West Wing FF: In the Changing Seasons (Sam/Toby/Josh, R)
Title: In the changing seasons
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Toby/Sam/Josh, in all combinations thereof
Rating: Very much R, so be warned
Genre: Drama
Length: 4000 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to Sorkin and Wells.
Spoilers: Set four years post S7
Summary: "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring." Seasons change, and so do they, but not all change is for the worse.
AN: Umm... yeah. For celbalrai who wrote amazing CJ/Sam/Toby and made me want to write a threesome. (So now I'm going straight to hell...) And for raedbard, for reading this first, and because all my Toby/Sam is hers a little.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring. - George Santayana
*
1. Spring - Mixing memory and desire
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
- T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land, 1922
*
He had expected Josh would come to find him eventually, but Sam was surprised that he came looking at Toby’s.
Josh looked older - a guilty reminder that Sam had failed in his duty. The Inauguration was two months ago, and the loss two before that, but it was written on every line of Josh’s face as yesterday.
Sam stepped away from the door, invitation and acceptance, and Josh walked past, keeping an unnatural distance between himself and Sam’s body.
“Sam?” Toby called.
Sam stopped, and didn’t answer. Feeling caught out, as though this was the interaction that gave them away, and not the fact that he was walking around Toby’s apartment in his sweats. The fact that he had been living here since the new President was inaugurated, had gone to Toby and not Josh when his engagement was broken off.
He was not the one who answered. “It’s Josh.”
This drew Toby out of the kitchen and back to the little sitting room. He nodded at Josh’s bag. “There’s only the couch.”
“The couch is fine.”
“Dinner’s in ten.” And with that he left, abandoning Sam with the difficult questions.
Sam sat down on the couch, and motioned for Josh to join him. “Josh.”
“Can we... can we not do this?”
“It’s been two months, Josh. You waited until the last box left, and you disappeared. No one knew where you were. Donna, Otto, Lou... You disappeared.”
“So did you!”
“You managed to find me.”
“I always find you, Sam. You’re just really bad at hiding.”
“This isn’t hiding.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So what is it?”
Sam sighed, “What do you think?”
“Does it matter?”
“If you’re going to...”
“I’m here, Sam, would I have come all the way to New York just to...?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You can be petty, Josh, and I don’t think you came all the way to New York to say Mazel Tov.”
“Sam! I just... God, Sam.” Josh leant across the space between them and drew Sam in against his shoulder. He smelt of loss, but Sam had always known that about his oldest friend. An unbroken stream of election wins had never been able to mend that about him, and now it wasn’t even there to do the job of masking it. And he had missed Josh, but not so much in these last three months as the four years with him down the hall.
Josh breathed gently against his cheek, “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah.” Sam rubbed along Josh’s jawbone, hoping to ease the tension. Hoping that this, after all, was the missing piece. This and not Leo; this and not Donna. Sam murmured something reassuring; he had no idea what. Josh said something in reply, and Sam strained to hear him.
In the doorway, Toby coughed.
For the second time since Josh arrived, Sam felt guilty for something he had not done. He pulled back quickly.
“Beer?” Toby offered, but a line had been drawn.
With the line, Sam had expected separation. He had thought Josh would run, or, more likely, he would wait for Toby to give him an excuse to leave. But he stayed, and Toby held back, and they found an uneasy peace in the little apartment.
It only lasted a matter of weeks. March had rushed into April, and the city was painted in garish yellows and purples as the flowers bloomed again. Winter’s cold serenity cracked, and every day there was a new reminder that time passed, and Josh was still with them both. That, more than that, Josh was still with them, but not yet a part of them. Sam and Toby had achieved equilibrium months ago; he had grown quieter to match Toby’s new silence. Sam in turn drew Toby against him with soft words; Toby did not return them, but Sam felt that they were heard. Josh’s arrival pulled their small haven out of shape. Josh didn’t know what to do with the quiet. Toby left for classes, and Sam wrote; he did not know what Josh did. But the evenings after dinner were spent in long silences, broken only by Josh fidgeting.
Toby sat upright on the couch, marking the papers spread across his lap with a red pen and a scowl. Sam lay sideways with the Times, head resting on the arm of the chair. He tucked his toes underneath Toby’s thigh to warm them and Toby stroked Sam’s ankle unconsciously.
Josh jumped from his spot on the chair and went to the computer. He clicked on the keyboard, sending e-mails as frantically as he always had before, back when he had reason to do so. Toby peered over his glasses at the desk; Sam poked his own glasses up his nose to see what was so important. When Toby turned to him, he shrugged and ignored the pointed glare.
With a sudden clatter, Josh got up. “I’m going out.”
Toby just raised his eyebrows.
“Okay?” Josh said.
“Are you asking permission?” Toby asked dryly.
“Fine,” Josh muttered. “I’ll be back... whenever.”
“Josh,” Sam said. “Key.”
“You’ll still be up.”
“Maybe not,” Toby answered. He was just doing this to be contrary.
“Take a key,” Sam corrected. He went to the kitchen and returned with the spare key. “Don’t get lost,” he said, pressing the key into Josh’s hand.
