The President's Son Ch. 01

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DWSimon
DWSimon
1,917 Followers

James smiled for the first time, a genuine, warm smile that lit up his bright blue eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think I should make that first step on my own. You know, the whole learning from my mistakes thing."

Madeline smiled up at him. He was so darn tall. If he had been an inch taller, he probably wouldn't have been able to be in the Navy. At six-four, he was too tall to be a pilot, and that had been his first choice. He was just as handsome as her husband, with some of her features thrown in to soften the sternness of John's harsh Scottish heritage. That deep brown hair and square jaw were sure to melt some man's heart. She was sure of it. "You can make those mistakes; just don't forget that we're here too. Don't shut us out."

James kissed his mother's cheek. "I promise."

John turned his son around and hugged him properly, holding on tightly. "Don't ever do anything like this again. I love you too damn much to have you hurt."

Once the embrace was over, the three left the oval office and walked to the residence. They shared a pleasant dinner and talked about Madeline's plan to use the state dinner to have him socialize a bit. James had never been comfortable with the concept, but figured that since he was ordered to be here, he might as well make the best of it. He went to bed shortly after dinner, two days of flying and unburdening his heart made him sleepier then he could ever remember being. He crawled into the Lincoln Bedroom and slept until noon the next day.

* * *

Malcolm Richardson looked at the invitation again, rolling his eyes at the idea of another dinner at the White House. He'd only been in office for four months, but he'd already had dinner there three times. There were days when he could shake his dad for dying on him. He still missed the old man. He had worked so hard to get reelected and now he was gone. The old man dismissed the warning signs and died of a massive heart attack right on the steps of the Capitol Building. God! He missed that man.

Governor Mitchell used his authority and selected Malcolm to replace him. Having just turned thirty the week before, having a couple of very high profile cases that he'd won for the Los Angeles County Prosecutor's Office helped make the decision. So now here he sat in his father's old office in the Georgetown brownstone, the junior Senator from California. He missed his old life in LA with the string of parties and the nightlife. Okay, so he missed the sex. He had had a string of long standing relationships since he'd left college and his slut days behind. Malcolm's last relationship had just ended the month before his father had died and he hadn't really felt like finding anyone new. Five and a half months without any sex was making him a bit edgy. He had had some offers; he never kept his sexuality a secret. There were office pages and messengers aplenty who offered their body to him. But he wasn't interested in easy, free sex. But as the weeks passed and he found he had less and less time to himself, he realized he just might have to resort to it. For a wicked moment, Malcolm wondered at what kind of scandal it would cause to hire an escort to accompany him to the White House. He chuckled to himself, knowing it would be silly and a ploy that would be wasted. President McNeely was a very liberal man, and his stance on gays was well documented. He'd probably find it tacky rather than shocking. God he needed to get laid.

The night in question was freezing of course. Tuxedos never seemed to be warm enough. He was frozen through by the time he passed security at the White House. He handed his coat over and walked into the dining room. At least the food would be good. Malcolm scanned the room, searching out the President and his honored guest. His eyes stopped moving when he spotted the man standing beside Mrs. McNeely. My God! Who was that man? He was gorgeous. He had broad shoulders and a sexy smile. His hair was thick and dark, military short but not lacking in style. His eyes were the bluest he had ever seen. The man stood a good three inches taller than his own six-one. He simply stole Malcolm's breath away.

As Malcolm stood in the receiving line, waiting for his turn to make his greetings to the President, he kept glancing at the tall man. He looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place him. While shaking the President of Burundi's hand, he remembered where he had seen him. The formal dress uniform, the takeoff of the standard tuxedo only in dark navy blue with medals and insignia should have clued him in. So this was Captain James McNeely. He remembered the exploits of his brother Sam and had always thought that the brothers would all take after their mother. The pretty, blonde Sam was nothing like his younger brother. James was tall and dark, tanned a deep bronze. Even though he had probably shaved just before dinner like Malcolm had, his beard was starting to shadow his jaw. Just like his father.

Malcolm reached the President and reached out to shake his hand. "Good evening, Mr. President."

