Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time they had sex after reaching an understanding in Ben’s study, everything was different. Apparently, Ben’s definition of “starting slow” didn’t mean starting from zero. They picked things up where they’d left them off, but it was all so new that they might as well have been at the beginning. Somehow, Mike didn’t mind that. It was like a second chance. A do over, albeit a fucking complicated do over that could (and probably would) blow up in their faces, but what the hell? Mike had never played it safe and Asher, in his own way, was proving that he was as much of a daredevil.

Still, what Mike remembered most about that first time, aside from the stunning comfort of Ben’s bed (they actually had sex in Ben’s bed), was the tenderness of it all. The encounter was as far removed as possible from the quick suck and fuck of their early days. While that didn’t mean that every time was rough, now there was permission to linger and to explore. Not that Mike needed to explore. He knew every inch of Ben’s body, every secret scar, every sensitive spot. But if Mike were the type to feel embarrassment, he might’ve flushed at how attentive Ben had been that night, how he was almost worshipful. Mike had always thought of Ben as a considerate lover (he hoped that he was too), but even this was on a whole other level.

It wasn’t just the sex this time. There was also the afterglow of post-coital bliss. They lounged around in bed, instead of dressing quickly and heading off to wherever they usually needed to go. Still, Mike kept them to a regimented schedule, both to Ben’s immense amusement and chagrin. That night’s reason for Mike’s unexpected visit had been particularly convincing since there was a stack of important paperwork that Asher had conveniently forgot to give to him at the end of the day. So Mike had turned up at the residence a little after dinner and the agent on duty had teased him about working overtime. “When the President calls,” Mike had replied with a wave of his hand as he’d driven inside. They had a drink in the study before discreetly sneaking into the bedroom. By the time Mike left, it was still so early that Connor had managed to corral him in the hallway on his way out, eventually dragging Mike into his room to show him something from school.

But before Mike had left, he’d sat at the side of the President’s bed as he’d dressed. “Calling it a night?” he’d asked, as he buttoned his shirt.

“Still have stuff to do,” Ben had answered, but didn’t at all look like he was going to do anything about that. “Hey,” he’d said as Mike was putting on his socks. “Thanks for coming over.”

Mike had grinned to himself. “When the President asks for a booty call, how am I supposed to refuse?” Mike had expected to hear Ben’s amused chuckle but when his joke was met with silence, he’d glanced behind him. Asher was sitting up, a slight look of concern across his face.

“This was more than just sex,” he’d said, as though Mike needed reminding.

“Yes,” Mike had confirmed, slinging his left arm about Ben’s body so that he’d effectively trapped the other man. “This was more than just sex, you big sap.”

Ben had exhaled lightly and then the smile that spread across his face was warm. He’d reached over and fixed Mike’s collar before running his hands down Mike’s shirt. “Don’t suppose there’s any way I could convince you to stay the night?” he’d cajoled.

“There’d be no way to explain that, Mr. President,” Mike had replied. “Whereas a fifty-five minute visit is within reason.”

“Fifty-five minutes?” Ben had teased, as Mike got back to dressing.

“Fifty-five minutes,” Mike had repeated, not taking the bait.

Ben had sighed dramatically when Mike stood up and put his jacket back on. “Guess there’s more to look forward to when I step down from office,” he’d commented.

Mike had glanced back at him, this time deciding to take the bait. “Such as?” he’d inquired.

“Waking up next to you in the morning.”

Mike had resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead shaking his head in bemusement. “Should’ve guessed you were a closet romantic,” he’d replied.

Ben had the good grace not to deny it. “Good night, Mike,” he’d said.

“Good night, sir.”

After that first night, they slipped into a familiar routine. As before, nothing was outwardly different and their professional veneer remained intact. But as the first month went by, it was difficult not to notice the President’s exceedingly good humor and the murmurings of his staff had begun. Ever attuned to his surroundings, Mike decided that a word with Asher was in order. During particularly tedious meetings, it had become standard for Ben to casually wander to where Mike was stationed if he needed a bit of a breather. It was at one of these moments, in a non-common area so that there was no audio surveillance, that Asher stood overlooking a window with Mike positioned on his right, facing the entrance. They were alone when Mike quietly said, “You’ve been too happy.”

