Title: Role Reversal
Author: Nomi (gnomi@world.std.com)
Archive: Sure, just tell me where
Part: 1/1
Codes: J/S
Rating: NC-17
Series: Here's the (most likely) last story in the specific arc I started with "Test of Strength." Every time I think I've written the last bit of it, something new comes to me...oh, well...
Notes: Lots of people get credit for bits of this one. Kathie suggested some of the attire, Roo poked me at the right time, Alethia put up with my random ramblings, and Amber was the cheering section. The writing couldn't and wouldn't have happened without them. Past stories in this universe of mine can be found at http://world.std.com/~gnomi/stories.html .
Warning(?): Do I need a warning about Confused!Josh and Dominant!Sam (yes, you read that right - Dominant!Sam)?

Role Reversal by Nomi

When I got to the office, there was a mysterious package on my chair. Donna denied all knowledge of who might have sent it, saying only that a courier from Marc Jefferies had brought it over. At first, I thought she'd said "Mark Jeffries," and I wracked my brains trying to figure out which sub-director of what agency Mark Jeffries was and what he'd be sending me. After a minute, though, my brain kicked in. Marc Jefferies is a men's clothing store on L, and it wasn't unheard of for me to shop there, but I hadn't been there in months. I couldn't think of anything I'd purchased there on-order. Anyway, why would they deliver to me here at work? The security procedures alone are enough to keep anyone from making unnecessary deliveries to the West Wing.

But there was no denying the fact that there was a Marc Jefferies package sitting on my desk chair. A bit hesitantly, I opened the outer wrapping. Taped to the top of the box inside was an envelope with my name on it. I hoped the note would give me some clue as to who sent the package, so I quickly tore open the envelope. Inside was a sheet of white paper with the message "Put these on" - unsigned, no doubt typed by some store flunky. So no clue there, either.

Then I opened the package and immediately knew its source.

No one but Sam would send me black silk boxers.

I pulled the shorts out of their tissue-paper nest and held them up to admire them. I love the feel of silk against my skin, which explains why I - even before I was involved with Sam - had many more sets of silk sheets than a government employee should be able to afford. There's something inherently sensuous about silk...and just thinking of wearing the silk boxers was turning me on.

Another note fell out when I lifted the boxers: "Wear these and think of me."

As if I had any other choice. Sam was away with the President for the day - some fly-in/fly-out meeting like the one to Portland back in November. Again, President Bartlet had taken a large proportion of the Communications staff, leaving the rest of us to fend off the press corps - as much as we possibly could. The plane had left Andrews early in the morning; I had no idea how Sam had arranged for this delivery, but I wasn't gonna question it...or Sam's motives.

So I went into the bathroom, traded my conventional cotton boxers for the silks, and went about the business of my day. If anyone noticed that I was a bit more jumpy today - hey, you wear silk provided by your lover against _your_ cock all day long and see how jumpy _you_ get - no one mentioned it. Sam's note had been on the money - I couldn't stop thinking about him all day.

Not that he's ever far from my thoughts.

By 8 PM, I had done all the immediate work I had to accomplish plus a number of tasks that I had been avoiding for some time. I recognized the busywork as the delaying tactic that it was, but I couldn't face spending the whole night alone at home. I had no idea when Sam would be back - all he'd told me was "late" - but by 8 I had rearranged all my files, put together a pile of things for Donna, and had run out of time-wasting tasks.

I considered going down to the mess for dinner, but I remembered that we were still eating remnants of a recent cooking binge of mine and felt guilty about ignoring the perfectly good food in our freezer.

So finally I went home, microwaved some dinner, and settled myself in front of the television to rot my brain. CJ had announced a full lid before she left, so I figured there was nothing I would gain by watching CNN, and C-SPAN just reminded me of all the meetings I'd had to deal with recently. Instead, I watched a couple of old movies and then, at 11, switched over to CSC to get the day's sports report.

I was dozing off as the end-credits rolled at midnight when I felt lips at the back of my neck.

"Welcome home," I said as I began to shift to face Sam.

My attempt to turn around was stymied by the hand resting firmly on the top of my head.

