldn't take my staff. Even went to see my shrink about it. That got me thinking that I was feeling guilty over surviving my sister's death."

"So you gave it back." What the hell this had to do with them. ...

"No, I could come to terms with all of that. Didn't like it, but I could have dealt with it. Duty, honor and all that."

"But you gave it back."

"Yeah." Another kiss. "They didn't give you one."

Of course not. Who needed a Deputy Director of Communications in the middle of a nuclear war? At most they'd only need the director. Never the deputy. And. ... "You turned it back in because you didn't want to leave me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Overlooking the fact that a nuclear war was far from likely these days, Sam figured he'd never heard a clearer declaration. He opted to answer it. "I love you, too."

"Good."

"We'll work it out."

"I hope so, because I can't keep my hands off of you."

Complicated did not begin to describe the life they stood on the brink of. Personal ridicule and at least Josh's professional ruin were almost guarantees if their relationship became public knowledge. A smart man would have gotten dressed and walked out the door, but he'd been smart once, and it hadn't made either of them happy.

Sam allowed himself a smile. With luck and a lot of care, they could keep it a secret. If not, well, at least they'd have each other for solace. That and the memory of Toby's face when Sam asked him if a homosexual relationship was a lateral move on the disaster scale when compared to accidently sleeping with a call girl.

The End

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