Asher gave him a sideways glance. “The President of the United States can’t be happy?” he asked in return.

“It’s not that,” Mike replied. “It’s the particular type of happiness.”

“What type would that be?”

“The type that gets people’s tongues wagging.”

Ben’s look told him to elaborate and so Mike did.

“It’s the dopey kind of happy,” Mike explained. “The hearts and chocolates kind of happy that makes people think you’re in love.”

“That’s because I am.”

The dagger glare that Mike shot the President at that moment was priceless. Coming from any other agent, it was the sort of reaction that guaranteed said agent would have to look for new employment. But in Mike’s case, all he did was mutter the word ‘asshole’ as the grin on Ben’s face grew wider.

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Agent Mitchell. “Sir, the Trade Minister is ready to proceed,” he informed Asher.

“Thank you, Stephen,” Asher replied, giving Mitchell a nod to dismiss him. “I’ll be right in.”

Mike fell into step beside the President as they walked to the door.

“Dinner later?” Ben asked so softly that anyone near them would have strained to hear his words.

“7:00pm, sir,” Mike replied. Just as they reached the doorway, he purposefully fell a step behind Asher to act as his escort. “And get that grin off your face,” he added, before they stepped outside.

It was Ben’s idea to have dinner at least once a week and turn it into a sort of stay-in date night. (Mike made sure that said dinner was almost never on the same day, and not on the agents’ poker night.) Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that these stay-in date nights were a bust because Connor was always thrilled to have Mike around and their private dinners were transformed into pseudo-family dinners. At first, Mike wasn’t sure how to feel about this since his presence seemed to be a direct intrusion into what he considered to be Ben’s personal time with Connor, and Ben had so little of that to begin with. But Ben was clearly pleased with the situation. He even seemed to be cultivating it, trying to get Mike and Connor to spend more time together when possible. Connor had always been close to Mike, had always been very open with him. In many ways Mike was Connor’s confidant, especially with things he didn’t feel like he could talk about with his parents, even when Margaret Asher had been alive. Sometimes there were just some things he preferred to talk about with Mike. Like girls, a topic that came up one evening at the dinner table.

“You’re asking Mike about girls?” Ben had interrupted.

Connor had a “Well, duh” look on his face.

“What about me? You don’t think I’ve got game?”

Connor looked between his dad and Mike and finally said, “Sure you’ve got game, Dad.”

“But you’re saying that Mike’s got more game?”

“Obviously.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because he’s Mike.”

Mike could only laugh in response.

When Connor eventually left the table to go cram for his exams, Mike commented, “I’m surprised you’re not more concerned that he’s asking about girls, instead of . . . y’know . . . where the advice comes from.”

“He’s at that age,” Ben said with a slight what-can-you-do shrug. “You’re not going to lead him astray, right?” he asked, semi-seriously.

“I’m not exactly the fountain of knowledge when it comes to women,” Mike said.

Ben laughed. “Connor will eventually figure that out,” he agreed. He looked at Mike thoughtfully. “Connor really looks up to you. He trusts you.”

“It’s hero worship,” Mike replied. “That fades with time. And age,” he added.

“It’s more than that,” Ben said, a slight note of reprimand in his voice, as he refilled Mike’s wine glass.

Mike’s gaze flicked to the other man but he didn’t comment, choosing instead to drink his wine.

“I want to tell him,” Ben stated in the silence that followed.

Ben didn’t even have to specify to what he was referring because Mike was already choking on his wine. He remembered Ben’s abrupt statement about Kamran Barkawi in Ben’s study and wondered if the other man was making a habit of ambushing him while he was drinking. The bastard.

“I thought you said we were going slow,” Mike reminded him when he could speak again.

“Does Connor count?”

