Sebastian Stan Short Stories

TJ Hammond [3]

"Well crap"

Post series end, little to no spoilers

No connections to any previous TJ stories.

*

I woke up squinting, hungry, exhausted, and very, very hungover. I stretched out as best as I could and felt something slide across my waist as I rolled under the sheets. Something muscular, with fingers that were gripping my hip gently and pulling me towards the center of the bed.

So it was that kind of night, I thought to myself. Well, let's see what the damage is. Maybe I know him.

I sat up under the weight of the arm, forcing it into a weird angle and making its owner roll from his stomach to his back to correct the problem. He was shirtless, probably as naked as I was, and fit. His arms were dotted with tract marks, some quite old and abandoned, others maybe only a year old. But there were no fresh ones, thank God.

As I skimmed over his abs and chest and after taking a detour down his arms, I finally looked at his face. Even while sleeping I knew that face. I had seen that face quite regularly on TV for the past fifteen years or more. TJ Hammond. I had slept with the President's son. I had been drunk and slept with the President's son. I had been drunk and slept with the President's gay son.

Well crap.

He began to stir and I began to panic. Unfortunately, panic pinned me down, and I just sat there awkwardly staring at him as he woke up.

"Good morning," he said groggily in a rough morning voice. He pulled his arm off my stomach, purposefully trailing his fingers over my skin, and stretched the way I had.

"Good morning," I mimicked. Did I sound perky? Too perky? Could he tell I was freaking out internally?

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he noticed. He rolled into my side, wrapping an arm around my waist more consciously and nearly toppling me back against the mattress. "What's going on in your head?"

"I had drunk sex with the President's gay son," I whispered, staring straight ahead. Why did I think a mirror would be a good idea for the wall at the foot my bed? I looked like I felt. Kind of pale with abnormally pink cheeks, sex hair, a hungry grimace.

"I was drunk too," he said. "Well sort of. It's the only addictive substance I'm allowing myself, so I paid the bartender to cut me off after three drinks."

"You must be a light weight," I said flatly. He chuckled and sat up halfway, using his elbow to support his chin. His free hand began tracing patterns on my thigh through the sheets.

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know how much you remember of last night, but I have a different set of, uh, parts than what I assumed you'd be attracted to," I explained.

"Oh, yeah. I guess that could be confusing," he conceded. He sat up completely, sitting cross-legged and keeping everything below his waist covered up. He reached for one of my hands, and I let him take it. "I enjoyed last night though. I do remember it."

"So do I," I told him, finally turning my head to look at him. "I'm a weird sort of lightweight. Drunk enough not to recognize you as TJ freaking Hammond, but not drunk enough to forget what was a very nice night."

"You're taking this well," he noted.

"So are you bi?"

"Honestly?" he asked, thinking to himself it seemed. "I guess I'd say so. Being gay and loving breasts kind of sucks. Normally I only get to see them in threesomes."

"Good God, what have a gotten myself into?" I mumbled. TJ heard me and began to laugh softly.

"If we're on the same page, you totally got into heaven. I know I did," he told me. He smiled that same crooked grin that had made him so beloved when his father was in the White House. There was more age on his face now, in the form of faint lines around his mouth and maturity in his eyes.

"Well, I guess I'm glad I could help you out," I joked lamely. TJ leaned forward as I turned to look at him and gently kissed me again. Even though it was a short kiss, it was far clearer than most of last night's kissing. Clear enough that I realized I should cut it off.

"What is it?" he asked knowingly. He kept running his free hand down my spine in the most distracting way.

"Why are you still here, TJ?"

"I didn't want an early morning," he tried, the last word lilting into a higher pitch like it was a question. I rolled my eyes, and he went again. "I forgot to leave?"

"And here I thought you were a decent actor," I joked. "What's the real reason? Come on."

He was quiet while he thought, even going so far as to stop touching my back.

"I did enjoy last night," he began without looking at me. He was staring at some fold in the sheets. "Normally, after one of these nights, I would have let myself out and made sure you didn't have my number. There was something different about last night. So I stayed."

"You would've gone through my phone and deleted your number?" I asked. He began smiling and chuckling softly as he realized which point I had grasped onto.

"Probably not," he said. "But I've done it before."