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It’s a well-known fact that high-tension situations can result in the close formations of bonds that may otherwise not exist. President Benjamin Asher has first-hand experience of this. He’s been in enough extreme, life-threatening situations to last several lifetimes. In a moment of poor taste, one that he’d only share with Mike, he’d joked about keeping those situations to “one per term.” At other times, he wonders if he’ll make it to the end of his second term but then the steady shadow on his right or behind him – always somewhere in the room, somewhere near – reassures him that his chances are pretty darn good.
It’s been one-month since the London attacks and the world is still trying to pick up the pieces. Asher, as well as Vice President Trumbull have been far more visible than either of their security teams would prefer, but so much work needs to be done. The loss of Lynn Jacobs was felt acutely in the Secret Service and Mike, being one of the most senior agents, had been offered a promotion to take over Lynn’s job but he declined, preferring to remain the head of the President’s protection detail. Administrative work didn’t sit well with him, and the idea of running the entire Secret Service, even less so. He’d rather be on the ground instead of behind a desk. Administration might be in his future when he’s lost a step in the field. Of course, that’s assuming he doesn’t retire first and maybe go into private security where he keeps being told that the money is better. All this speculation is moot, however, since he knows he’s going to be with Benjamin Asher until the man steps down from office. And who knows? Maybe he’ll stick around afterwards too.
On the surface, things are fine between the President and himself. At least, on a professional level. But Mike is no fool. He’s aware of the tension that’s pervaded their relationship since London. It’s nothing outwardly perceptible and their routine hasn’t changed, but Mike is attuned enough to the other man’s moods to know that something is amiss. That, and the fact that they haven’t had sex in over a month. Aside from the boxing and other occasional situations requiring physical contact, it’s been a strictly hands off policy.
At first, Mike thought it was because there was simply too much going on, that there wasn’t any room for ‘downtime,’ whatever the hell that actually translated to between Asher and himself. But one week went by and then another. Then the third and the fourth until one morning Mike caught himself beating one out in the shower after his morning jog with the President, his traitorous thoughts wondering if Asher was doing the same.
Appropriate that he was thinking about Asher in the shower, because the shower is where it had all started. One day, six months after the destruction of the White House, Asher had simply opened the shower stall that Mike had been using after one of their sparring sessions and stepped inside.
“Mr. President?” Mike had said, completely gob smacked at the other man’s actions.
Asher hadn’t given Mike any time to think and for all of Mike’s training, his reaction time was shot to hell when the President stalked over (completely naked!), pushed Mike against the white tiles and then pressed his lips against Mike’s. The kiss couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds and by then Mike’s reaction time had caught up to him (albeit a few seconds too late) and before he knew it, the President was on his ass on the shower floor.
“Oh, shit,” Mike said aloud, reaching behind him to turn off the spray. Then he was crouching in front of Asher, uncertain of what to expect. He was probably going to lose his job. Or wind up in a holding cell. Or both. No one could get away with decking the President of the United States.
But whatever Mike had been expecting, Asher’s quiet chuckle while he’d absently rubbed at his jaw had not been it.
“Jesus, Ben,” Mike said. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He’d wanted to reach out and examine the other man’s jaw, but touching him didn’t seem advisable given the circumstances.
Asher was nodding, still chuckling. “I guess I deserved that,” he said ruefully.
“Of course not!” Mike retorted. “You just . . . you took me by surprise, is all.”
“I guess you don’t feel that way then,” Asher said tentatively, his gaze carefully watching Mike’s face.
“Feel –” Mike began to say and then stopped abruptly. Was the President asking what he thought he was asking? Because fuck, when did his life become The Twilight Zone? “I –” he tried again. “Well, um . . .”
“It’s okay, Mike,” Asher said a little wearily, taking pity on him.
“It’s not that I don’t feel the same way,” Mike finally got out. “It’s just . . . it’s not exactly appropriate behavior.”
The President’s smile went from rueful to amused. He gestured to their confined and very wet surroundings. “I think we’re well beyond propriety,” he observed.
Mike had to agree with him. In fact, they’d probably been well beyond propriety for quite some time.
“So . . .”
Asher let the word hang in the air, his gaze carefully assessing. Mike tried not to shift under that look. He’d seen it before. In fact, he’d seen it many times at all the important meetings and conferences. But this was the first time that particular look had been directed towards him. It was the look that meant Ben was determined to get what he wanted, and Ben almost always got what he wanted.
“Can we try that again?”
