A Positive Spin

By Nomi

It was quickly turning into one of _those_ nights. Who am I kidding - it had been one of _those_ nights since noon.

By the time I got off the phone with the committee chairman regarding adding an amendment about education and treatment for autism - as per Senator Stackhouse's request - to the Family Wellness Act, it was way too late to try to get to Port St. Lucie. There was no way I could get to the park in time for the intra-squad game, so there was no point. I had nothing to look forward to - I had given up all hope of Mike Piazza ever calling me "dude," and I couldn't even anticipate going home and snuggling up with Sam, 'cause - at last report - he was planning to take a late train out of Union Station on his way to New York in an attempt to get to the Hamptons before all his friends left.

So there I was, with it closing in on midnight, alone in the office, with nothing ahead of me but a lonely night at home. Sam had dropped by to say good-bye right before heading out to the train station - our original contingency plan for me to take him to the train having been totally scuttled by the filibuster - so I figured he was well on his way to New York by now.

I gathered up the last of the papers I wanted to review before Monday - not that I wouldn't be coming in over the weekend, but I like to try to delude myself that I have a real life - then headed out.

When I got home, I half-expected to see Sam lying on the couch, his normal waiting place when he gets out of the office before I do. Of course, the couch, like the rest of the apartment, was empty.

I wandered into the kitchen, looking for the supper I never had a chance to go and eat while waiting for the vote to happen. All along, we'd anticipated that Stackhouse would soon give up the ghost and we'd all be able to go home. The longer he went on, the more we anticipated the end, so none of us were willing to go out. Once Donna realized that there was real purpose behind Stackhouse's stubbornness, I didn't think it was fair to make her go out and get food and potentially miss the endgame. So now I was absolutely starving. Poking my head into the fridge, I discovered a random assortment of leftovers that I could content myself with. Pulling the bits from the fridge and arranging them on the counter, I started whistling under my breath, mostly to fill the silence of the empty apartment.

Suddenly, I felt a familiar pair of arms encircling my waist. I knew the identity of the possessor of the arms as soon as warm lips touched the magic spot at the back of my neck.

"Hey," I said. "Where'd you come from?" I hadn't heard the door open, and - as far as I had been led to believe - Sam was supposed to be on a train, somewhere around Philadelphia at this point.

"Would you believe me if I said I just couldn't face spending the weekend without you?" Sam asked, placing light kisses along the base of my neck. "That another lonely night in another unmemorable hotel would be just too unbearable?"

"Missed the last useful train?"

"Yup."

"Well, you're just in time for dinner...you planned it that way, didn't you?" Sam knows exactly how to get what he wants, when he wants it. In this case, I figured he wanted dinner but didn't want to ask. I turned out to be slightly mistaken.

"That's not what I'm hungry for," he responded, running a line of butterfly kisses down my neck. He's got this thing for my neck, and I never refuse. He untucked my shirt and ran his fingers over my waistline, lightly, just teasing but enough to make me shiver.

Thoughts of my hunger for food were quickly banished for thoughts of my hunger for Sam. "Love? Do me a favor?" I asked Sam.

"Anything."

"Go put something mellow on the CD player, OK?"

I could feel him shrug against my back, but then he let me go. I heard him wander out into the living room, and then music came through the speakers I'd installed in the kitchen during my post-Christmas recovery. One of the things I'd done was make music more accessible in all parts of the apartment so that I could reacclimate myself to music. Sam had chosen well - a random mix of love songs I'd made years ago. Good for the relaxation I felt we both needed after the sort of day we'd just had.

When Sam came back to the kitchen, I turned away from the counter and held my arms out for him to walk into the hug. I held him for a moment, then moved my hands down to stroke his ass, enjoying the sensation of the material of his suit pants against the tight muscle underneath. Sam rested his head on my shoulder and sighed.

"I could come home to this every night, Josh," he said.

"Does it have to be preceded by a filibuster that I caused?" I asked. "'Cause - much as I like the minutiae of parliamentary procedure - I don't need to do that again in my lifetime." I ran my index finger down the rear seam of Sam's pants, and he pushed his hips closer to mine.

"How'd you spend the evening?" Sam asked, squirming slightly in an attempt to increase the contact between us.

"Wrote e-mail to mom to thank her for the new - slippery - shoes. And you?"

"Finally wrote to my dad. I figured CJ was writing to her dad, so I should, as well." I could tell from the sadness in his face that the e-mail was hard to write.

"You _were_ civil, right, love?"

"Yeah...much as I wanted to start it 'Dear Jackass,' I behaved."

"Good." I moved one hand up to hold Sam's head against my shoulder, keeping the other one on his ass. Slowly, I began to move rhythmically, matching my movements to the slow beat of the music.

As I pushed away from the counter, Sam's arms came around me, one hand resting on my shoulder and the other on my ass, mirroring the position of my hands on him. We barely moved for a couple of minutes, then began to move a bit more, dancing more to an internal rhythm than to the music.

Sam kissed the junction of my neck and my shoulder, then raised his head. He brought his hands around to my front and loosened my tie, then started in on the buttons of my shirt. When he ran out of buttons, he slipped my shirt and tie off, not caring that they landed somewhere on the kitchen floor.

"J? Raise your arms." When I did, he divested me of my undershirt then rained kisses over the exposed skin. The rub of his shirt against my bare skin was pleasantly rough, but I wanted to feel Sam against me. At the same time, however, I was enjoying being the recipient rather than the initiator, so I didn't want to distract Sam from his own plans.

But my faith in relationship-telepathy was sustained by Sam leaning back and removing his own shirt and tie. We were still hip-to-hip, groin-to-groin, moving in sync, but my hands were busy at Sam's belt, and his fingers were defining a new form of torture as they fumbled at my button and brushed against my skin. All the while, we continued to move together. As more skin was bared, the rhythm shifted to bring us into more constant, more direct contact. Sam and I - almost simultaneously - shoved each other's pants and boxers to the floor, and then we kicked them to the side as we continued to dance.

Now that we were totally bare, our dance moved to a more ancient rhythm, thrust matching thrust, naked skin against naked skin. With each brush of our cocks against each other, one or both of us gasped. My arms were tight around Sam, as were his around me. By now the music was totally irrelevant. We were moving at a rhythm designed solely to make us come...as fast and as hard as possible.

And we did.

In the aftermath, when we're usually too boneless to move, let alone support ourselves, we slumped together against the kitchen table.

"Love?"

"Yeah?"

"You still with me?" I spoke into his hair, as his head was collapsed against my chest.

"Yeah...I'm still here."

"Y'know what?" I asked.

"What, Josh," Sam said, only semi-patiently.

"I'm still hungry." And, ignoring my total nudity, I righted myself and started preparing dinner.

---END---