There was always a polite smile for Malcolm Richardson. Not only was the man a successful prosecutor, but he'd also taken over his father's term. That couldn't have been easy and he had John's respect. "Good evening Senator. You know my wife of course?"

Malcolm had always found Mrs. McNeely to be a ballsy, tough woman who stood her ground and fought for what she believed in. Her work on child welfare and AIDS was monumental and more effective than half of what Malcolm worked on in the Senate. "A pleasure as always Mrs. McNeely." He bent down and kissed her hand, making the First Lady blush.

The man was full of shit, but Madeline couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks. "You are much too much a flatterer Malcolm." She blinked hard and glanced at her son, noticing how James stared at Malcolm. Why not? The man was gorgeous. He had qualities that wouldn't have made it in Hollywood or as a model, but he had that rugged, handsome look that would melt just about anyone. Romance novels were written and sold on that certain quality that Malcolm oozed. "Have you met my son, Malcolm?"

The relief he felt at being introduced both excited and irritated him. He was beautiful to look at, but he'd been with more attractive men; but there was something, some deep awareness that spoke to him. If he were blindfolded, Malcolm was sure he could have picked James McNeely out of the room just from the crackle of awareness he felt just standing three feet away from him. "I haven't had the pleasure." He stuck out his hand. "Malcolm Richardson."

When James McNeely placed his hand in his, the electricity that shot through Malcolm's system could have fried all the circuits in the room. It caused him to breathe in deeply and he caught the man's scent. It was faint, like the residual smell from the soap from his bath or perhaps the shave cream he had used. Nothing artificial or overpowering and underlying the whole thing was his specific scent. Malcolm had never once believed in pheromones, but at that moment, he became a true believer. It was after a couple of seconds that he realized James hadn't spoken and was staring at him with the same dumbfounded look he was sure he had on his face.

James stood shell-shocked. He couldn't draw air into his lungs. The man was captivating. He'd seen him walk into the room and tried not to pay attention. He was good at that; he'd been doing it for years, and ignoring the attraction he felt. It worked for a bit, until they had touched. He wanted to check his palm and see if there were scorch marks on it. James was sure he'd be feeling that simple caress for days. It took a moment to realize that their hands were still clasped. The look on Malcolm's face was just as confused and aroused as he was feeling. "Um... James McNeely."

Malcolm had always been quick to recover; he had to be while prosecuting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, James. I'd stay longer, but the line is moving." He looked down to their clasped hands and looked up, smiling. "Can I have my hand back?"

James blushed deeply and let go immediately. He was so embarrassed that he mumbled his apology. It wasn't until Malcolm had wandered off that he became aware of his surroundings again. He tried to calm his breathing, willing his pounding heart to calm. Thank God the Navy insisted upon dark navy clothes. He was so damn hard he was surprised there was any blood left in his body for it was pooled in his groin.

The dinner itself was deliciously prepared, peppered with several varieties of politics, seasoned with bargaining and flavored with hints of posturing. To cleanse the palette between courses there was of course the usual gossip and backstabbing. Malcolm had had more fun getting a root canal. If it weren't for the tall, dark and dangerous man sitting at the head table, Malcolm probably would have fallen asleep. His blood quickened at the thought of someone new. There was something very special and extremely appealing about the Navy Captain. He was a mixture of spicy sexuality, bold confidence and innocent wonder. It swirled through Malcolm's mind, trying to be pigeonholed and filed neatly into his tidy order. But the man was contradiction itself, laced with a lethal dose of charming that stirred Malcolm and made him forget what's-his-name. Actually, it made him forget all the what's-his-names. Of course Malcolm could still count on his one hand the number of men he had been with more than once and he could count on the other the number of men he'd only been with once. In modern times, it would probably label him a prude. Malcolm couldn't count the number of times he'd had sex, a super computer couldn't accomplish it, but he was choosy and selective about his bed partners. As he stared at the President's table and the man on the opposite side of the First Lady, Malcolm was seriously considering the possibility that James McNeely was going to be number four. But what scared him shitless was that he also felt like there would be no five. If Malcolm hadn't felt that incredible electrical connection, he'd have run so far and fast from the White House and to the safety of his brownstone. But that spark was as inescapable as the universal truths of death and taxes.

