The light was what had woken him, but the scratch of the pen on the leather-bound journal's handmade pages was what had kept him from returning to his dreams.

"James," the man said sleepily, head still firmly set on the pillow. "Come back to bed. You can finish writing in the morning."

"I'm be there in a minute." A pause. "I want to make sure I don't leave anything out."

Peter Sadusky snorted softly, and sat up on his elbow, yawning. "You won't. You never have," he said, watching the sparkle of amusement in his lover's eyes, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day, journalists are going to be everywhere, and I don't even want to think about what Gates is going to be like – the book can wait until after you've slept."

The hotel desk chair creaked as President Brighton thought over Sadusky's words. It would be a rather trying day for both of them come morning; it always was when they had to face the media. Brighton hadn't come out and somehow, despite the hundreds of people who watched over and worked with them, it had not been released to the American public that he was gayer than Christmas. At least that was what Ben had whispered to him in the hanger days earlier.

He finally set down the pen and wound the leather string around the cover, closing it up. James had no doubts that Peter would never look, having far too much respect for the bounds of their relationship, but it was a habit he'd been taught by the outgoing president.

Pushing it into his soft-sided briefcase, he stood and pulled off his robe to slide into the bed beside his partner. He pressed his chest to Peter's back, slung an arm over the man's side and closed his eyes, saying, "Gates told me I'm gayer than Christmas."

"Well, that's quite the accomplishment," Sadusky responded, a gentle lilt of sarcasm in his voice. "Shut up and sleep."

Ignoring his bedmate's demand, James went on, "I think he and Riley Poole..."

"You really want to know what's going on three doors over? Because I've had surveillance on them since you were elected," Peter said and rolled over. "What's this sudden fixation on Gates?"

"I'm not fixated."

Peter lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "You've been talking about him since the trucker dropped you off at Mount Vernon. Your agents were starting to go cross-eyed from listening to you."

"I did not!"

"James..."

He sighed, contemplating how best to explain the envy that coursed through him at the thought of Ben Gates' amazing discoveries. He couldn't put into words the truly amazing way he'd felt when the secret door to the underground tunnel had popped open, the thrill of walking the same path Washington had centuries before. To think that Gates had done that twice, had seen things that been touched by their ancestors...

Brighton wasn't able to go the bathroom by himself sometimes. Hell, at that moment, Secret Service agents were standing outside his door to ensure that no one entered without permission and that he didn't leave without protection.

Peter touched his face, pushed a stray piece of graying hair back from the other's eyes and said, "Go to sleep. He'll be there to talk to in the morning. You can give his ego a blowjob then."

He was mildly surprised his laughter didn't bring the assigned agents running, especially when Peter joined him.

They were both still chuckling as they shared a kiss and Brighton asked, "I don't think I'll be giving anyone a blowjob, but do you think my staff will allow some heavy petting?" He let his head fall to his own Egyptian cotton-covered memory foam pillow at Peter's groan.

"One of these days, I'm going to gag you to stop comments like that."

Another moment of soft laughter filled the room at the eye roll the older man gave followed by Sadusky muttering, "Sleep," with authority in his tone, but it wasn't needed. The light snoring of his partner was a lull in his ear.

Leaning forward to kiss a temple, Peter succumbed to slumber as well.