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A loud knocking at the door startles Patrick out of a shallow sleep. He sits up quickly, vaguely registering David’s groans of protest next to him. The clock on the nightstand glows: 6:12 AM. Patrick doesn't know precisely when they fell asleep, but he doubts it was very long ago.
The knocks continue.
“Oh my god, what?” David grumbles, face smushed into his pillow. “Did we win?” Then he gasps. “Did we lose?”
Patrick scrolls frantically through his push notifications. “No, no change. Still too close to call in all the remaining states.”
“Then I propose,” he yawns, “we tell whoever’s at the door to go fuck themselves and stay in bed until there’s a winner.”
“You sure about that, David? You heard the pundits last night. Could be days. Weeks, even,” Patrick teases.
“Oh, so you don’t want to spend weeks in bed with me?” David asks with a raised eyebrow and a sleep-rasped voice.
There’s nothing Patrick wants more, he thinks, as he looks at David, all tanned arms and dark hair contrasted against the white of the comforter and pillows. But admitting it feels like too much, too soon, so he drops a gentle kiss on David’s bare shoulder and sticks to more familiar territory. “I’m just saying, we’d need sunshine eventually. Vitamin D deficiency is no laughing matter.”
David looks up at him with a wicked glint in his eye. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get enough vitamin D.”
And okay, Patrick can admit he set himself up for that one.
“Patrick? Are you in there?” Calls a familiar voice from outside the room as the visitor knocks again.
He locks eyes with David in horror. “Just a second, Senator Rose!” Patrick responds, and David pulls the comforter up over his head.
Patrick has thought about waking up in bed with David countless times, imagining sleepy kisses and lazy cuddles and second (and third) rounds. Somehow David’s dad never factored into any of his fantasies. He rushes to his suitcase and puts on the first clothes he can grab, rolls on some deodorant, and crosses to the door, opening it just enough to stick his head out.
“Good morning, Patrick!” Johnny sings, and Patrick wonders, not for the first time, if politicians have some sort of genetic mutation that allows them to function on less sleep than normal people.
“Did you manage to get some shut eye?”
“A bit,” Patrick responds. “Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.”
“Not a problem,” Johnny says. “I got a few hours in, myself. You started a trend last night, you know. When you and David went up to bed, Moira insisted that we all do the same.”
Patrick thinks it’s his turn to say something, but his brain froze the moment he heard his boss say the words “you” and “David” and “bed.”
“Um,” he manages. “Good.”
“Yes, well, we’re only human, Patrick. Not like that Steve Kornacki fellow. Did you know he’s been on television for more than fourteen hours straight now, and still going? I do hope they feed him soon,” Johnny chuckles.
“Wow,” Patrick says. You’d think a speech writer could come up with more than one word at a time. “Did you need something, sir?” A little snippy, but at least it was a full sentence with a subject and a predicate and everything.
“Actually, Patrick, I was hoping to talk to you about my speech. Now, I know we don’t want to jinx anything, but I did come up with a few new zingers I wanted to run by you, you know, just in case” – he tries to wink – “we need them soon.”
When Patrick took this job he did not realize how much of it would consist of finding ways to gently convince Senator Rose that his jokes were not funny. “Of course,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
Johnny stares at him, confused. “So can I come – ”
“NO!”
Johnny startles. “Is everything okay?”
Patrick looks anywhere other than into his eyes. “Um…”
“Blink twice if you need help,” Johnny half whispers, half shouts. Patrick forces his eyes open wider and tries not to blink at all. “Are you in distress? Okay, I’m sending in Agent Lee.”
“Oh no, that really won’t be necessary,” Patrick protests.
“Good,” Ronnie chimes in, leaning up against the wall outside the room. “Because I wasn’t particularly interested in putting my life on the line for Brewer this morning.”
“It’s just me, Dad, no need to call in the feds,” David says, appearing suddenly behind Patrick in yesterday’s wrinkled suit pants and shirt, jacket draped over one arm.
“David! Good morning, son! Wasn’t expecting to see you here. Early morning strategy session, huh boys?”
Ronnie snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Patrick’s cheeks burn bright with embarrassment. David tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut and tries, Patrick guesses, to evaporate. All the while, Ronnie laughs, and Johnny looks confusedly back and forth between the three of them.
“Ohhh,” he says slowly, as the reality of the situation finally dawns on him. “I see. I see. I didn’t know the two of you were, um, romantically in business with each other. That’s exciting news, boys.”
“Please stop talking,” David begs as he emerges from the hotel room. “I’m going to go now,” he says, and Patrick panics.
“Wait!” he calls desperately as he reaches out and catches David by the wrist. “When we’re done here, have breakfast with me?”
David turns back towards him slightly. “You want to have breakfast with me?”
Patrick knows enough about David’s history to understand why there’s a tone of surprise in the question. Still, it breaks his heart that David assumes their relationship has to be a bed or breakfast arrangement.
“Yes, David,” he reassures him. “And coffee, and snacks, and lunch, and more snacks, and dinner, and dessert. And then breakfast again tomorrow.”
“Oh,” David hums, a small, pleased grin on his face. He tugs his wrist free from Patrick’s grasp. “I’ll, um, text you? Or you text me, when you’re done?”
“I’ll text you,” Patrick promises, and he can’t stop himself from reaching up and pressing a quick kiss to David’s stubbly cheek.
Johnny grins proudly and opens his arms for a hug. David holds up his hand in warning and dodges the gesture as he heads toward the elevator.
Patrick’s gaze follows David until he disappears around a corner. When he looks back, Johnny is staring at him with a smile that says, I know you’re doing it with my son, and that makes me happy.
“So did you want to – the speech,” Patrick stammers.
Johnny nods. “Yes, yes. The speech.”
“Come on in,” Patrick offers. Then he freezes with a hand on the doorknob. On second thought, he might burst into flames if Senator Rose sees the rumpled bed sheets he and David were naked between not ten minutes ago. “Actually, why don’t I grab my laptop and we can find a conference room,” he suggests instead.
A few minutes later, while they’re waiting on the front desk person to unlock the business center and Johnny has been thoroughly distracted by some complimentary pastries, Ronnie turns on him.
“Brewer,” she drawls. “I’ve gotta say, I’m impressed. David Rose is so far out of your league, he’s playing a whole different sport.”
Patrick chuckles. “Yeah, I know.” He looks across the lobby and sees the man who might well be the next President of the United States, eyes closed in bliss as he savors a warm cinnamon bun. “But if there’s anything I’ve learned from working on this campaign, it’s that really, anything is possible.”