Malcolm shook his head, amused by his mind's silly ramblings. His breath was stolen when the dinner was done and the music started up for dancing. It was amazing to watch as the stewards pushed the tables out of the way so that people could dance. Malcolm only had eyes for James McNeely though. The man glided across the floor, twirling his mother and laughing into her eyes as he moved around the dance floor. For such a tall, big man, he moved with incredible finesse and ease. He was graceful, for that was the only word for him. Malcolm looked down at his flat belly, wondering if his softening middle would be impressive. It had been months since he'd been able to keep to his strict exercise regimen. He still jogged daily and rode his stationary bike while reading over the next day's meeting notes each night, but the rich food and rushed lunches were allowing him to too often forgo a salad in favor of a rich, thick burger and fries. Ice cream is a gift; whoever first made it should be thanked. Of course Malcolm also hoped that that person had died in a fiery inferno of his own making for creating such an addicting substance, but he was grateful for its creation just the same. As the number came to a close, he shook his head, keeping him from obsessing as to whether his body was good enough. Hell, he'd had no complaints from anyone, including himself. But, one tends to be one's worst critic. Christ! James was heading his way, his eyes not wavering from his. Malcolm felt like a virgin at the prom, a lamb heading for slaughter and the last item at a 90% off clearance sale. This isn't him. He never got nervous over just meeting someone. But he was.

James crossed the room after dancing with his mother. Just a few days ago, if he had felt an attraction to someone, he'd have ignored it, perhaps even ran away from it; but no more. That spark he'd felt, that connection that had caused the swelling in his trousers made him feel alive. For the first time in his life, he was going to act on it. It scared the hell out of him, but he wouldn't deny himself anymore. He just didn't know what to do. What is the first step? What should he say? What should he do? There should be a manual. A sort of Idiot's Guide to Gay Mating Rituals would have been nice. As he approached Malcolm, his palms began to sweat and his pulse pounded in his ears, but he didn't falter. He approached, to the outside world calm, but internally dying of fear.

Malcolm couldn't help the goofy grin from spreading across his face, not realizing what his dimples did to James. "You dance beautifully, Captain."

A deep blush darkened James's cheeks. "Thank you. She insisted we all had lessons, just for such occasions."

Malcolm's deep chuckle sent a shiver down James's spine. "She knew that you would have to go to some stale state dinner for the President of Burundi?"

James's own chuckle, nervous and endearing rang out a bit too loudly. "No, of course not. She wanted to make sure we could dance on our wedding day." James looked down, feeling a moment of sadness and mumbled, "At least it came in handy at some point." His grin was back, but there was a hint of sadness lurking in his eyes that did not go unnoticed.

"Don't ask, don't tell is a real bitch, huh?" At James's panicked look, Malcolm was quick to reassure, with a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, if anyone asks, I don't tell." He gave a smile with his words, and he did get a smile out of James, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, what's the matter?"

James swallowed deeply, and damn it all if it didn't make Malcolm sweat, watching the muscles in his throat work. "I'm new to this and I'm still a little uncomfortable. I'm sorry." James moved to walk away, feeling a dejection he had never felt before. He didn't make it a half step before Malcolm's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Just where do you think you're going?" James looked into Malcolm's eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. He gave a quick smile that was both apologetic and sheepish at the same time. "I can understand how you feel. You can't be open while in the military. That's cool. But don't walk away."

"I'm sorry Malcolm. You have no idea how difficult this is for me." He offered a guiding hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "How'd you like a tour of the residence?"

"Sounds more entertaining than watching the mechanics of Washington politics play out." Malcolm smiled as he followed James's lead out of the dining room and into the hall, towards the main stairs. "I've never been anywhere in the White House but the reception areas and dining rooms."

"You've only been a Senator for a few months. I'm sure you'll be invited to several cocktail parties and those are almost always held on the second floor." James gave a grin before heading towards the main solar at one end of the White House.