“Mr. President –”
“Don’t even think of trying to go all official on me,” Ben instantly cut him off. “Beyond propriety, remember?”
Mike was unable to stop a sigh of exasperation. “You really are a stubborn man,” he said at last.
“No more stubborn than you,” Ben pointed out. He’d shifted forward, closing what very little distance there was between them. When he reached out and placed his right hand behind Mike’s neck, Mike didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all to the touch. But this time when the President leaned in to kiss him, Mike kissed him back.
They almost fucked right there on the shower floor, but Mike had managed to show some restraint. They settled for giving each mutual hand jobs under the spray of warm water and then Mike literally washed the President’s back and Asher washed his.
After that morning, showering together became part of their routine too.
* * * * *
Mike didn't dwell much on what was happening on the side with Benjamin Asher. Ben was his Commander in Chief. He lead, Mike followed. Mike didn’t see why this had to be any different. Okay, so it was plenty different but they’d never actually talked about it, not since that first morning in the shower, so Mike simply took his cues from the President. Besides, they were discreet and if Mike truly believed that he was jeopardizing the President’s safety in any way, he’d be the first to transfer himself off of the President’s security detail.
It wasn’t as if they were dating or in a relationship. ‘Affair’ didn’t really capture it either, although if word ever got out about them it would probably be the biggest scandal the White House had yet faced. ‘Fuck buddy’ was far too crude a term. Friends with benefits? Yeah, Mike decided to go with that one. He considered Ben to be a friend and there were definitely benefits involved in that friendship now, so . . .
Things carried on like that for the remainder of Asher’s first term. They kept going that way on the campaign trail when Asher was running for re-election and they’d kept straight on going through Asher’s second term, right up until the day that Aamir Barkawi had decided to assassinate the Western leaders of the world during the British Prime Minister’s funeral.
Since Mike followed Ben’s lead in all things, when the President had quietly ended things between them after London, Mike accepted that too. In some twisted non-verbal way, he also understood the decision. Maybe that’s why they’d never had to talk about anything. They always knew. A part of him thought that he should probably be upset, if only a little, but another part of him wouldn’t play the role of the jilted lover. That would imply that his time with Asher had meant more than it really had and that was a dangerous road to go down.
Yeah, Mike was also really good at lying to himself. It was one of the reasons why he and Leah had eventually called it quits. She could always see through his bullshit and she wasn’t afraid to call him out on it. It was one of the reasons why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place – why he would probably always love her. He hoped she was happy.
So, one afternoon when Mike’s shift had just ended and he was about to head home for the day, he ran into the President who was on his way to the residential quarters.
“Mike,” Asher said, looking up from the stack of papers that he was reading. “Heading home?”
“Yes, sir,” Mike answered.
“Can I grab you for a minute? Won’t take long.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mike dutifully followed the President into the latter’s study, shutting the door behind him. He stood at attention waiting for the President’s orders.
“Jesus, Mike, you’re off duty,” Asher reminded him, tossing the papers down on his desk and loosening his tie. “Relax a little.” Asher walked around his desk to the side table that held a decanter of brandy and bottle of bourbon. “Can I get you one?” he offered.
“Sure,” Mike said, wondering when was the last time they’d shared a drink alone. Not since before London.
Asher poured two tumblers of bourbon and handed one to Mike before sitting down at one end of the leather sofa. Mike held his glass of bourbon and stood like an idiot for a moment before he decided to take a seat in a Queen Anne chair opposite the President, the wide coffee table a handy barrier between them. If Asher was disappointed or irritated by his decision, he didn’t let it show, his gaze focused on the swirling amber liquid in his glass. It seemed early for the President to be drinking, but Mike didn’t comment. Maybe Ben had had a particularly trying day. Maybe he needed the liquid courage. For what, Mike wasn’t sure but he supposed he was about to find out.
“It’s been a hell of a month, hasn’t it?” Asher began, somewhat distractedly.
“Yes, sir.”
At the use of the ‘sir,’ Asher looked up and Mike could definitely read the silent reprimand there. The President had his ‘Cut the crap’ look focused right on Mike and Mike felt suitably chastised. He dropped the formality and finally took a drink of his bourbon.
“One hell of a month,” he repeated for lack of anything else to say.
“Mike, I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to say it.”
Mike waited while Asher took another drink and gathered his thoughts. It was an obvious stalling tactic, but he wasn’t about to push. Since the President was the most eloquent man he knew, then what he had to say was probably monumental. Asher did not disappoint.
“In London, when you were fighting with Kamran Barkawi before that grenade went off I heard you say to him, ‘The only person he’s getting down on his knees for is me.’”