“Probably more than anybody else.” Mike leaned forward. “There’s a big leap between having dinner with your dad’s best buddy and your dad’s boyfriend.”

Ben absently swirled the wine in his glass. “Did you see that study about children raised by same-sex parents?” he asked after a while. He didn’t give Mike time to answer but kept right on going. “Its findings showed that children didn’t see anything different or wrong about having parents of the same sex as long as they were loved and cared for. It’s society at large that conditions children to think differently, to assign positive or negative values.”

“Connor’s a smart kid,” Mike agreed. “And I’m not saying that he’ll see us as ‘wrong’ or even ‘different.’” He sighed. “I’m just saying that with everything that’s happened it’s a lot to wrap his head around.”

“And I’m saying that Connor is a highly adaptable kid who loves you and already sees you as part of the family.”

Mike had nothing to say to that. He wasn’t about to disagree with Ben or admit that he felt the same way about Connor.

The silence that fell between them was contemplative, each of them wondering how best to handle the Connor situation. They didn’t reach an agreement that night but neither of them saw that as a drawback. It was a little later when Ben pushed Mike down on to the bed that he said, “There was one thing Connor got wrong.”

“What’s that?” Mike asked, reaching for Ben’s belt buckle and undoing it.

“I do have more game than you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ben’s grin was smug as he leaned down to kiss the other man. “I bagged you, didn’t I?”

The Connor dilemma (To Tell or Not To Tell?) resolved itself in the most unlikely of circumstances. Mike had had a clusterfuck of a day. He’d been against the charity golf tournament from the start, but Ben had set his mind on it. The golf course was apparently legendary or some shit.

“You’re the President,” Mike had told him. “You could get a private round of golf if you just asked.”

“That’s not the point,” Ben had replied. “It’s for charity.”

Stubborn bastard. What kind of sport was golf anyway?

The security was a headache, but Mike had managed because he always did. What he hadn’t counted on – what no one had counted on while contingency plans had been drawn up – was the possibility that the President would get beaned on the head by an errant golf ball from an adjacent fairway. What the fuck? The only person who was having a worse day than Mike was Jason Zillo, the White House Press Secretary. Mike did not envy Jason’s position. The media was going to have a field day with this – everyone from CNN to TMZ.

Mike was waiting for Connor at the hospital where Ben was being kept overnight for observation. Asher’s tests had come back negative and he’d put up a fight about being released and allowed to recuperate at home until Mike had entered the room. One glare from his Agent-in-Charge and Ben had relented. He’d already caused Mike enough grief for one day.

“Mike!”

Mike turned around just in time to see Connor walking towards him. He signaled to the two agents that had accompanied Connor that he’d take over from them. He was standing by the water cooler outside the President’s room as Connor approached. Mike quickly drank the paper cup of water that he was holding before Connor reached him.

“Crazy day, huh?” Connor said with a grin.

“Crazier than most,” Mike agreed. “Your dad’s fine. The docs just want to observe him overnight.”

“Yeah, that’s what all the news outlets are saying.”

“News outlets?” Mike repeated, slinging an arm about Connor’s shoulders as they headed towards Ben’s room. “You mean Entertainment Tonight?”

Connor’s grin grew wider in reply. “We’re never gonna let him forget this, are we?”

“No way.”

Ben visibly brightened when the two of them entered his room.

“Hey, Dad,” Connor said, stopping by his dad’s bed. “Always knew you had a hard head. Now we have medical proof.”

“Ha, ha,” Ben replied dryly, but his smile was warm. “I guess you’re on Mike’s side on this one.”

“Golf’s a stupid game.”

“Heathens, both of you.”

“Are you getting out tomorrow?”

“First thing.”

“Can I stay with Mike tonight?”

“He’s the boss.”

“Mike?”

“We’ll stay at the hotel tonight and then meet up with your dad in the morning.”

“How about dinner?”

“Ordered your favorite chicken burrito.”

“Oh, great,” Ben said. “So you two get chicken burritos while I have to eat hospital food?”