The two men stepped out onto the balcony surrounding the rounded edge of the building. Technically, it is what connects the President's rooms with those of the First Lady. But the two didn't feel a need to separate, so the other rooms were used for when family visited. As they looked out on Washington's gilded night, they stood in companionable silence, both thinking thoughts of the other. Malcolm thinking that this was like nothing he was used to. James was sexy, he was striking in his uniform and he walked around with an incredible air of authority tinged with extreme innocence. He had no clue as to how to move forward, unsure if the signals he was receiving were real or not.

On the other hand, James kept wondering what he should do. Who made the first move? Oh hell, was there even a move to make? He was so unprepared for all of this. Twenty-six was too old to be starting fresh. He had never even been hard with another man present. Then of course the million doubts set in, ranging from the proverbial pick up line nightmares to wondering if the garlic in the appetizer was still lingering on his breath. James turned to Malcolm and could have sworn there was a flash of nervousness in his eyes as well. It did a lot to calm him.

James gave Malcolm a smile and gestured towards the door, it was after all late December in DC and it was freezing. As the two men stepped inside, Malcolm stopped and started laughing. When James turned around to ask what was so funny, Malcolm just pointed up. James saw the mistletoe that his precocious nephews had hung and started to smile underneath his ever-crimsoning cheeks. Before he could even form words, Malcolm was cupping his face in his hands and brushed his lips against James's. To say that the kiss was electrifying would not do it justice. But to say that the kiss put all other kisses to shame, putting the most romantic and famous of movie kisses into a class of cheap thrills, would be a falsehood. Malcolm knew that something was different. James just sort of let his mouth hang open. He moved his lips, but it seemed so incredibly awkward that Malcolm was contemplating moving away until he heard James moan heavily against his mouth. 'So he felt it to' was all he could think as he deepened the kiss further, brushing his tongue against James's lower lip and further, deeper into his mouth.

After an unknowable time had passed, Malcolm stepped away from James, looking at this man who was two parts charm, three parts sexuality and about twenty parts mystery. He stared at James who still had his eyes closed. His face was flushed and his body was trembling. There had been no missing of that incredible bulge that had pressed against his crotch. But there were more questions then answers when James finally opened his eyes, looking both shy and extremely happy.

Malcolm had a questioning smile and a slight pinch to his eyebrows. "What just happened there?"

James really wanted to joke his way through this and ran a hand through his hair. "Unless I'm mistaken, that was a kiss."

Malcolm gave a brief chuckle, surprised at the bravado. "No, seriously, James. You acted as if you'd never kissed before."

When James looked anywhere but at his eyes, Malcolm knew that he had his answer. Shock and surprise flooded him followed quickly by about a million questions. "Never?"

James fidgeted, furious with himself for doing it, remembering the last time had been in the third grade. "No. I'm sorry it was so obvious. Was it that bad?"

Malcolm could only chuckle. "It was anything but bad."

With that, Malcolm took James's lips again with his, moving over them delicately, nibbling and tasting, flicking his lips and tongue with his own. Malcolm moved his hands from James's face, hooking one at the nape of his neck, keeping him in place. The other hand moved over his shoulders, feeling the hard plane of his shoulder blade as he pulled him closer. The wall of his chest, the flat, hard plane of his belly and the heavy ridge of him pressed against all that was James. His thoughts spiraled, going from thoughts of breaking the kiss and trailing James to one of the bedrooms and having incredibly hard and hot sex to wanting to compose sonnets and woo the man with sweet music. Then all thought stopped for Malcolm when James took over the kiss, using his tongue to flick and taste, tempt and torture. His deep, throaty moan filled both of them when James wrapped his arms around Malcolm, moving his fingers into his hair and gently massaging Malcolm's scalp.

They kissed for a while, neither noticing the passage of time. It wasn't until the discreet cough from the secret service that James pulled away. Malcolm was lost to sensation; his lips still tingling and his eyes slumberous. James stepped away and Malcolm missed the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the feel of all that turned on man pressed against his crotch. As his breathing slowed, he took in his surroundings. The beautiful old building he stood in, the coughing secret servicemen who hide so well and the President and First Lady, grinning and trying not to smirk. Malcolm let loose a stream of curses that would have made a priest burst into flames, internally. His only outward show of his disappointment and embarrassment at being caught was a slight groan.

DWSimon
DWSimon
1,917 Followers