Mike was taking a drink as Ben said this and he almost spat the bourbon out. As it was, he coughed, managing to put his glass on the coffee table as his eyes watered. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he wheezed, waving away Asher’s concern with his hand. “Is that what this is about?” he said, when he recovered, not bothering to explain what ‘this’ referred to. He knew that Ben knew.
Agitated, Mike stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He began to pace in front of the coffee table, his mind processing the implications of that statement while Asher watched him silently. Suddenly, Ben’s actions or non-action was making a lot more sense to him.
“Look,” he finally said, stopping in front of Ben. “I did say that but it was an adrenaline thing. I was furious and it just slipped out. I didn’t mean it . . . Okay, I did . . . But what I’m trying to say is . . . you know that I was never gonna let Kamran walk out of that room alive, right? I get that I shouldn’t have said that. It was . . . a lapse. A bad one. And for that I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Mike stopped and hazarded a look at Ben. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at the other man during his impromptu defense slash apology.
“Okay?” he said a little hesitantly.
To his dismay, Ben shook his head. “No, we’re not okay,” the other man replied.
“You want to transfer me?”
“What? No! Jesus, Mike.” This time it was Asher’s turn to stand up in agitation. “This is not at all going how I planned.”
“Planned what?”
“Mike, just sit down.”
When Mike moved to sit down in the Queen Anne chair again, Ben stopped him with a single word.
“Here.” Asher pointed to the space beside him on the sofa.
Mike froze for a split second, wondering if this was his friend Ben talking or the President giving an order. The word was spoken with the undercurrent of command that made the heat pool in his groin. Mike tapped down on that response. So. Not. Appropriate. He shifted, walking around the coffee table to sit beside Asher. The President sat down as well, but while Mike leaned back against the sofa attempting to affect some kind of casual sprawl, Asher’s body language was tense and his shoulders hunched. Mike was tempted to reach out and place a hand on the other man’s back to calm him, but that seemed to be a bad idea.
What the hell? Mike thought. He was made of bourbon and poor choices, right?
Before his reason could come back, Mike did exactly that – placed a hand on the President’s back. He could feel the moment the tension drained away from Ben’s body.
“What did you have planned?” Mike asked quietly. He lifted his hand as Ben turned to face him.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about something else you said in London. When we were at the MI6 safe house.”
Mike knew exactly where this was headed and he wanted scrub a hand over his face. Asher had gone all weird and distant because he’d run his mouth off twice in London. Godammit. Part of him was amused, but another part of him couldn’t believe that Asher had been stewing about it all this time.
“Ben, that was joke,” Mike said seriously, before Asher could say anything else. “A joke made in poor taste at an inopportune time. Nothing more. Listen, I know you haven’t been in a lot of combat scenarios but soldiers have a tendency to say shit that they might not otherwise say. It’s like . . . stress relief. A coping mechanism. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But even as Mike said those words, something felt off and he could tell by the way Ben was looking at him that he was thinking the same thing.
“Jokes are always half meant. That’s what makes them funny,” Ben countered.
“That wasn’t funny. Your words,” Mike shot back.
And it was true. Those had been Ben’s words almost verbatim when Mike had teased him after Ben had just saved his life: “I was wondering when you were gonna come out of the closet.”
It had been harmless and fun, the spike of adrenaline still flowing through him after he’d taken down a team of terrorists posing as the Delta unit sent to extract them. But one look at Ben’s face told him that it hadn’t been harmless at all.
Ben looked away. He stared straight ahead as he said, “And when you told Kamran –”
“Christ, not that again,” Mike said with exasperation, and this time he really did scrub a hand over his face.
“I thought it was hot,” Ben said quietly.
Wait. WHAT?!
“I still think it’s hot,” Ben went on just as quietly. “Totally inappropriate, of course. But maybe that’s what makes it so hot. True, too,” he added ruefully.
“What?” Mike managed to get out in his confusion. “I thought you were pissed about that.”
Ben sighed, finally sitting back and slumping against the sofa. “I’m not pissed,” he said, sounding more tired than anything. “Told you this wasn’t going to plan,” he muttered.
“Time to let me in on this plan because I’m lost,” Mike declared.
Ben shifted slightly, turning his head to the right so he could get a good look at Mike from his position. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said to Kamran not because I’m pissed or because it was hot, but because it was the first time I’d ever heard you say what you wanted.”
Mike didn’t understand that at all and his face must’ve said as much because Asher made an impatient sound.
