The enclosed office air smells of coffee and sex.

In the dimly lit space, two figures entwine beside a blinded window that looks out to the White House parking lot.

Hungry lips locked in a fervent embrace, seeking solace from the other's feel and touch and taste. Skin flushed and hair ruffled. Hands moving steadily through a sea of unbuttoned shirts, half knotted ties and frantic movements like predators hunting for their preys.

With needful urgency, the two bodies crush into each other. Velvety whispers melt into soft sighs dissolve into muffled moans, as they become a single mass of senses and needs and desires, rocking to a rhythm as familiar as heartbeats, driving to the release so close within their grasps. When it finally comes, the two men groan deep into their kiss, as pleasure floods out all existence, reducing them to nothing but the most sensual basics.

For a long moment after, no sound is made but their rapid breathing, as the men collapse against the wall in a trembling embrace. Their eyes closed and their sated bodies still. They simply exist in this perfect moment of contentment.

Until it is broken by a loud knock on the door.

"Josh! Matt Skinner's on line 6. Something about Bill 273." Donna's voice muffled by the closed door.

"Yeah." Josh reluctantly lifts his forehead away from Sam's shoulder, but he stays, trapping Sam between his body and the wall. "Tell him I'll call back in five minutes."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going home."

"Go then. It's not like I can stop you anyway."

"Not a chance, Josh. Good night, Sam! Have a good trip!"

"Goodnight, Donna."

Stillness once again settles in the room.

"When is Air Force One leaving?" Josh finally asks. His finger lazily traces along Sam's collarbone.

"Ten forty-five. Another fifty minutes." The speechwriter answers, his eyes still closed.

"You should get ready."

"Yeah."

"But then I'll have to move. I don't want to move."

"Me neither."

"'kay."

"Give me another minute. Or two."

"'Kay."