“Yeah.” Josh left, banging the door.
The vibrations echoed around the apartment. When they stopped, it finally felt as though he could breathe. Josh always seemed like he took up more space than he should, filling the air around him with hand-waving and fast words. Toby, in contrast, took up less, disappearing into the dark corners of the room. Sam did not know how they felt about his presence - if Toby had ever felt that Sam had robbed him of his hushed retreat. He had always thought that Toby would have said something, given him some sign that if he had not come for Toby, Toby would have come for Sam. Toby accepted Josh’s presence in his home as though he had expected no less, as if of course Sam would bring Josh home eventually. But Toby and Josh did not speak to each other, had not touched since long before Josh had appeared at the doorway hooded in defeat. They had been friends once, but Sam had no idea how to lure them back to each other again. Josh would not ask, and Toby would not offer, and Sam could not see a way out.
“You know we’ll never get rid of him now,” Toby said.
“What?”
“You gave him a key.”
“He’s been here a month, Toby.”
“And?”
“If you had a problem, you should have said so.”
Of course, Toby had said nothing. But he and Toby were not the same as he and Josh. They didn’t need to say anything. And they were not the men they were before. They fitted now, in a way they had never been able to in the White House. He took Toby’s hand from the forgotten papers.
They could do this part without words too. Or at least Toby could. Sam thought them, couldn’t help it, but he could hold the thoughts alone in his head if that was what Toby needed. They walked to the bedroom with Sam gripping the ends of Toby’s fingers. When Sam backed up against the bed, he tugged Toby sharply against him. He could learn to be silent if Toby would always look like that, startled back to himself, happy with a secret, because Sam loved him. And anyway there were no words for this kind of longing. He pressed his lips against Toby’s neck, ardent thanks for opening the door to him when Sam had arrived, like Josh, lost on Toby’s doorstep. They fell against the bed, Toby’s hands around Sam’s waist to slow his descent.
They had finished, mostly, just kissing lazily in the afterglow, when Sam looked up. A pair of eyes shone white in the shadow of the doorway.
Toby growled, “I told you we’d be in bed.”
Sam could see Josh’s eyes flicker shut.
“Get in and close the door,” Toby said. He rolled over with no further comment, and Sam turned to curl himself around Toby’s back.
He felt the bed dip behind him when Josh made himself move. Josh would not bring himself so close to Sam; all he felt were the brush of fingertips at the base of his spine, and how Josh’s warmth reached him through the dim night air.
*
2. Summer - In all the freshness of childhood
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer...
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
*
”Do you think we would have been friends before?” Sam asked, peering over the edge of the boat at the Atlantic.
”Before what?” Josh asked
“Before we met.”
“Before we met, you were still in college,” Josh pointed out. “I didn’t exactly make a habit of picking up college students when I was working for a member of Congress.”
Toby smiled behind his book. The ocean made Sam more fanciful than usual - all the way out of the marina the air had rung with odd hypotheticals. Josh had been patiently humouring him, just so long as Sam remembered to tell him which ropes needed to be pulled.
“No,” Sam protested, “Hypothetically...”
Josh and Toby snorted.
“Wait! Hypothetically, if we were all in high school together, would we have been friends?”
“That depends,” Josh said, smirking, “were you one of the cool kids?”
“I was skipped ahead a grade, what do you think?” Sam retorted sharply.
“Hey.” Josh threw his hands up placatingly. “I was kidding. Of course I would have liked you. As long as you’d helped me with my homework...”
Sam punched Josh’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t play dumb.”
”That’s a good point,” Josh said. “I’d still have been smarter than you. But I would have helped you with your homework.”
Sam half-heartedly punched Josh again. They laughed - mock-wrestling away from each other - younger and happier than Toby could ever remember being. He thought about Sam’s question. Sam, fourteen years old in a class of fifteen year olds, still all dark hair and blue eyes and soft-hearted passion. Josh with wild curls and a sharp tongue, already walking too fast. Josh would have taken Sam under his wing just as he had nearly ten years later in a Congressional office. They would have loved each other as little boys as fervently as they did now, protection and fidelity no matter how far apart. Sam had given his life up for Josh twice now; it had not mattered who or what the other life was. He thought of high school: Sam with his businessman father, Josh the son of a renowned lawyer, and him with his father in prison for multiple felonies. Sam’s innocent magnetism, Josh’s easy charm, and Toby, who had always been the one who was too smart and too angry, sitting in the back of the class with his hand up, and never called on.
Sam shouted at Josh to duck as something large and wooden swung dangerously.
Josh cursed and laughed even as he complied. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked when he had his breath back.
“No one but me has ever fallen off this boat,” Sam answered.
“And how many times have you taken someone on it?”
“Including this time?”
“If you want.”
“One.”
Josh turned to look over his shoulder, grinning widely. “Hear that, Toby? We’re special.”
Nodding, Toby looked back at his book. He looked up again once Josh had turned away. Sam was frowning out at the waves, a stiffness in his shoulders speaking of hurt, or hope unfulfilled, an ending of their easy joy he had not seen coming. Josh walked to him, leaning up against his side, shoulder to shoulder. Sam leant his head against Josh’s. Toby could not see where anyone else would fit into the wall they made; he saw ten-year-old heads bent together in a secret they held only for each other.