“That’s what happens when you get beaned in the head with a golf ball,” Mike replied.

Mike made one more sweep of the Presidential Suite of the hotel before he knocked on Connor’s door.

“It’s open!” came the yell from inside.

“All good?” Mike inquired from the doorway.

Connor was already in bed, a video game console in his hand. He looked up. “All good,” he confirmed.

“I’ll be two doors down,” Mike told him, about to bid Connor good night.

“Mike?”

When Mike glanced back, Connor had put the video game down and was sitting up a bit straighter in bed.

“You got a moment?”

“Sure.” Mike shut the door behind him as he stepped into the room. He pulled over one of the chairs in the room and placed it beside Connor’s bed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Dad.”

“He’s gonna be totally fine. Hopefully, I won’t be accompanying him to any golf courses for a while.”

“How about accompanying us to a ballgame on the 4th?”

“Is that what you want to do?” Mike hadn’t forgotten that the 4th of July weekend was coming up in two weeks. Of course, Ben would have official duties to attend to, but a ballgame was workable. Difficult, but not impossible. Even patriotic. “It’ll take some juggling but I can make that work.”

“So, you’ll come with us to the game?”

“Of course, I’m always there.”

Connor shook his head. “No, I mean you’ll take the day off and come with us to the game?”

Huh.

Mike was surprised by the question and he knew that it showed on his face. He sat back in his seat, shaking his head. Ambushed again. Like father, like son.

“Did your dad say something to you?” Mike asked, after what felt like a long while.

Connor shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “But I can tell.”

“Really?”

“He’s different.”

“Is it the dopey happiness? ‘Cos I’ve warned him about that.”

“No,” Connor said with a laugh. “He isn’t really dopey at home. It’s more . . .” Connor paused. “It's like when you’re around, it’s like it was before. When we were a family.”

Mike actually felt his heart constrict as Connor’s words sunk in. Fuck, he was in over his head with the First Family. But there was no point in denying it. Connor was smart and perceptive.

“And you’re okay with that?”

Connor was looking at him like he was incredibly slow. That look was not unjustified.

“That’s why we’re having this talk,” Connor explained. “Didn’t know how else to tell you guys that it’s okay. And I thought it would be easier to tell you than to tell Dad.”

Mike wasn’t so sure about that last detail since Ben had wanted to tell Connor all along, but he didn’t mention it. Idly, he wondered how that conversation would have gone.

“So, Connor. I have something I want to tell you about Mike.”

“I know, Dad.”

“How about that ballgame?” Connor was saying now, snapping Mike out of his thoughts.

“We’ll see,” Mike answered. At Connor’s disappointed look, he added, “Your family’s always under a lot of scrutiny. Public and private. It would be a big deal if I joined you in that way and we’re not ready for that kind of publicity.”

Connor nodded. He understood, but it didn’t make the disappointment sting any less.

“Hey,” Mike said. “I can join you for a couple of innings. Have a hotdog. Okay?”

“Okay,” Connor agreed, the grin coming back. He leaned forward a little conspiratorially. “Y’know, Dad’s become obsessed with kale chips.”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “Have you actually tried kale chips? They’re not bad.”

“Mike,” Connor whined.

“Fine,” Mike relented. “No kale chips at the ballpark.”

Chapter Text

Knowing that Connor was on their side eased something in Ben. Mike could tell. It was almost as if Ben were bursting to let the world know of their relationship (now that it was a real relationship), but pragmatism won the day and they kept things under wraps. Since he couldn’t announce his newfound happiness to the world, it had given Ben immense satisfaction not to hide his relationship from his son and even greater happiness that Connor approved and had welcomed Mike wholeheartedly.

