A/N: This was my first Samy fic. This pairing crept up on me out of nowhere and now I love them so much.
"Power Coupling: A Look Inside the Santos White House," he reads. "Since the election of President Santos in November, sparks have flown between members of his team in a manner akin to newly minted freshmen in a college dorm. Now that's just bad writing."
"Not to mention untrue," replies Amy as she makes her way into the office they've been sharing since Santos was inaugurated. She goes to the mini fridge, taking a beer and cracking it open.
"The President and First Lady have been married for years and Josh and Donna are newlyweds, and this guy's making it sound like we're having orgies in the bullpen."
"I think you're reading too much into it," Amy replies. "It's a puff piece, Sam. It's not like they're attacking us." She looks at the article over his shoulder. Spanning the top half of pages 24 and 25 of the magazine is an image of six people on the tarmac with Air Force One in the background. Leading the group are Matt and Helen Santos, the latter of whom has become much more confident in her role as First Lady over the last eight months. They both smile broadly as they wave to the crowd.
Directly behind them on the same page are their Chiefs of Staff, the newly married Josh Lyman and Donna Moss. From the side where the picture was taken, Donna's ring stands out proudly. Next to her, Josh holds a phone to his ear with one hand, but his other arm is wrapped around her waist, giving the camera a slight view of his own wedding band. The frown lines that often mark his face seem to be taking a break for the first time in the last decade.
And finally, flanking the group on the other side of the fold, are Sam Seaborn and Amy Gardner. Her hand holds the crook of his elbow, and his head is turned toward her. She remembers him saying something funny though she can't recall what exactly, and the camera has captured her mid-laugh, her head tilted down the slightest bit. In the context of the photo, it does indeed look like they're a couple.
Since the demise of his own engagement four months prior to the picture (and two weeks before his best friend's wedding), Sam had been in a bit of a funk. It had been nice to have him smiling and joking again. Their working relationship began as good cop, bad cop, but in the weeks following the breakup, Amy found herself playing the role of good cop, which was honestly about as comfortable as shoving a basketball player into a cardboard box.
"…and with the recent wedding between Josh Lyman and Donna Moss – " Amy returns her attention to his voice. " – supporters and opponents alike are wondering if there will be another White House Wedding this term."
Sam tosses the magazine on the desk with a level of indignation that stings Amy's ego just a bit. Anger radiates off of him in a way that surprises her. "It's a good picture," she offers genuinely as she leans on the desk and sips from the bottle. They both look good. Happy, even.
"Too good," he mutters more to himself than to her.
She eyes him for a long moment. "Why does this bother you so much?" She asks, furrowing her brow. "It's ten hours later and you're still fixated on an article in a gossip rag. It's not like it's the Times or the Post."
"Yeah, people actually read this one," Sam retorts.
Amy tilts her head appraisingly. "People like Emily?" Sam looks up at her in surprise, and she shrugs, offering him the beer. "I listen sometimes," she tells him before adding, "to the extent that I know her name."
Sam grins at that. "That's part of it," he admits, taking the bottle and picking at the label. "You were a point of contention there in the end."
Well that's a surprise, she thinks, her brows rising in response. "Your fiancée felt threatened by your working with me?" She asks.
"Emily isn't from this world. She didn't get that more often than not this job would keep me here until the wee hours of the morning." He takes a sip, and for once, Amy waits patiently for him to continue. "So the first time I told her I was working late, she tried to understand, but after three nights in a week combined with an image search on the internet, she concluded that 'working late' was code for 'having sex with my very beautiful co-worker on the desk we share'."
"Oh," Amy breathes, her cheeks pinkening the slightest bit.
"Yeah. Something about how there's no way I'm just working with a woman who looks like she literally stepped out of a magazine." Both pairs of eyes go to the publication on the desk. "An unfortunate choice of words it now seems."
A long moment passes between them as Sam continues to pick at the label with his thumb. "So you're upset," she replies as she crosses her arms over her chest, "because you don't want her to think she was right."
Sam sips again, clearly thinking about how to respond to that. Finally he stands in front of her and gives her the bottle. "I'm upset because every time I get up the nerve to ask you out, some new event occurs to make it seem entirely inappropriate."
A smile quirks at one corner of her mouth. "And you think that a picture of us looking fairly intimate in OK! Magazine makes it a bad idea for us to actually be intimate?" Lifting the bottle to her lips, she keeps eye contact with him as she swigs.
"It makes it look like we've been hiding a relationship and that we're only coming out with it right now because we were caught."
"You should leave optics to Lou, Sam. Cynicism really doesn't suit you." She reaches out, skimming her fingertips along the edge of the blue tie he loosened in the hour or so since she saw him last.
He glances down, watching her fingers move. "You don't seem to mind it too much," he murmurs hopefully.
Amy laughs quietly, her head tilting down similarly to the way it did in the picture, and Sam thinks not for the first time that she might be the most beautiful woman he's seen. "I admit there's something kind of sexy about dark, brooding Sam Seaborn," she tells him as she looks back up to see him grinning at her. "But I like that you don't let my sarcasm and overall fairly distrustful view of the world dull your sunny disposition. I'm pretty enamored with starry-eyed Sam."
He lifts his hand and threads his fingers through her hair, searching her eyes for any sign of reluctance. Instead he feels her fingers curling around his tie, gently pulling him closer until their lips meet.
He takes charge more than she would have guessed, and her kiss is gentler than he ever imagined. He leans into her and she slides onto the desk, letting him move between her legs. The hand that isn't tangled in her soft hair moves to her waist, pulling her close.
"Jeez, what is it with sexual tension and this office?"
Sam tries to jump back, but Amy prevents him from doing so by retaining her grip on his tie as she turns to peek over her shoulder. "Hey, Donna," she greets. "What's up?"
Donna laughs as she looks between the two of them. "Just dropping off the First Lady's desired legislative agenda for the month," she replies, putting the folder on the desk. "And apparently winning ten bucks off my husband. Nice lipstick, Sam," she teases, prompting him to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand.
Amy finally releases Sam's tie to reach for the folder, and Sam steps back, leaning against the wall and avoiding Donna's gaze while Amy looks over the top sheet of Donna's folder. "She's really getting into the policy portion of the job," says Amy with a smile before sipping her beer again.
"It took some time, but she found some causes she's passionate about, and from there it kind of steamrolled."
Amy looks over at the blonde. "I'll make some notes tonight. Carve out some time in her schedule for me tomorrow?"
"Sure thing." Donna turns to leave before looking back at the pair. "I'm going to rip my husband away from his desk now. I'd suggest you follow our example and not have sex on that desk," she quips just to make Sam's face turn bright red.
Once Donna is gone, Amy turns back to Sam and laughs out loud at the blush on his cheeks. "Yes, mock my humiliation," he says. His face is still bright red, but he moves closer to her, resting his hands on her legs.
"It's just Donna," Amy reasons putting down the bottle so she can run her palms down the front of his shirt. "It's not like a Republican was roaming the halls and saw you in here on your knees."
"Amy!"
"Just wanted to see if your face could get any redder. It can, by the way," she laughs, gracefully slipping off the desk and kissing him again. "Wanna grab dinner? I know a terrible little Chinese place."
Sam smiles down at her. "Yeah, I'd like that."