He sat and watched them, laughter against the sparkles of August sunlight on the water.
The laughter faded to silence. Sam pointed Josh towards a rope, and Toby caught the word ‘home’ in the quick exchange.
Sam came to sit beside him. Toby didn’t look up, and Sam did not press him to. “I would have liked you in school,” Sam offered quietly. “You might have scared me a little, but I would have liked you.” It was a promise, as with everything Sam said to him. Sam did not need to pledge his love to Toby; he wrote it underneath every word he spoke.
Toby knew that Sam was romanticising this into something it wasn’t. As if anyone would ever believe that destiny had wanted three middle-aged ex-politicians to end up in the same bed. Three was never the number for stories.
He walked to the side of the boat, looking at the land approaching. Josh had finished with the ropes, and came to stand uncertainly by Toby’s side. He heard Sam’s steps behind them. Sam fit his head between the two of theirs, resting his chin on their united shoulders. They stood like that, a triangle with Sam at the head, using his arms to hold them all together, whispering secrets.
*
3. Autumn - And feel an unexpected sharpness
Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.
- Thomas Wolfe
*
They had been sleeping together, for different values of ‘sleep’, for months now. To change it tonight, to retreat to the couch instead, would be to draw attention to the problem. To the fact that this little irrational part of himself was not coping well with Sam being out of the house. Sam was in DC walking through the fall leaves, going to listen to people offer him a job he wouldn’t take, but whom he owed a day’s consideration to even so. Sam was in DC, Josh was in New York with Toby, and everything was wrenched sideways. But he couldn’t tell Toby that.
So Josh stayed awake long after Toby had left for the bedroom. He had nodded a goodnight when Toby left the room, and kept typing. Nonsense rambling now, a letter to President Bartlet he would never send. But he had expected Toby to have fallen asleep by the time he eventually locked the doors and turned out the lights. If they didn’t need to talk, if he could just lie there in silence and pretend that Sam was in that space between the two of them, everything would be fine by morning. By the time the sun finally rose, late and weak on the skyline, everything would have gone back to normal. Whatever that meant.
Toby looked up when he entered the bedroom.
“I thought you were asleep,” Josh said.
Toby blinked at him, not dignifying it with an answer.
“Never mind,” Josh muttered.
He lay down in the bed where he always did, but now there was no Sam in the buffering space. Josh turned uncomfortably to face the wall. He could feel Toby’s prescient wakefulness on the other side of the bed. He turned over again, deciding that watching Toby’s back would be easier. Toby looked at him, gaze uncomfortably sharp.
Josh repeated the process a few more times, eventually ending up staring at the ceiling. He rubbed his left leg against his right, and then vice versa. When he turned around again, Toby was in the middle of the bed, watching him with a glower.
“What?” Josh asked.
Toby pulled Josh over, with as much appearance of roughness as was possible while being so careful not to startle. “Stop moving.”
“Toby...”
“Stop, Josh. Just stop. He’ll come back tomorrow. It’s okay. Just stop moving.”
Toby pushed a thumb into each of Josh’s convulsive shudders. The autumn smell of bonfires and smoke faded into cleanness and sanctuary. They slowed to a stop together.
Sam got back early in the morning, when the sunrise was just starting to pick out the russet in the leaves. Josh was lying soft and quiescent under Toby’s steadying arm, and Sam smiled.
He undressed and lifted the covers to squeeze into the space on Josh’s side. Toby stirred enough to interlace his fingers with Sam’s over Josh’s hip. Josh didn’t move until the morning.
*
4. Winter - When inner things happen
In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen,
the resurgence of nature.
- Edna O'Brien
*
Josh hadn’t been practicing for a long while, but Toby wanted the kids to have it, so they lit the lights. Sam was entranced by the little candles, huddling close to them as if they would ward off the winter cold. As it should be, he supposed, but Sam was about the least Jewish person he knew.
Then, this was Sam, for whom faithfulness was practically a watchword. Josh looked over Sam’s head to find Toby watching their lover with the same bemused affection.
“Sam, you’re not wishing on them or anything, right?” Josh asked. “Because they’re...”
“To signify a miracle,” Sam filled in. “The oil that lasted eight days. Faith that endures.”
“You’re...”
“Still not Catholic, Toby.”
“Sam.”
“I wasn’t wishing. I was giving thanks.”
“For what?”
Sam just smiled, and leant back against their knees, where both men had dropped to the floor to watch him. But if anyone was going to say it, it would have been him. Sam who was the only one of them to have called it love, although Josh knew he was not the only one to think it. Toby did not say these things at all, but Josh could see it sometimes, in the small lightness in dark eyes when they looked across a room at Sam. He turned to face Toby, and the candles made Toby’s eyes shine brown as they watched him.