The truth of the matter was that Connor was much better than Ben at being discreet, and Mike appreciated having Connor on his side when it came to reigning in Ben’s more . . . romantic . . . inclinations. Ben complained that the two of them continually teamed up against him (it was largely true), but he wasn’t really upset. Connor’s assessment that Ben treated them like a family had been spot on. Of course, Mike wouldn’t have been able to recognize that himself. Prior to Ben and Connor, family had simply been a concept, an idea, something that he’d never personally experienced. All he’d had was a failed marriage, a broken home with an abusive, alcoholic father and then a series of foster homes until he’d been old enough to join the army.

The military was the first real family he’d known and the Special Forces had trained him to be the efficient killing machine that he was today. When he’d left the Rangers, the shock of civilian life was something that he’d been unable to adapt to. He could’ve spiraled downwards, drunk himself into a perpetual stupor like so many others but somehow he’d stopped himself before he’d reached that point. Instead, he’d turned up at Lynn Jacobs’ front door a fucked up mess, and the fact that she’d let him in at all was nothing short of a miracle. Mike owed Lynn everything. She’d given him another shot at life, using the only skills that he possessed, and had turned him into a damn fine Secret Service agent. He missed her more than he’d ever be able to express. Lynn used to tell him that the reason his marriage failed was because he was already ‘married’ to his job. (Leah, no doubt, would’ve agreed.) Somehow, Mike didn’t think that Lynn had meant that statement to be quite so literal but that’s how things were turning out, now that Ben and Connor had adopted him into their family.

Mike had officially begun to call Ben’s ‘dopey happiness,’ the honeymoon period. He gave it two months – three tops – before the euphoria would begin to wear off. But those three months went by, then four, then five and Mike found himself more and more entrenched with the First Family. There was no longer a clear divide between work and his personal life and if Mike were being honest with himself, it was causing him a tiny bit of panic. He hadn’t thought, when he’d agreed to embark on this crazy relationship with the President, that Asher would see his ‘plan’ all the way through. Or that Ben would be so damn committed. In hindsight, he understood how naïve he’d been. Commitment and perseverance were the defining characteristics of Asher’s Presidency, just like commitment and loyalty is what made him such a good soldier. Why wouldn’t those traits translate into their personal relationship?

Commitment issues aside, Mike also hadn’t thought through the practicalities of maintaining a clandestine relationship with the President, and he was literally figuring shit out as he went along. He was certain that Ben was just as much in the dark as he was when it came to figuring out what worked and what didn’t, but after a few months it became very clear that they had opposite agendas. Mike should’ve picked up on this sooner. He could trace it back to that day in Ben’s study when he’d made a joke about dating, and meeting the family, while Ben’s look told him that was exactly what Asher had in mind. At least, somewhere down the line. While Mike was striving for discretion in everything, Ben seemed to want to go public as quickly as possible, not really caring about the consequences. Mike cared. He cared a lot, not so much about what would happen to him, but what would happen if the world found out that there was a bisexual President in the most powerful office in the world, who was having an affair with the Secret Service Agent believed to be indirectly responsible for the death of the First Lady, and then became the hero of the White House and London attacks. They were every tabloid reporter’s wet dream. Scandal wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Mike didn’t intentionally mean to start pulling away, but it happened ever so gradually, a remarkable feat given that the President’s schedule and security remained predominantly in his control. It began simply enough. He canceled one of their weekly dinners because he was feeling under the weather. Strictly speaking, this was true. But normally he would’ve dragged himself to the White House anyway, let Ben fuss over him a bit and then left earlier than usual. It’s not like he was at death’s door. But that night, he’d begged off, secure in the knowledge that there was no way Ben could simply turn up on his doorstep to check on him. Being the President of the United States meant that Ben’s life was a fishbowl. He couldn’t go anywhere without a convoy of Secret Service agents. The next day, Asher had marched into the control center of the Secret Service surveillance hub at the White House and demanded to see him. Mike, who had been in the adjoining office, had heard the President’s clipped, “Where’s Banning?” before he’d even seen the other man.

“Here, sir,” Mike had said, emerging from the partially open door.

“Mike,” the President had said, striding in and stopping in front of him. “How’re you feeling?”

