Work Text:
The door clicks shut.
Sam barely catches the sound in the cacophony of clacking coming from his keyboard. At this point, he’s tuned out even the music coming from the Mural Room. Turns out, the architects of the White House (The second time it was built, not the first. That one burned down) didn’t consider how modernized sound systems would cause sound waves to be amplified through paper-thin walls and air ducts.
The central, public areas of The West Wing were currently being used to facilitate a state dinner. ‘An excuse for free booze.’ Toby had grumbled earlier this morning during their staff meeting. Sam often liked the state dinners. What with the flutes of champagne and music and how Josh’s shoulders filled out his tux. But Sam couldn’t enjoy the celebrations tonight. What with the coming State of the Union and the Industrial Tax Reform Bill, the President was going to threaten to veto next week, Toby, Sam, and the entire Communication Staff were up to their necks in political speechwriting.
So, there he was, cloistered away in his office, clacking at his keyboard, tuning out the rumbling guitar and drumbeat. It was almost like a dream: the steady rhythm of “Streets of Philadelphia”, the empty bull pen, the lights off – even in Toby’s office due to him having a meeting with Larry and Ed in the mess – “Somewhere without so much noise!” Toby had complained sharply as he walked out of his office an hour earlier, the two White House junior staffers trailing after him. That was only after Sam had to deal with a rubber ball slamming against their shared office window. Honestly, he was starting to feel sorry for the poor inanimate pane of glass, having to deal with the full force of Toby’s wrath and all. And don’t even get him started on Toby’s door hinges. The number of times those antique pieces of metal have been forced to slam shut has to be- wait.
The door. Someone had opened the door earlier.
Sam’s head shot up, his eyes meeting the relaxed posture of one Joshua Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff. He leaned against Sam’s closed door, his tux bunching in all the right places as he crossed his arms over his chest. His bowtie was already undone – that was expected. His curls slightly mused, catching on the soft glow reflected by the lamp in Sam’s office.
“You’re really cute when you bite your lip like that.”
Sam huffed; he’d been meaning to stop doing that while he was working, but chewing on the soft flesh of his lips allowed him to focus. Even if it left indents of his canines for hours after.
“Shouldn’t you be, oh I don’t know, drinking champagne and chatting it up with that fiery congresswoman you’ve been talking about recently?”
In contrast to Sam’s sigh earlier, Josh let out a dramatic – well, Sam could only describe it as a guffaw.
“I’m hurt, Seaborn. I’d never break your heart like that. And anyway,”
He finally pushed off Sam’s office door, slinking further into the office, but keeping a good distance from the other deputy.
“Congresswoman Gill isn’t as much fun as you.”
That finally got Sam to slide his hands off the keyboard, a light smirk creeping its way onto his lips.
“Oh, so you missed me.”
This thing between them, whatever you could call it, has only existed for a couple of months now. But it wasn’t awkward in that way partnerships between friends could be in the beginning. Maybe that was due to the fact that the feelings had always been there for both of them, smoldering under the surface of their skin, burning them every time they didn’t reach out and touch. That scared Sam in the first couple of weeks, this release of decades' worth of emotion and want. Now, what scared Sam was someone other than him and Josh seeing their want. The long, very not platonic looks Sam gave to Josh when he was bored in meetings. The fervent bruises on Josh’s neck that he hid under the collars of his button-ups. The carefully curated schedule where they jumped between each other’s beds every week.
Josh’s arm glided up towards the plastic bead hanging from the cord on his blinds, gently pulling them closed with his deft fingers.
“C’mere.”
He signaled towards Sam, one of his dimples making an appearance in the fond smile that only Sam got to see in the late hours of the night.
“Josh, we’re at work.”
“We’re always at work.”
Sam considered it for a second, tilting his head from side to side like his childhood dog did when it heard the word ‘treat’ or ‘walk’. Sam, despite the papers carpeting his desk and the anticipating blinking of his cursor on his screen, slid his chair back and eased himself up onto his feet. Having divested his jacket a while ago in favor of rolling up his sleeves, his forearms flexed against the wooden arms of his office chair. Josh stared openly.
He rounded his desk, opting to lean against the edge of it before he chose to indulge the man across from him.
“Did you lock the door?”
Sam asked, crossing his legs and arms in parallel to Josh’s earlier stance.
“Yes, while you were busy punching your keyboard and biting a hole through your lip.”
Josh stalked forward in a way that Sam thought some romance novels would describe as predatory, but really, he just found it adorably eager in that way Josh got when the sirens and political stratagem in his head quieted, and all Sam could see in his eyes was himself.
Josh put his hands on either side of Sam’s hips, his palms planting flat on the paper-covered desk, careful not to knock over the Newton’s Cradle resting on his chest. Sam could smell the cologne lingering on Josh’s neck, a soft teakwood scent that blended well with his aftershave and that specific Josh musk. Sam also caught a whiff of White House champagne on his breath. Sam kept his crossed arms to his chest, despite how much his heart longed to wrap them around Josh’s shoulders.
“Are you drunk?”
It wasn’t an accusation. Ok, maybe it was. But Sam meant it as a fond sort of pressing of Josh’s buttons.
“I am not drunk; I had one drink.”