The candles flickered and burnt out. Josh could hear Sam’s tiny sigh, and reached a hand around his waist. His fingers met Toby’s, and they held hands around Sam. It was Sam who moved first, wriggling around to face the two of them. He pushed their legs flat and sat with one knee between each of theirs. As if he could not decide who to kiss first, Sam settled for a loose embrace, his face pressed close to both of theirs, breathing slow and deep in the faint light from the streetlamps outside.
Josh caught the edge of Sam’s lips with his own briefly, and then kissed Toby when he turned back to face him.
Sam put one hand on each of their chests, pushing them flat on the carpet. He knelt above them, and watched when Toby turned his head to kiss Josh’s neck. When he turned back to meet the dark blue eyes, Sam’s intent concentration moved to the buttons of Toby’s shirt. He undid them slowly, running a finger along the breastbone, and down the track of hair to where it disappeared under Toby’s waistband.
Toby shivered under the attention; he turned his head away again, back to Josh. Smiling into Toby’s mouth, Josh moved his hand to meet Sam’s. He lifted Sam’s hand to the man’s own white shirt, guiding it to the tiny buttons. Sam flushed, looked down at Toby’s chest as he undid his own shirt, faster than he had done with Toby.
Reaching up to Sam’s chest, Toby stilled Sam’s hurry, slowing him back to the same lazy pace. Sam’s breathing caught, and shallowed. He slowed down, still blushing, but let them watch him.
When Sam had finished, the white shirt hung from his shoulders, and he shrugged it off, laying himself down over Toby’s body. Toby reached a hand up to find Sam’s mouth in the darkness. He pressed his thumb hard over the lips until they parted, and replaced it with his mouth. Sam moaned into him; Toby swallowed the sound and the feeling that went with it. Clever fingers found their way under Toby’s waistband, pulling and teasing. Sam’s other hand got to work on Toby’s belt, but that was hardly noticed by its owner.
Josh knelt behind Sam, who shivered and paused his ministrations on Toby. Josh ran a hand down Sam’s spine reassuringly; he felt Sam laugh and didn’t know why. Sam reached behind himself and undid one of Josh’s shirt-buttons. Getting the implication, Josh undid the rest himself, and pressed his chest into Sam’s back. Sam leant back into him, sighing contentedly even as he finally freed Toby and wrapped his fingers around him. Sam is skin-hungry, has always been, and Josh does not know why it is that Sam will give and take affection so freely but does not realise himself to be beautiful. He cannot comprehend how Sam ever got to be skin-hungry when all Josh ever wants to do is touch him. Toby’s wrist and Josh’s hand met somewhere on Sam’s arm, and Josh knows that Toby feels the same.
Josh worked his fingers down the back of Sam’s jeans and was not surprised exactly, but thankful nonetheless, that Sam moved to accommodate him. How Sam does not consider himself exposed here - leaning forward, letting Josh’s fingers enter him - and yet blushes at their arousal when he undoes his shirt... Josh made the necessary mental shrug, and reached inside the pocket of the jeans he had not yet removed.
Somewhere in front of him, Toby had started to take a more active role, getting a hand between himself and Sam. They hit the same rhythm, rocking together; it made the angles get complicated, but Josh didn't really care that much. He persuaded slippery fingers to work his belt and fly; Sam laughed again and pressed back against him.
He and Toby climaxed together, Sam a half-second after them, and Josh suspects that Sam has dragged Toby out to make this happen. He’ll probably need to make that up to Toby at some point. Cleaning them all up won't suffice, but he does it anyway - all Sam had managed was to drape himself bonelessly on top of Toby. When they were mostly wiped off, Josh dropped himself to the floor, rolling under Sam a little to line his body up with Toby’s. Sam’s legs fell down between Josh and Toby’s, but his upper body now lay equally on both their chests. He turned his head sideways and laid it under Toby’s collarbone.
Josh ran a hand down Toby’s side, letting it rest on the curve where his hip meets his stomach. Sam stretched an arm over Josh, ghosting his fingers over the scar, as he always did. Toby curled one arm up to hold Sam securely where he was; with his other hand he ran fingers through the curls at the nape of Josh’s neck, Josh leant towards him and rested his head in the curve Toby’s arm made.
Josh and Toby fall asleep lying there. They will be cursing Sam’s name in the morning for letting them, and Sam knows this. He laughs again, and this time Toby is not awake to glare at him for amusement while they’re having sex. Toby did not seem to understand that Sam is just surprised, every time, that they are all still here. The miracle that he is happy, that Josh is protected, and that Toby is at ease lying here with the two of them, all at once. Sam suspected that they didn’t mind as much as they protested anyway. He is just content knowing that he will wake up between the two of them, groaning at him for their back-aches. Sam pushed himself into the narrow gap in the middle they have not quite left. Josh rolled to the side slightly, and Toby’s palm now cradled his head. Another complaint Toby will have in the morning that he will only mean a little. Sam lay between them and stared at the ceiling.
Outside the air was clean and crisp, the winter winds bringing smells of snow and ice from far away. Soon it would be March again, and the pinpricks of green would make their way through hardened earth. An anniversary none of them would mention, so as not to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing. Sam took Josh’s left arm and Toby’s right, and crossed them over his heart. He closed his eyes and dreamt of enduring miracles, and flowers in the snow.