For one alarming moment, Asher looked like he’d been about to put his hand on Mike’s forehead to check his temperature but a subtle warning look from Mike had reined in that impulse. There were at least five other agents in the room, including Voight.

“I’ll survive, sir,” he’d answered, even though he was running a slight temperature.

Ben was looking at him critically, before he shook his head. “You don’t look so great,” he said. “Take the day off.”

“Sir –” Mike began to protest.

“I need you at 100% for the upcoming European trip,” Asher interrupted. “Voight’s got everything under control. Right, Voight?” He turned to Voight for confirmation and the other agent nodded. “Take the day off,” the President ordered, turning around and leaving the room before Mike could say anything else.

Mike was left standing a little dumbfounded when Voight appeared in front of him.

“President’s orders,” Voight said, the barest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Don’t even –” Mike threatened.

“Go home, soldier,” Voight added, his voice softening. “The President’s right. You do look like shit.”

“We’ve had worse days,” Mike reminded him.

“This doesn’t have to be one of them,” Voight returned.

Mike managed a grin at that. It was good to have Voight back. It had taken him months – and two surgeries – to recover from his gunshot wounds in London. He’d been on light duty for the past month, moaning about being stuck behind a desk at Treasury (Mike could relate) but had been cleared for fieldwork the week before. He and Voight had a long history, dating back to their time in the Rangers. It was Mike who had convinced Voight to join the Secret Service once the latter had been discharged, and they’d worked together ever since.

The European trip which lasted twelve days and spanned five nations went without a hitch, but Mike could feel the underlying tension pervading his relationship with Asher. They had almost no private time, mainly through Mike’s design, and Mike was the most formal he’d been with the President since . . . well, since they began sucking each other’s cocks. Asher’s mood had darkened, but the people around him attributed it to the stress and fatigue of the trip. One state visit was tiring. Five state visits in a row was in a whole other realm of exhaustion.

It was in Vienna, the second to last stop of the European trip that Mike found himself in the hotel bar after hours unable to sleep, when Voight slipped into the chair opposite him.

“You mind?” the other agent asked.

“Not when you bring that kind of offering,” Mike noted, gesturing at the bottle of premium bourbon that Voight had placed on the table in between them.

Voight smiled as he topped off Mike’s glass and then poured his own. “Can’t sleep?”

“What gave it away?” Mike asked dryly before taking a drink.

“You’ve been a little restless,” Voight observed.

“You know how I feel about these trips,” Mike replied. “Fucking hate it when things are this quiet.”

“Because god forbid you can only properly do your job when you’re dodging a hail of bullets,” Voight commented.

Touché, Mike silently acknowledged with a tip of his glass.

“The President’s been restless too,” Voight seamlessly went on.

When Mike didn’t respond to that Voight leveled him with a hard stare.

“Something you want to tell me?” Mike asked at last.

“Since no one else will and I’m your friend, yeah,” Voight replied, matter-of-factly.

Mike was slightly taken aback, but didn’t let it show. He nodded his head, indicating that Voight should continue.

“There’s been a lot of talk about you,” Voight went on.

“You mean more than usual?” Mike said with a dark smile.

Voight didn’t return the smile. “Yeah,” he said instead. “More than usual.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Word on the grapevine is that you’ve become too close to POTUS. Now I know,” Voight continued before Mike could interrupt, “that you’ve always been close to POTUS, even before what happened to the First Lady. But this talk? It’s different.”

“Do people think I’ve been compromised? That my judgment’s been impaired?”

“I know it hasn’t been,” Voight answered. “It’s the President’s enemies that’ve been floating that rumor, even after what you did in London. Everyone’s noticed that Asher’s been different. I don’t mean that in a negative way – the man’s obviously doing his job, and doing it well. But he’s definitely been different. And when he barged into the surveillance hub looking for you and then ordering you to take a day off? That was a little weird.”

At this, Voight gave Mike a pointed look. Mike sighed.

“I’m not here to confirm or deny anything,” Voight continued. “But the Director told me to have an unofficial word with you during this trip, give you a heads up that the sharks are circling. There’s only so much he can do.”