"Shh, J. Let me be first for once." As I struggled to parse that statement, Sam started kissing my neck, along my hairline, behind my ears. When he'd kissed every inch of skin that he could reach, he took his hand off my head.

"_Now_ you can turn around," he said, and I stood up and turned to face Sam.

And almost fell over from shock.

"Tell..." I looked at Sam again and lost contact with my brain's language centers. After another quick perusal, I closed my eyes in order to focus my thoughts and started again. "Tell me you didn't wear that on the trip."

'Cause what Sam was wearing was enough to have me picking my tongue up off the floor...and I didn't want him looking like that in front of anyone else. I had no idea Sam's taste in clothing ran to this - impossibly tight leather pants and the most magnificent hunter-green collarless silk shirt. I took another moment to just look at him...'cause if I had my way, he wasn't going to be wearing it for long.

"What, this?" Sam said, gesturing up and down his body. Naturally, my eyes followed the path of his hand. "Nah...I changed into it in my office right before I came home." He smiled. "The only people who saw me were a couple of agents and the cabbie. Didn't think you'd want me walking home in this."

"Damn straight," I said, walking around the sofa to stand behind Sam. He turned again so we were facing each other, and I put out a hand to stroke the sleeve of his shirt.

But Sam was quicker, and he put out his hand to block my arm.

"Nope," he said. "It's my turn."

He leaned down and kissed me hard on the lips. When I reached out with my tongue to try to deepen the kiss, he pulled back.

"I said _no_, Josh," Sam said. "You're gonna give up some of that control tonight." Then he dipped his head back down and kissed me again, this time tracing my lips with his tongue until I opened for him. Once I did, he took his time exploring the heat of my mouth, using his tongue to find every nook and cranny he could find. I tried to move my hands up to Sam's shoulders, but he grabbed my wrists. He held them at my sides as he continued his oral maneuvers.

This was a new experience for me - not being in control of our pleasure - and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I've been told on a number of occasions that I have a natural urge to try to control every situation, and the bedroom was no exception. But tonight I was going to have to trust, to relinquish the control I hold so dear. And I was relinquishing it to the one I hold so dear.

Sam continued to kiss me, placing light kisses all over my face. When he'd kissed every inch of skin, he let go of my hands and backed up a step.



"Bed. Now." Sam propelled me toward the bedroom with a firm hand on my shoulder. Even if I weren't willing to go where he wanted me to, the sheer forcefulness Sam was exhibiting would've compelled me.

As soon as we got to the bedroom, Sam steered me toward the bed. He pushed me gently into a seated position on the edge of the bed, then started unbuttoning my shirt. As he proceeded, he brushed the sleeve of his shirt against any newly-exposed skin, raising goosebumps along my arm and putting the rest of my body on high alert. I shivered as he ran the silk along my nipples, and Sam whispered soothingly to me. "Hold on, J."

When I was stripped to the waist, Sam asked, "Did you wear them like I told you?" When I didn't answer immediately, Sam unzipped my pants and pulled them down around my hips, baring the black silk to his gaze.

"Did they make you hard?" he whispered.

I nodded.

"Good," Sam said.

He stood me back up and shoved my pants down until I could step out of them, but he left the boxers in place. The feel of the silk against my already-oversensitized body was almost unbearable.

And then Sam pulled me against him. He was still fully dressed...in the leather and silk. My body went on sensory overload and I gasped.

"That good?" Sam whispered in my ear, rubbing his silk-clad chest against my bare skin.

"Yeah," I managed to choke out.

"It's about to get better," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

I reached out to start unbuttoning Sam's pants, but he pushed my hand away. "Do I have to tie your hands back to get you not to use them?" he asked me. I couldn't tell whether he was actually going to do it, but he sounded serious.

I clasped my hands in my lap, not wanting Sam to stop what he was doing just because I couldn't control my desire to touch him.

When he'd finished taking off his shirt, Sam walked back to me.


"Yeah?" I whispered.

"I'm gonna take you places you've never been." He took my hands out of my lap and lifted them to his chest. "Now you can touch me, but only where I tell you." I started doodling with my fingers around the firm muscles of his chest, but every time I approached any of the areas I knew drove him crazy, Sam said no. I've become so used to being the one in charge, the one in control, that this lack of control was simultaneously frustrating and stimulating. Not knowing which direction this encounter was going to go provided another level of stimulation I wasn't sure Sam had intended.