“You never tell me what you want,” Ben said, the frustration mounting in his voice. “This?” he said, gesturing between them. “It’s all one-sided. You give, I take. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to give something back.”
“It’s not like I don’t get anything out of it,” Mike said after a while. “You did say you’d get down on your knees for me.”
Mike’s attempt at humor fell flat with the glare Asher leveled his way.
“What do you want?” Ben repeated.
Mike considered the question, realizing that Asher was probably right. He’d never figured his own wants in the equation. It didn’t seem right somehow.
“Mr. President,” he said, intentionally using Ben’s title despite the latter’s obvious displeasure. “What we had before . . . it worked. And anything more than that . . . well, let’s just say that’s in the realm of fantasy.”
“What if it wasn’t?”
At this, Mike’s poker face collapsed and he laughed. “I have no idea where this conversation is going,” he admitted. “And until you called me in here, I’d just assumed that was all over.”
“And you’d just accept that?”
“Of course.”
Ben looked away again, this time staring at the ceiling from where he was resting his head on the sofa’s back.
“You know it was never just sex between us, right?” Ben tried again.
Now Mike was startled. Some part of him knew that Ben wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy, that sort of stuff wasn’t in his DNA. But it was also hard to see beyond the sex because . . . well, because it meant that the last three years was about more than just fooling around. Mike liked things orderly. He was good at compartmentalizing. Even though he thought of Ben as a friend, he was able to compartmentalize his relationship with the President and sex had simply gone into one of those compartments. He was whatever the President needed him to be whenever the President needed him. And now it seemed the President wanted to mess up those neat compartments.
“Mike?”
Asher was looking at him so expectantly that Mike felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. So, he did the only logical thing. He reached over and picked up Asher’s neglected bourbon since his own glass was too far away and downed it in one go.
“I’m not sure what you expect me to say here, Ben,” Mike said when he put the glass down.
“How about an honest answer?”
“Honestly?” Mike began. “I’ve never allowed myself to think that it was anything more than casual sex.”
“And what if you did?” Ben pressed. “Is that something you’d want?”
“What is it with all these questions of what I want?” Mike asked, somewhat baffled.
“Because it’s important to me!” Ben nearly exploded. He was sitting up again, his earlier resignation replaced by fire and earnestness. “Don’t you see, Mike?” he said, placing his hand on Mike’s knee. “I want to know that you’re with me because you want to be, not out of some twisted sense of duty.”
Mike gave him a wry smile. “Because ‘servicing’ the President is part of the job description,” he remarked.
This time Mike’s joke didn’t fall flat and Ben chuckled, his hand warm on Mike’s knee. “One day that smart mouth is going to get you into trouble,” he replied.
“Funny, I thought today was that day.”
Ben sobered a little but his smile didn’t waver.
“You’re my Commander in Chief,” Mike said seriously. “In all things. You lead, I follow. That’s just the way it is.”
“I understand,” Ben replied. “And I appreciate, more than I’ll ever be able to express, everything that you do.” He paused. “But what if I wanted more than that? What if I wanted you to be my partner? In all things.”
It was Mike’s turn to chuckle. “Pretty soon you’ll say that you want us to go out on dates,” he joked. “Spend our weekends together, meet the family.” He expected Ben to share in his good humor, but the expression on the other man’s face gave him pause.
“Oh, hell no!” Mike exclaimed. “You can’t be serious, Ben. Your staff would have a heart attack if you started publicly dating the head of your protection detail.”
Ben sighed. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “We’ll start slow. What do you say?”
Mike was trying – and failing – not to laugh again. “You do realize I haven’t agreed to anything yet?”
“So, decide.” Ben said that as if the answer was obvious.
Mike shook his head. “I read this all wrong,” he said, the amusement evident in his voice. “When I came in here and you mentioned Kamran, I thought, This is it. The official ‘break up’ speech. But you’re not after that at all. It’s the opposite. You want something more solid. More real. That’s ‘the plan,’ isn’t it?”
“Pretty much,” Ben confirmed. “What do you say?”
“It’s fucking insane.”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
Mike loosened his tie, which had become constricting, and slumped back into the sofa. “For someone who claims I’m supposed to be an equal partner in this, you’re awfully bossy,” he pointed out.
Ben shrugged, but the smile was still on his face as he shifted closer to Mike, eventually straddling the other man in a very un-Presidential like manner. “It comes with the job,” he admitted, unbuttoning the top button of Mike’s shirt and removing his tie.
“So?”
“Ben, shut up and kiss me.”
Fin.