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“Senator Winchester, you are late. Again.”
Sam nodded, a sorry expression crossing his features. He set the giant binder with his proposal down on the hard wooden table and took his seat. “I apologize Senator Turner. And you too Senator Singer. I got caught up with something at the White House and even with these long legs, making up to the Hill isn’t easy.”
Senator Rufus Turner held his hand up clearly annoyed with Sam already. The senior senator from Vermont was known for having little patience for shenanigans and one of the loudest mouths on Capital Hill. Sam guessed he had more enemies than friends, which is why it surprised him when Turner requested to meet him in his office the first time. Fortunately, the older gentleman took a shining to him right away. Something about Sam calling out the Speaker of the House amused the Vermont senator and the two went drinking that night and many nights since. Both of them worked for the people, and Rufus admired Sam’s “give’em Hell” attitude, even if he never would admit it. Sam knew it was true though.
Senator Robert Singer of South Dakota was a different ball game all together. Sam’s father had known Bobby in his previous career choice, mechanic. As such, Sam grew up knowing him. In fact, Sam was certain that his letter of recommendation helped him get into Stanford, though Bobby told him time and time again it was Sam’s own intelligence that got him in. It was Bobby’s letter that got him the scholarship. Once Sam was elected, Bobby took him under his wing. In some ways, he became a surrogate father to Sam.
These two men were the only ones in Washington that Sam trusted. He knew their work, their records, and they invested in helping him. Maybe a little too invested in his life altogether though.
“I know I know. Same ol’ song and dance. ‘But I must meet with the president. My proposal is more important than’ blah blah blah. I see straight through that bullshit son. I got eyes and ears everywhere. Just don’t let the president catch you with his daughter or you are gonna go from a rooster to a hen. And how many times I gotta tell you to call me Rufus?”
“Rufus, stop treating the kid like he is an idjit. He ain’t hurting nobody by flirting with Y/N.” Bobby said shaking his head. Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘How does Bobby know?’
“Bobby…I…no. You’ve got this wrong guys. Nothing is happening between me and Y/N. She just happens to live at the White House and I keep running-”
“Don’t even start. I saw the two of you flirting with my own two eyes.” Rufus glared disapprovingly at Sam causing him to shrink slightly in his chair. He thought to explain himself further, but he knew it was useless. He was flirting with you and enoying it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong of course, but he knew the intent behind Rufus’ words. ‘But it’s just flirting and nothing more…well…and an invitation to dinner. With a friend who is helping you meet the president. It isn’t a date.’ He reminded himself.
“Will you two clucking chickens shut up. I don’t come to these meetings to listen to bickering. I get enough of that when I go home to my wife. Let’s get down to business.” Sam and Rufus nodded and Sam mouthed “Thank you Bobby.” The man winked at him before shuffling some papers and beginning the meeting.
Sam had a hard time concentrating on any of it. All he gathered was it was something about veterans affairs and working with governors from their respective states. Sam found his eyes kept falling on the clock behind Rufus’ head, praying it would speed up so that he could go home and get changed for dinner. His brain ran through every article of clothing he owned, debating whether or not it was formal enough for the president. More importantly, whether or not it could give you a different impression of him.
He found himself touching the place on his arm where you’d touched him earlier in the day. The sensation seemed etched in his memory.
**************************************
Sam nervously made his way towards the white house. He chosen to wear his nicest white dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbow with the first two buttons undone. It was dressed up enough for the president, but casual enough that it didn’t look like his every senator suit. He sling his satchel over his shoulder and stuffed his proposal inside before putting on his nicest pair of oxfords, checking his hair, and heading out the door. He reached the front door of the White House and was greeted by the smirk of the head of the Secret Service.
“Hello Moose.”
“Crowley, dammit. You know I hate that code name. Why didn’t you give me a cool one like you’ve got?”
Crowley started chuckling. “Are you kidding me? You getting a code name like Crossroads? Please. If the president didn’t get to choose his, you don’t get to choose yours. Now what do I owe the pleasure of seeing a Moose out the wild?”
Sam tapped his bag. “I was invited to go to dinner by Y/N so I could meet with her father and give him my proposal briefing.”
Crowley’s smirk fell into a scowl. “Senator, you are aware of how protective the president is over his daughter, right? How protective I am over the president’s youngest child and only daughter?”
Sam raised his hands up defensively. “Whoa whoa. I am not doing anything with Y/N. She is just a friend.”
Crowley looked him up and down. He clearly didn’t believe Sam and for a moment he wasn’t sure what the shorter man would do. Crowley let out a discontented sigh before reaching for his earpiece. “Moose on the loose. Meeting with MTB and Hellhound for dinner. Let him through.”
“Hellhound?”
Crowley shrugged. “Y/N may seem sweet, but if you cross her you will regret it. If she doesn’t get to you, her older brothers will. All of them are hounds. Now get in there and out of my sight. I have a job to do.”
Although Sam had made many trips to the White House, he had never been in the residency. He never needed to. It was nicely decorated like the rest of the building. He found himself waiting in the diplomatic reception room waiting for you to appear. It was just past 7 and he could already smell the food wafting through the hallways. He salivated at the thought of a home cooked meal.
On one of the walls hung a large picture of your family. The president sat in a giant chair, his wife seated beside him. You and your four older brothers stood around them, all wearing giant smiles on your faces, though Sam could tell you looked less than thrilled to be in this photo. Something about the slight smirk.
“I hate that picture so much.”