After a couple of minutes, Sam grasped my elbows and pulled me back up onto my feet. He stepped back a bit then, with a very familiar gesture, indicated that I should turn around for him. I pivoted slowly, allowing him time to peruse my body, then turned back around to face him.

"Very nice," Sam said. "I knew they'd look good on you." He stepped back toward me again. "Now let's see how they look on the floor." Before I had much of an opportunity to absorb that, Sam was shoving the boxers off my hips and down my legs until they puddled at my feet and I could step out of them.

Between Sam's actions and the feel of the silk, I was beyond turned on. I'd been hard for so much of the day that it was bordering on painful.

And Sam didn't fail to notice my predicament. He reached out one finger to trace the tip of my cock head. "I'll get to this, J, I promise," Sam said. He placed one hand on each side of my face and pulled me in for a long, deep kiss. The feel of the leather of Sam's pants against my bare legs was too much and not enough at the same time - too much stimulation, but not enough contact with Sam himself.

"Sam...love...I need..." I couldn't articulate exactly what I needed.

"Shh," Sam said. "I know, I know." Sam kneeled down and took my cock into his mouth. While Sam on his knees is usually a sign of his submission, tonight everything was different. The fact that he was dressed and I was naked put the power in his hands. I now understood some of what he felt when I had him wait naked for me while I stayed clothed.

It was daunting to know just how much control Sam usually put in my hands. It was also humbling. But my brain wasn't functioning all that well as Sam continued to lick and nibble and suck at his own pace. I let my head fall backwards as Sam brought me to the edge then stopped.

It took me a minute to reconnect to my senses and to coordinate my muscles enough that I could look at Sam. "Uh..."

Sam looked up at me from his position on the floor.

"Do you trust me, Josh?"

It was a question I've asked him innumerable times, often before I try something we've never done before.

"Yes," I responded without hesitation.

"You know you can tell me to stop whenever you want, right?" Sam asked.

I nodded my head, wondering slightly why my typical questions to Sam were being asked of me.

Sam reached up with his right hand, but instead of touching me, he stuck his index finger into his mouth. He sucked on his finger for a moment, all the while maintaining eye contact, then withdrew it. Watching me closely, Sam spoke once more.

"Are you ready?"

I didn't know what for, but I nodded anyway.

Again Sam took my cock in his mouth. As before, he varied the action of his tongue along my shaft, around the head, moving in a pattern known only by Sam. Just as I was relaxing into the moment, I felt Sam's hand on the back of my thigh. It rested there for a brief moment, then continued up to my ass. Sam ran his knuckles along the curve of one ass cheek then the other. I moaned at the intensity of the feeling.

Sam must've taken the sound for the encouragement that it was, 'cause he began to circle with one damp finger around the outside of my asshole. With his other hand, Sam pushed at my ankle until I spread my legs as far as I could without compromising my balance. When my body was positioned to his liking, Sam started working that one rogue finger up between my cheeks again...

And deep into my body. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, and Sam immediately froze in place. I managed to rasp "No...don't stop..." before Sam could pull away. For a moment, Sam held his hand completely still as I acclimated myself to the new sensations. Then, as I began to relax around him, he gently began to move his finger.

This time it was I - not Sam - who was moaning uncontrollably, a mantra of nonsense and earthy swears fueled by my passion. The louder I moaned, the faster Sam moved his finger, until the sensations became too much.

"Oh...God...Sam...fuck...SAAAAAAAAAM!" I almost screamed myself hoarse as I came. In the aftermath, I was so insensate that I didn't feel Sam removing his finger. Were it not for Sam's hands coming up to grip my hips, I would've fallen over. When my head cleared enough for me to move, I looked down at Sam.

"You like?" Sam asked, pulling himself up off the floor.

"Ungh," I responded eloquently.

"You ready for what comes next?"

I nodded, not trusting my ability to form real words.

