Blither Blather & Charm Esqs
Character(s): Josh, Sam
Summary: You tell me.
"Any fool can attract women. It took me to put you on the map." Sam's smile takes up full and permanent residence below his nose, dripping with satisfaction. The, the smile. Not the nose.
'Cause Sam would never be caught dead with a dripping nose. The man carries a handkerchief, for crying out loud.
I think my mother gave me a handkerchief when I started highschool. Not that she had any illusions about me using it. But once when, shortly after meeting my dad, they were at a movie, and she cried, and he reached into his pocket and handed her a clean, starched handkerchief, she claims it told her a lot about him. I think I backed out of the kitchen before she told me what it told her, exactly, but the idea was there. Carry a handkerchief, you'll land the girl.
Instead, I never carry a handkerchief, and I landed Sam. I have to remember to tell Mom that.
So, we're sitting here, waiting for whoever to finish voting on whatever, so we can stuff our briefcases and backpacks with work we could just as easily be doing right now, only we're not. Sam's in MY office, feet up on MY desk, sucking on a bottle of MY water, telling me what a catch he is. He even answered my phone earlier.
"Joshua Lyman's office. This is his assistant Donnie. How may we be of service?" He... he was actually very good at it. And it reminded me, no sugar for Sam after ten o'clock.
Sucking on a bottle of my water, feet up on my desk, answering my phone, reminding me yet again how lucky I am to have a catch like him. His word, not mine. And it reminds me, no Cagney movies for Sam... ever.
He should be writing. I should be twisting arms, or whatever it is I do. That seems to be it lately. But he's sitting there sucking designer water, scuffing up my desk, relating my own abysmal dating record to me, and I'm keeping the hooker up my sleeve. The hooker card. For later. When he becomes so insufferable I can't stand it anymore.
Insufferable. Not to be endured. Sam? Never.
But I suffer. No one would ever guess. We have arguments. Sometimes, about what we should argue about. But the last one, it was really just... an exercise. Flexing our disagreement muscles.
I'm impatient. I put something in the microwave, set it for... who cares? When I think it's been long enough, I take out my food. I walk away. That's what you do.
Then poor, put-upon Sam comes along, puts something in the microwave, and there it is staring at him. The timer still has 12 seconds to go. Oh, the horror! He has to hit clear, before he can hit 60. And apparently, Sam's advanced degree in sociology or psychology or, you know, insufferableness tells him that this is an indication of my deep-seated steadfast selfishness.
But that wasn't what the fight was about. Because, hey, I couldn't really deny that he was right.
The fight. The 'argument,' was a little later. After he grumbled about my leaving the big sloppy wet puddle on the counter, and - oh, his all time favorite - not replacing the cordless phone in the charger. And honestly, he was right about that, too. But by then I had my honor to defend; it was time to fight back.
"Fine then. Tell me all the things I do that annoy you," he challenged.
That's when things got away from me. It turns out, all the things that drive me crazy about Sam are the ways he reacts to the things I do that make him crazy. We had a kind of blame loop going there for awhile. And he hadn't even had any sugar.
"You scowl when I..."
"You make such a colossal deal when I..."
"You get impatient when I..."
I had dug myself so deep, he had me listing my own transgressions back at him. What a fucking brilliant lawyer my Sam is. It's okay for me to call him 'my Sam', he told me so awhile ago.
Squirming around in my chair, sucking back more of my water. Next thing he's gonna do is take the credit for the way the vote's going. But that's because he figured out how to get back the four we were missing, so. He deserves the credit. And I told him; I'm not stingy with the praise.
But I'm stingy with my desk, I even call it 'my' desk. So I push his feet off of it, and pull him up by his shoulder, fully intending to spin him around and push him into another chair, but instead I kiss him, which is a very bad idea.
In my office.
Kissing him, not a bad idea in general terms. Sliding my lips over his, tasting his breath on my own. Feeling the row of perfect, stately teeth on the tip of my tongue. Not a bad idea in general terms.
Except that two things happen. Donna's walking into the room, and my dick gets hard. Not, um, not in that order.
I like Donna. I even had a.. crush? No, just a thing. A deep appreciation for her, at one point. But. I always felt so guilty when I'd try to think of her when I... you know. It wasn't her face I was seeing, it was body parts. So I stopped trying to force the issue in my head, and everything's fine now.
Except it really isn't because she just walked in on me, kissing Sam.
In my office.
She likes Sam. They've actually become friends, in their own right. That's cool. This isn't. This is going to be hard. Luckily, my dick isn't anymore.
We all stand there for a minute announcing each other's names like we're making introductions in a Marx Brother's movie. And it reminds me, no more American Movie Classics for me, ever.
After clearly establishing our identities to one another, Donna walks out, which is not what I expected. Sam, dear, brave, ballsy Sam follows her. To what purpose, I can't imagine. And I have a fairly substantial imagination.
He's back in under thirty seconds, ushering Donna in front of him. To look at her, you'd never know; she's always that pale.
Gallantly offering a seat, then the rest of my water, Sam looks squarely at me. Like, he's done his part, now it's all mine. I was grateful when she'd left the room earlier.
"Uh." And that's all there is from me. It takes awhile for Sam to catch on to that, but then he does what he does best, which is, fill the uncomfortable void with blither and blather, and charm. Don't forget the charm. So he's talking a mile a minute, and I sit there in complete awe. He's actually charming the pants off of Donna. Well.
By that I mean, he's spinning such a heart wrenching tale of unrequited love and devotion and he thankfully leaves out the part about making each other come like molten volcanoes, and I see her shock gradually turn into acceptance, then envy. But she's a good friend, so she backs it up to acceptance again, and we all sit there for a good ten minutes, and then she leaves and very, very deliberately closes the door.
Sam says we should tell CJ exactly the same way, and reaches for a legal pad to write everything down while it's fresh.
Then he knocks my water over onto my desk.
And that's when he really gets flustered. Adorable. Sam, I tell him, taking his fluttering hands in mine, cooing softly until he calms down. It's just water. It's just my desk. Everything's going to be fine.
I tell him this, because I believe; everything's going to be fine.
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