Sam turned to see you leaning against the entrance. He smiled as he let himself examine you. You were wearing an over sized sweater with the logo for the St. Louis Cardinals across it. A simple pair of black leggings, and your hair pulled up. As much as he loved seeing you dressed up, this look suited you.
“I can tell you hate it. You smile is off. “
You raised an eyebrow as you strolled over to the portrait. You moved in front of him and leaned in close to it, placing your hand on your picture. You bit your lip as you examined it and Sam felt his breath hitch for a moment. Again, you were so close he could reach out and touch you. One step closer and his chest would be right up against your back. He closed his eyes and tried to picture anything but the rush of what you did to him.
‘Proposal. Proposal. Proposal. Come on Sam, get it together. Think unsexy thoughts. Ugh, the meeting this morning. Crowley’s scowl. Meatloaf.’
Sam stood there with his eyes closed long enough to miss that you had turned around and were staring right at him. When he opened his eyes they met your own and he felt his face flush. You looked at him expectantly.
“Well? Don’t you agree?”
‘Shit. I forgot to pay attention to what she was saying.’
“Yeah, absolutely.” He lied, hoping you wouldn’t notice. Your intense gaze never left his face. He felt naked in front of it.
Just as you opened your mouth to say something, a voice interjected.
“Senator Samuel Winchester!”
Sam turned to see the first lady rushing towards him and before he knew it, she had her arms around his large frame. Her grip was tight and Sam felt a little of the air in his lungs being forced out before she let go. Her face was beaming with something he could only describe as overt excitement.
“Hello Madam President.”
She playfully hit him. “Oh please, call me Becky. My goodness Sam, you are strong. Do you work out? Y/N, have you felt his chest. Chiseled by the gods.”
Sam turned to look at your mortified face. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He mouthed to you the world help.
“Mother. Please. The Senator is here on business. Not to give you fitness tips.”
The first lady snaked her arms around Sam’s bicep. “Y/N. You are no fun at all. Now come Sam, let’s go head to the dining room. The president is going to be later than usual for meatloaf, but I made plenty. I am sure you eat loads in order to maintain your physique. You must tell me about it. Oh and tell me about Kansas. I have only been once. And then you can tell me about your parents and any siblings you have and…”
The first lady went on and on and Sam drowned most of it out, instead focusing on not falling over as Becky dragged him towards the dining room. You followed close behind chuckling each time he turned towards you, pleading for your help. Becky forced him to sit beside her and he politely answered each of her questions as best he could. Fortunately, the first lady had to step away for a few minutes to answer a phone call. Sam took the chance to let out a deep breath and stretch back.
You looked at him from across the table sympathetically. “I am sorry. My mother is a handful. There is a reason the Secret Service keep her on a tight leash.”
“It’s alright. Every family has their eccentric member.”
“Mine has 2. One of my brothers is just as bad as my mother. When they get together, it is a nightmare. Thank god for my brother Michael helping wrangle them in.”
The two of you sipped on wine for a moment, relishing in the short silence, but neither of you taking your eyes off of the other. Sam watched as you swirled the glass in your hand, the way your fingers gentle held onto the glass. He looked at your hair and the way the light hit it just right to make it shine. He smiled to himself trying to capture this image in his memory, knowing it would probably be the first and last time the two of you would sit like this.
“So Sam,” You started, “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”
Sam felt his heart start beating faster. “Yes, Y/N.What do you want to know?”
“I was wondering. Do you li-” You stopped mid-sentence when Becky burst back in. The two of you cleared your throats and sat up straighter, looking anywhere but at each other.
“Sorry you two. Michael called and needed some help with something. Now where were we? Ah, yes. Your brother Dean. Tell me all about him. is he as handsome as you are?”
**************************************
The president didn’t show up for dinner. Sam was disappointed for that fact, and both you and the first lady apologized. It was fine though. Sam knew he would keep on trying. He offered to do the dishes before heading out, and you decided to help him. Finishing the chore quickly, you asked him to stay for a bit and drink some more wine before heading out.
“After spending the evening with my mother, I think you’re gonna need it.”
Sam agreed to stay and made his way back to the diplomatic waiting room as you went into the wine cellar. He crashed down on one of the sofas, pulling out his proposal and reading through some pages absentmindedly. He knew the thing cover to cover, but he needed to keep his mind busy. Focused, clear.
You showed up after 10 minutes, an open bottle in hand, but no glasses.
“We drinking straight from the bottle tonight?” Sam teased.
“Of course. Let’s just hope you don’t have cooties or I will sue you senator.”
You slid onto the couch beside him, legs pulled up underneath your frame. You took a sip from the bottle before handing it to him. Sam took a swig, the liquid going down his throat far too quickly causing him to cough. The cough caused his body to shake and some of the wine spilled onto his shirt.
“Dammit.” He exclaimed, pushing his proposal off his lap and standing up examining the bright red stain forming already. You lept up from your spot as well, grabbing the bottle from his hand and setting it on the coffee table.
“I am so sorry Sam. Here let me help you with that.” You reached out and started unbuttoning his shirt causing him to freeze in place. You got about three buttons further down before pausing yourself, realizing he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. Sam felt exposed as your eyes rested on his chest and abdomen and he felt your hands begin to shake as they clung to your shirt.
He licked his lips, unsure of what to do when you looked up at him. Within seconds you had pushed yourself up onto the balls of your feet, your lips centimeters from his. Sam’s heart was pounding in his chest. He leaned down and felt your breath against his lips.
“Y/N. What the hell do you think you are doing?”
Sam looked in horror at the imposing man standing in the doorway.
‘President Shurley.’