Sam eased me back onto the bed. "Lie back a sec, J. Relax and watch." I shifted back onto the bed, my head up toward the headboard, and propped myself up on my elbows so that I had a clear view of Sam. Once he saw that I was properly situated, he moved his hands down to the button closure of his pants. My eyes were riveted on his fingers as they slowly worked the button through the button hole. When the button was free, Sam moved his fingers to the zipper pull and lingered there for a moment. Then, with a minute swivel of his hips, Sam began to lower his zipper.

When his hard, unfettered cock sprang free, I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

And again I had to pick my jaw up off the floor - I had never thought of Sam going commando.

Sam slowly eased the leather down his long legs, seeming to draw out the process for my enjoyment. When finally the pants were at his ankles, he stepped out of them and came over to the bed, standing on what has become "my" side of the bed. Sam opened the bedside table drawer and removed a tube of lube, then climbed into bed and sat down next to me.

"We should move some of this to my drawer," Sam said almost off-handedly, gazing at the tube in his hand as he uncapped it.

"Hmm," I responded, not wanting to interrupt whatever Sam was thinking and planning.

It wasn't often that I got to see the "preparation" stage from this vantage point. I knew by now that for tonight - and perhaps only tonight, depending on Sam's wishes - I'd be catching and Sam would be pitching, and I couldn't honestly recall any time in our slightly more than year-old relationship that we'd done so. I'm naturally dominant, and Sam enjoys the submissive role so much that he rarely wishes to top. But tonight he seemed to be in a mood, one that I'd have to ask him about...after. Definitely after.

'Cause at the moment, Sam was re-capping the lube and setting it aside.

"J?" Sam asked.


"You're gonna need...I'm gonna have to..." This was the first sign of nerves I'd seen from Sam since he found me on the sofa.

"Yeah," I said, leaning back on the bed and drawing my knees up and apart. Sam crawled over and kneeled between my legs. He paused, looking down at me.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"Definitely...are you?"

"I am now," he responded. Without another word, Sam reached out and eased one finger back into me.

"You're really tight," he said, moving his finger in and out slowly. "I'll be gentle..." He continued to take his time, slowly stretching me until I could accommodate all four of his slick fingers.

I was very aware of the proceedings. It wasn't painful, but I hadn't been on the receiving end since Angel, and Sam is very well endowed. Sam was using his right hand on my cock and balls, almost as if to distract me from what his other hand was doing.

"Shh..." Sam said when I whimpered. "Relax..." He leaned forward and kissed me, this time allowing me to deepen the kiss when I reached out with my tongue. I felt his fingers withdrawing, and then I felt his cock head pressing against me.

I pulled my knees back against my chest as Sam began thrusting slowly forward. As I felt him advance, I hooked my legs around the small of Sam's back, silently encouraging him to continue. His movements, though gentle, were in no way tentative, and as I became more accustomed to being filled, Sam reached forward and took my cock in his still-slick hand.

We're usually very vocal in bed, but this time the silence was broken only by the sound of our breathing, which became increasingly ragged as Sam pumped into me. We communicated totally by touch and movement until I knew I couldn't hold on much longer. I couldn't stay quiet, either.

"Oh...ah...Sam...oh, God..." OK, so I'm not a gifted orator while being fucked senseless, but Sam seemed to understand. He increased the pace of his thrusts, all the time mumbling between kisses.

"Josh...thank you...love you..."

After we came - Sam deep inside of me and me all over Sam's chest - I was concerned by the look on Sam's face. As we held each other - ignoring the wet spot, ignoring the stickiness - after Sam withdrew and rolled us onto our sides, I reached up and cupped Sam's face in my hands.

"Sam? Love? What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he responded. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me...for allowing me to show you that I've got as much strength, as much power, in here as I do in the office."

"Where'd this come from?" I was truly baffled.

"You seem to feel that I need to be protected, that I need to be cared for. Especially since I got sick. But I needed you to know that I'm fine, that I'm gonna be fine."

He was right - for all that he'd said that he was going to be fine, I hadn't really had faith in his recovery. But he'd found a way to begin to convince me.

We lay there, contemplating the universe and our place in it - or at least I was; Sam, for all I knew, might have been contemplating a snack.

"Love," I said after a couple of minutes, breaking the silence.


"Y'wanna convince me again?"


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