Fin. Thoughts?
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Toby/Sam/Josh, in all combinations thereof
Rating: Very much R, so be warned
Genre: Drama
Length: 4000 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to Sorkin and Wells.
Spoilers: Set four years post S7
Summary: "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring." Seasons change, and so do they, but not all change is for the worse.
AN: Umm... yeah. For celbalrai who wrote amazing CJ/Sam/Toby and made me want to write a threesome. (So now I'm going straight to hell...) And for raedbard, for reading this first, and because all my Toby/Sam is hers a little.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring. - George Santayana
*
1. Spring - Mixing memory and desire
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
- T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land, 1922
*
He had expected Josh would come to find him eventually, but Sam was surprised that he came looking at Toby’s.
Josh looked older - a guilty reminder that Sam had failed in his duty. The Inauguration was two months ago, and the loss two before that, but it was written on every line of Josh’s face as yesterday.
Sam stepped away from the door, invitation and acceptance, and Josh walked past, keeping an unnatural distance between himself and Sam’s body.
“Sam?” Toby called.
Sam stopped, and didn’t answer. Feeling caught out, as though this was the interaction that gave them away, and not the fact that he was walking around Toby’s apartment in his sweats. The fact that he had been living here since the new President was inaugurated, had gone to Toby and not Josh when his engagement was broken off.
He was not the one who answered. “It’s Josh.”
This drew Toby out of the kitchen and back to the little sitting room. He nodded at Josh’s bag. “There’s only the couch.”
“The couch is fine.”
“Dinner’s in ten.” And with that he left, abandoning Sam with the difficult questions.
Sam sat down on the couch, and motioned for Josh to join him. “Josh.”
“Can we... can we not do this?”
“It’s been two months, Josh. You waited until the last box left, and you disappeared. No one knew where you were. Donna, Otto, Lou... You disappeared.”
“So did you!”
“You managed to find me.”
“I always find you, Sam. You’re just really bad at hiding.”
“This isn’t hiding.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So what is it?”
Sam sighed, “What do you think?”
“Does it matter?”
“If you’re going to...”
“I’m here, Sam, would I have come all the way to New York just to...?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You can be petty, Josh, and I don’t think you came all the way to New York to say Mazel Tov.”
“Sam! I just... God, Sam.” Josh leant across the space between them and drew Sam in against his shoulder. He smelt of loss, but Sam had always known that about his oldest friend. An unbroken stream of election wins had never been able to mend that about him, and now it wasn’t even there to do the job of masking it. And he had missed Josh, but not so much in these last three months as the four years with him down the hall.
Josh breathed gently against his cheek, “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah.” Sam rubbed along Josh’s jawbone, hoping to ease the tension. Hoping that this, after all, was the missing piece. This and not Leo; this and not Donna. Sam murmured something reassuring; he had no idea what. Josh said something in reply, and Sam strained to hear him.
In the doorway, Toby coughed.
For the second time since Josh arrived, Sam felt guilty for something he had not done. He pulled back quickly.
“Beer?” Toby offered, but a line had been drawn.
With the line, Sam had expected separation. He had thought Josh would run, or, more likely, he would wait for Toby to give him an excuse to leave. But he stayed, and Toby held back, and they found an uneasy peace in the little apartment.
It only lasted a matter of weeks. March had rushed into April, and the city was painted in garish yellows and purples as the flowers bloomed again. Winter’s cold serenity cracked, and every day there was a new reminder that time passed, and Josh was still with them both. That, more than that, Josh was still with them, but not yet a part of them. Sam and Toby had achieved equilibrium months ago; he had grown quieter to match Toby’s new silence. Sam in turn drew Toby against him with soft words; Toby did not return them, but Sam felt that they were heard. Josh’s arrival pulled their small haven out of shape. Josh didn’t know what to do with the quiet. Toby left for classes, and Sam wrote; he did not know what Josh did. But the evenings after dinner were spent in long silences, broken only by Josh fidgeting.
Toby sat upright on the couch, marking the papers spread across his lap with a red pen and a scowl. Sam lay sideways with the Times, head resting on the arm of the chair. He tucked his toes underneath Toby’s thigh to warm them and Toby stroked Sam’s ankle unconsciously.
Josh jumped from his spot on the chair and went to the computer. He clicked on the keyboard, sending e-mails as frantically as he always had before, back when he had reason to do so. Toby peered over his glasses at the desk; Sam poked his own glasses up his nose to see what was so important. When Toby turned to him, he shrugged and ignored the pointed glare.
With a sudden clatter, Josh got up. “I’m going out.”
Toby just raised his eyebrows.
“Okay?” Josh said.
“Are you asking permission?” Toby asked dryly.
“Fine,” Josh muttered. “I’ll be back... whenever.”
“Josh,” Sam said. “Key.”
“You’ll still be up.”
“Maybe not,” Toby answered. He was just doing this to be contrary.
“Take a key,” Sam corrected. He went to the kitchen and returned with the spare key. “Don’t get lost,” he said, pressing the key into Josh’s hand.
“Yeah.” Josh left, banging the door.