The older man stated defiantly, dropping his head in the specific kind of frustration a grown man felt at being called a lightweight. Sam released one of his hands from his chest and let it reach towards Josh’s downturned jaw, lifting it so his blue eyes met the warm chocolate of his partner’s.
“For you, one drink means you're drunk.”
“Just a bit of liquid courage.”
He whined. God, Sam loved when his voice went all high and stressed, trying to defend himself against a personal attack. Coincidentally, he had that same sort of tone when Sam was on his knees between his legs.
“Why do you need courage? It’s just me.”
Sam whispered gently in the space between them, the hand that was on Josh’s jaw moving down to play with the dark ends of the bowtie resting stark against the white dress shirt. In that moment, a soft sort of synth noise drifted into his office through the air duct. Sam recognized it immediately, his hand flattening on the center of Josh’s chest.
“Secret Garden?”
It was a Bruce Springsteen song Sam had played repeatedly on the campaign trail, dragging along his CD player for late nights when the workload seemed never-ending. Something about the song always resonated with Sam. The literary reference for the name, the slow and long melody, the tragedy of a romance not fully explored. Now that he thought about it, it did sound relatively familiar to the thoughts that had been on loop in Sam’s mind the week he and Josh had gotten together.
“I thought it’d be a nice change of pace, even if it was from a lousy vent in your office. And I know a guy who knows a guy who knows how to play guitar…”
He trailed off in that awkward, embarrassing way Josh often got when he had done something so sickeningly sweet it gave the recipient cavities. But Josh didn’t get a chance to finish his mumbling before Sam let his heart do what it wanted and wrapped his arms around Josh’s neck, pushing his lips against his doting partner’s.
The fervor of Sam’s movements pushed them away from the desk and further into the center of the room. Josh, his brain having finally caught up with Sam’s tongue breaking through his lips, curled a hand around Sam’s hip, bringing the other up to the younger’s cheek to sweeten the kiss.
While their tongues slid alongside each other, Josh began to sway the two gently to the music. Sam drew back, panting to recover his lost air. His hands still wrapped around Josh’s neck, their bodies still intertwined.
The swaying increased as the couple began to gently step from side to side, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Was this your plan all along? To get me to dance with you?”
Sam whispered against Josh’s lips, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so wide.
“Why do you think I needed the ‘liquid courage’?”
Sam giggled softly at that. Oh god, he giggled. He was so lost on him.
“You’re only ever that quiet when you’re trying to formulate what you’re going to say. You were nervous!”
“So, I didn’t trick you into believing I was just staring at you lovingly from your door?”
He reached up and poked teasingly at Josh’s left dimple.
“I knew you were scheming the moment this showed up.”
Josh shook his head, jostling Sam’s finger from his cheek as he let out a light chuckle. Sam was about to put his hand on Josh’s chest when he caught a mischievous glint in his dance partner’s eye. Soon enough, Josh swooped in, grabbing Sam’s free hand and spinning him like he was a princess. Except princesses were usually more graceful, considering Sam tripped over his own feet and stumbled backward into Josh’s chest. A laugh was punched out of Josh’s chest as he caught the younger man, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Sam’s cheeks pinkened, but he couldn’t tell whether it was from his uncontrolled giggling or the embarrassment at the tumble.
“If you wanted me to hold you, you could’ve just said so.”
“Well! I can’t say I’ve ever been spun like that while dancing before.”
Josh began nosing at his neck, nipping right underneath his jaw. Sam was sure if his collar wasn’t there, Josh would’ve made it down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder that made Sam shudder. And Sam was about to help him get there when he heard a familiar grumbling bass out in the bull pen. His head shot up, almost bashing Josh in the jaw he had cupped fondly earlier.
“Wha-?”
“Shh!”
Sam brought a finger up to Josh’s mouth, pushing it against his lips. Sam tried hard to listen to where Toby Zeigler was in the office outside and whether he had to regrettably push himself away from Josh’s comforting grasp. But just as Sam was about to develop echolocation, Josh’s lips pursed against Sam’s finger in a gentle, closed-mouth kiss. Inevitably, the younger man got distracted and stared at the man currently worshipping his pointer finger. That was until a knock came from the door on their left.
“Sam!”
Toby ordered through the hardwood door. The couple exploded apart from each other, Josh stumbling into the blinds behind him and Sam scurrying around his desk to sit in his chair. Toby opened the door in that moment, his eyes squinting in suspicion at the two White House staffers currently panting on opposite sides of the room.
“We were just – uh, just,”
“We were having an argument!”
Sam saved, staring at Toby with his large blue eyes before turning his head to stare at Josh, furrowing his brow in his best “I’m definitely very angry at this moment” look. It took all of Josh’s political relations experience not to laugh out loud.
“I don’t even want to know. Josh, can you please return to whatever dinner party hell you came from and let my deputy do his job.”
“Right, yeah, I’ll let you do that. We can disagree more later, Sam.”
Josh turned to leave but caught Sam’s eye before he walked past the frame of the door. His smile was bright and carried the knowledge of a memory that would last them for years. His eyes asked one question.
‘See you at mine tonight?’
Sam winked in agreement, then shifted his attention back to Toby, attempting to adjust his collar and inseam without letting his boss know he was currently cockblocking him from his boyfriend.