The vibrations echoed around the apartment. When they stopped, it finally felt as though he could breathe. Josh always seemed like he took up more space than he should, filling the air around him with hand-waving and fast words. Toby, in contrast, took up less, disappearing into the dark corners of the room. Sam did not know how they felt about his presence - if Toby had ever felt that Sam had robbed him of his hushed retreat. He had always thought that Toby would have said something, given him some sign that if he had not come for Toby, Toby would have come for Sam. Toby accepted Josh’s presence in his home as though he had expected no less, as if of course Sam would bring Josh home eventually. But Toby and Josh did not speak to each other, had not touched since long before Josh had appeared at the doorway hooded in defeat. They had been friends once, but Sam had no idea how to lure them back to each other again. Josh would not ask, and Toby would not offer, and Sam could not see a way out.
“You know we’ll never get rid of him now,” Toby said.
“What?”
“You gave him a key.”
“He’s been here a month, Toby.”
“And?”
“If you had a problem, you should have said so.”
Of course, Toby had said nothing. But he and Toby were not the same as he and Josh. They didn’t need to say anything. And they were not the men they were before. They fitted now, in a way they had never been able to in the White House. He took Toby’s hand from the forgotten papers.
They could do this part without words too. Or at least Toby could. Sam thought them, couldn’t help it, but he could hold the thoughts alone in his head if that was what Toby needed. They walked to the bedroom with Sam gripping the ends of Toby’s fingers. When Sam backed up against the bed, he tugged Toby sharply against him. He could learn to be silent if Toby would always look like that, startled back to himself, happy with a secret, because Sam loved him. And anyway there were no words for this kind of longing. He pressed his lips against Toby’s neck, ardent thanks for opening the door to him when Sam had arrived, like Josh, lost on Toby’s doorstep. They fell against the bed, Toby’s hands around Sam’s waist to slow his descent.
They had finished, mostly, just kissing lazily in the afterglow, when Sam looked up. A pair of eyes shone white in the shadow of the doorway.
Toby growled, “I told you we’d be in bed.”
Sam could see Josh’s eyes flicker shut.
“Get in and close the door,” Toby said. He rolled over with no further comment, and Sam turned to curl himself around Toby’s back.
He felt the bed dip behind him when Josh made himself move. Josh would not bring himself so close to Sam; all he felt were the brush of fingertips at the base of his spine, and how Josh’s warmth reached him through the dim night air.
*
2. Summer - In all the freshness of childhood
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer...
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
*
”Do you think we would have been friends before?” Sam asked, peering over the edge of the boat at the Atlantic.
”Before what?” Josh asked
“Before we met.”
“Before we met, you were still in college,” Josh pointed out. “I didn’t exactly make a habit of picking up college students when I was working for a member of Congress.”
Toby smiled behind his book. The ocean made Sam more fanciful than usual - all the way out of the marina the air had rung with odd hypotheticals. Josh had been patiently humouring him, just so long as Sam remembered to tell him which ropes needed to be pulled.
“No,” Sam protested, “Hypothetically...”
Josh and Toby snorted.
“Wait! Hypothetically, if we were all in high school together, would we have been friends?”
“That depends,” Josh said, smirking, “were you one of the cool kids?”
“I was skipped ahead a grade, what do you think?” Sam retorted sharply.
“Hey.” Josh threw his hands up placatingly. “I was kidding. Of course I would have liked you. As long as you’d helped me with my homework...”
Sam punched Josh’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t play dumb.”
”That’s a good point,” Josh said. “I’d still have been smarter than you. But I would have helped you with your homework.”
Sam half-heartedly punched Josh again. They laughed - mock-wrestling away from each other - younger and happier than Toby could ever remember being. He thought about Sam’s question. Sam, fourteen years old in a class of fifteen year olds, still all dark hair and blue eyes and soft-hearted passion. Josh with wild curls and a sharp tongue, already walking too fast. Josh would have taken Sam under his wing just as he had nearly ten years later in a Congressional office. They would have loved each other as little boys as fervently as they did now, protection and fidelity no matter how far apart. Sam had given his life up for Josh twice now; it had not mattered who or what the other life was. He thought of high school: Sam with his businessman father, Josh the son of a renowned lawyer, and him with his father in prison for multiple felonies. Sam’s innocent magnetism, Josh’s easy charm, and Toby, who had always been the one who was too smart and too angry, sitting in the back of the class with his hand up, and never called on.
Sam shouted at Josh to duck as something large and wooden swung dangerously.
Josh cursed and laughed even as he complied. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked when he had his breath back.
“No one but me has ever fallen off this boat,” Sam answered.
“And how many times have you taken someone on it?”
“Including this time?”
“If you want.”
“One.”
Josh turned to look over his shoulder, grinning widely. “Hear that, Toby? We’re special.”
Nodding, Toby looked back at his book. He looked up again once Josh had turned away. Sam was frowning out at the waves, a stiffness in his shoulders speaking of hurt, or hope unfulfilled, an ending of their easy joy he had not seen coming. Josh walked to him, leaning up against his side, shoulder to shoulder. Sam leant his head against Josh’s. Toby could not see where anyone else would fit into the wall they made; he saw ten-year-old heads bent together in a secret they held only for each other.
He sat and watched them, laughter against the sparkles of August sunlight on the water.
The laughter faded to silence. Sam pointed Josh towards a rope, and Toby caught the word ‘home’ in the quick exchange.
Sam came to sit beside him. Toby didn’t look up, and Sam did not press him to. “I would have liked you in school,” Sam offered quietly. “You might have scared me a little, but I would have liked you.” It was a promise, as with everything Sam said to him. Sam did not need to pledge his love to Toby; he wrote it underneath every word he spoke.
Toby knew that Sam was romanticising this into something it wasn’t. As if anyone would ever believe that destiny had wanted three middle-aged ex-politicians to end up in the same bed. Three was never the number for stories.
He walked to the side of the boat, looking at the land approaching. Josh had finished with the ropes, and came to stand uncertainly by Toby’s side. He heard Sam’s steps behind them. Sam fit his head between the two of theirs, resting his chin on their united shoulders. They stood like that, a triangle with Sam at the head, using his arms to hold them all together, whispering secrets.
*
3. Autumn - And feel an unexpected sharpness
Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.
- Thomas Wolfe
*
They had been sleeping together, for different values of ‘sleep’, for months now. To change it tonight, to retreat to the couch instead, would be to draw attention to the problem. To the fact that this little irrational part of himself was not coping well with Sam being out of the house. Sam was in DC walking through the fall leaves, going to listen to people offer him a job he wouldn’t take, but whom he owed a day’s consideration to even so. Sam was in DC, Josh was in New York with Toby, and everything was wrenched sideways. But he couldn’t tell Toby that.
So Josh stayed awake long after Toby had left for the bedroom. He had nodded a goodnight when Toby left the room, and kept typing. Nonsense rambling now, a letter to President Bartlet he would never send. But he had expected Toby to have fallen asleep by the time he eventually locked the doors and turned out the lights. If they didn’t need to talk, if he could just lie there in silence and pretend that Sam was in that space between the two of them, everything would be fine by morning. By the time the sun finally rose, late and weak on the skyline, everything would have gone back to normal. Whatever that meant.
Toby looked up when he entered the bedroom.
“I thought you were asleep,” Josh said.
Toby blinked at him, not dignifying it with an answer.
“Never mind,” Josh muttered.
He lay down in the bed where he always did, but now there was no Sam in the buffering space. Josh turned uncomfortably to face the wall. He could feel Toby’s prescient wakefulness on the other side of the bed. He turned over again, deciding that watching Toby’s back would be easier. Toby looked at him, gaze uncomfortably sharp.
Josh repeated the process a few more times, eventually ending up staring at the ceiling. He rubbed his left leg against his right, and then vice versa. When he turned around again, Toby was in the middle of the bed, watching him with a glower.
“What?” Josh asked.
Toby pulled Josh over, with as much appearance of roughness as was possible while being so careful not to startle. “Stop moving.”
“Toby...”
“Stop, Josh. Just stop. He’ll come back tomorrow. It’s okay. Just stop moving.”
Toby pushed a thumb into each of Josh’s convulsive shudders. The autumn smell of bonfires and smoke faded into cleanness and sanctuary. They slowed to a stop together.
Sam got back early in the morning, when the sunrise was just starting to pick out the russet in the leaves. Josh was lying soft and quiescent under Toby’s steadying arm, and Sam smiled.
He undressed and lifted the covers to squeeze into the space on Josh’s side. Toby stirred enough to interlace his fingers with Sam’s over Josh’s hip. Josh didn’t move until the morning.
*
4. Winter - When inner things happen
In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen,
the resurgence of nature.
- Edna O'Brien
*
Josh hadn’t been practicing for a long while, but Toby wanted the kids to have it, so they lit the lights. Sam was entranced by the little candles, huddling close to them as if they would ward off the winter cold. As it should be, he supposed, but Sam was about the least Jewish person he knew.
Then, this was Sam, for whom faithfulness was practically a watchword. Josh looked over Sam’s head to find Toby watching their lover with the same bemused affection.
“Sam, you’re not wishing on them or anything, right?” Josh asked. “Because they’re...”
“To signify a miracle,” Sam filled in. “The oil that lasted eight days. Faith that endures.”
“You’re...”
“Still not Catholic, Toby.”
“Sam.”
“I wasn’t wishing. I was giving thanks.”
“For what?”
Sam just smiled, and leant back against their knees, where both men had dropped to the floor to watch him. But if anyone was going to say it, it would have been him. Sam who was the only one of them to have called it love, although Josh knew he was not the only one to think it. Toby did not say these things at all, but Josh could see it sometimes, in the small lightness in dark eyes when they looked across a room at Sam. He turned to face Toby, and the candles made Toby’s eyes shine brown as they watched him.
The candles flickered and burnt out. Josh could hear Sam’s tiny sigh, and reached a hand around his waist. His fingers met Toby’s, and they held hands around Sam. It was Sam who moved first, wriggling around to face the two of them. He pushed their legs flat and sat with one knee between each of theirs. As if he could not decide who to kiss first, Sam settled for a loose embrace, his face pressed close to both of theirs, breathing slow and deep in the faint light from the streetlamps outside.
Josh caught the edge of Sam’s lips with his own briefly, and then kissed Toby when he turned back to face him.
Sam put one hand on each of their chests, pushing them flat on the carpet. He knelt above them, and watched when Toby turned his head to kiss Josh’s neck. When he turned back to meet the dark blue eyes, Sam’s intent concentration moved to the buttons of Toby’s shirt. He undid them slowly, running a finger along the breastbone, and down the track of hair to where it disappeared under Toby’s waistband.
Toby shivered under the attention; he turned his head away again, back to Josh. Smiling into Toby’s mouth, Josh moved his hand to meet Sam’s. He lifted Sam’s hand to the man’s own white shirt, guiding it to the tiny buttons. Sam flushed, looked down at Toby’s chest as he undid his own shirt, faster than he had done with Toby.
Reaching up to Sam’s chest, Toby stilled Sam’s hurry, slowing him back to the same lazy pace. Sam’s breathing caught, and shallowed. He slowed down, still blushing, but let them watch him.
When Sam had finished, the white shirt hung from his shoulders, and he shrugged it off, laying himself down over Toby’s body. Toby reached a hand up to find Sam’s mouth in the darkness. He pressed his thumb hard over the lips until they parted, and replaced it with his mouth. Sam moaned into him; Toby swallowed the sound and the feeling that went with it. Clever fingers found their way under Toby’s waistband, pulling and teasing. Sam’s other hand got to work on Toby’s belt, but that was hardly noticed by its owner.
Josh knelt behind Sam, who shivered and paused his ministrations on Toby. Josh ran a hand down Sam’s spine reassuringly; he felt Sam laugh and didn’t know why. Sam reached behind himself and undid one of Josh’s shirt-buttons. Getting the implication, Josh undid the rest himself, and pressed his chest into Sam’s back. Sam leant back into him, sighing contentedly even as he finally freed Toby and wrapped his fingers around him. Sam is skin-hungry, has always been, and Josh does not know why it is that Sam will give and take affection so freely but does not realise himself to be beautiful. He cannot comprehend how Sam ever got to be skin-hungry when all Josh ever wants to do is touch him. Toby’s wrist and Josh’s hand met somewhere on Sam’s arm, and Josh knows that Toby feels the same.
Josh worked his fingers down the back of Sam’s jeans and was not surprised exactly, but thankful nonetheless, that Sam moved to accommodate him. How Sam does not consider himself exposed here - leaning forward, letting Josh’s fingers enter him - and yet blushes at their arousal when he undoes his shirt... Josh made the necessary mental shrug, and reached inside the pocket of the jeans he had not yet removed.
Somewhere in front of him, Toby had started to take a more active role, getting a hand between himself and Sam. They hit the same rhythm, rocking together; it made the angles get complicated, but Josh didn't really care that much. He persuaded slippery fingers to work his belt and fly; Sam laughed again and pressed back against him.
He and Toby climaxed together, Sam a half-second after them, and Josh suspects that Sam has dragged Toby out to make this happen. He’ll probably need to make that up to Toby at some point. Cleaning them all up won't suffice, but he does it anyway - all Sam had managed was to drape himself bonelessly on top of Toby. When they were mostly wiped off, Josh dropped himself to the floor, rolling under Sam a little to line his body up with Toby’s. Sam’s legs fell down between Josh and Toby’s, but his upper body now lay equally on both their chests. He turned his head sideways and laid it under Toby’s collarbone.
Josh ran a hand down Toby’s side, letting it rest on the curve where his hip meets his stomach. Sam stretched an arm over Josh, ghosting his fingers over the scar, as he always did. Toby curled one arm up to hold Sam securely where he was; with his other hand he ran fingers through the curls at the nape of Josh’s neck, Josh leant towards him and rested his head in the curve Toby’s arm made.
Josh and Toby fall asleep lying there. They will be cursing Sam’s name in the morning for letting them, and Sam knows this. He laughs again, and this time Toby is not awake to glare at him for amusement while they’re having sex. Toby did not seem to understand that Sam is just surprised, every time, that they are all still here. The miracle that he is happy, that Josh is protected, and that Toby is at ease lying here with the two of them, all at once. Sam suspected that they didn’t mind as much as they protested anyway. He is just content knowing that he will wake up between the two of them, groaning at him for their back-aches. Sam pushed himself into the narrow gap in the middle they have not quite left. Josh rolled to the side slightly, and Toby’s palm now cradled his head. Another complaint Toby will have in the morning that he will only mean a little. Sam lay between them and stared at the ceiling.
Outside the air was clean and crisp, the winter winds bringing smells of snow and ice from far away. Soon it would be March again, and the pinpricks of green would make their way through hardened earth. An anniversary none of them would mention, so as not to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing. Sam took Josh’s left arm and Toby’s right, and crossed them over his heart. He closed his eyes and dreamt of enduring miracles, and flowers in the snow.
Fin. Thoughts?