Mike nodded. Adams, the new Director of the Secret Service was a good man. Mike wasn’t particularly close to him, but he respected the man’s military background and knew that Adams and Lynn had had a good working relationship. Adams hadn’t been offended either that Mike had essentially been offered what should automatically have been his appointment since he’d served as Lynn’s deputy for six years.

“Be smart, Mike,” Voight said, an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “Step back.”

“You mean transfer?”

“God no,” Voight replied. “You’re the best man for the job. Just cool off whatever it is that’s happening between you and POTUS.”

Mike almost laughed. So much easier said than done. Ruefully, he took a long drink of his bourbon, aware of Voight’s even gaze.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Voight said after a moment. “As unbelievable as those rumors are.”

Mike put down his empty glass, immediately pouring another two fingers. “Yeah, it’s true,” he confirmed.

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

“That presupposes I was ever sane to begin with.”

Voight leaned forward. “Back in the Special Forces, there was always method to your madness,” he told his friend. “This is just fucking insane.”

Mike could hear the echo of his own words to Asher all those months ago. He nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.

When Mike turned up outside the President’s suite an hour later the two Secret Service agents at the door didn’t even bat an eyelash as they opened the door for him, despite the fact that it was well past midnight and Mike had been off duty hours ago. There were more agents on night duty in the living area of the suite, four more in the hallway monitoring the perimeter. They all nodded to Mike as he passed by them. Mike went straight to the President’s bedroom door and rapped on it. Ben looked a little haggard when he opened the door, still dressed in the suit he’d been wearing all day except without the jacket. He had on his reading glasses and Mike could tell with a quick peek behind the President that Ben had been studying the next day’s itinerary sitting in an armchair beside a standing lamp.

Asher opened the door wider so that Mike could step inside and Mike did. Before Mike could even say anything, Asher had him backed up against the door he had just shut, greeting him with a bruising kiss.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Ben hissed.

For the first time, Mike caught a glimpse of how pissed Asher actually was. The President’s normally calm blue eyes were stormy and accusing, but Mike wasn’t prepared to answer that question. At least, not yet. Instead, he used his greater physicality to push Asher off of him, stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie as he did so. Ben took the hint and began taking off his own clothes. All his actions were laced with irritation and when their clothes were a rumpled pile on the floor, Ben stepped toward Mike again and gave him another fierce kiss, filled with teeth and the slight tang of blood. Mike returned the kiss in kind, walking Ben backwards into the spacious en suite bathroom. He shut the door behind them for more privacy and to block out any sound.

When he had Ben up against the marble counter of the sink, Mike wasted no time in dropping to his knees. Ben’s cock was hard and standing up proudly against his stomach. Mike didn’t even bother with the teasing, spitting into the palm of his left hand as he fisted the base and took the head in his mouth. He sucked hard and deep, hearing Ben’s strangled moan above him. He could have brought Ben over the edge quickly, but the President had other ideas, gripping Mike viciously by the hair and yanking him back up. Mike obliged, trapping Ben against the marble counter with his arms as he dived in for another kiss. Ben was reaching behind him, looking for something they could use for lube. He settled for the scented bath oil – jasmine or jojoba – pouring a healthy amount into his hand before slicking Mike’s cock with firm, even strokes. All the while, he maintained that bruising kiss, the note of accusation always there between them. Mike could feel them slipping into an old pattern, into what they were before Asher had cornered him that day in the study. He knew this was Ben’s way of punishing him. Mike took the punishment in stride, reaching for the same bottle of oil that Ben had used and pouring the liquid into his hands. When he gripped Ben’s waist, pulling the other man flush against him, he felt Ben’s erection brush against his own and then the President had both their cocks in hand. Mike hands were traveling lower, tracing the curve of Ben’s ass until his fingers dipped into the cleft. He was about to prep Ben, until he discovered the small arch of a rubber handle that had him breaking the kiss in surprise and pulling back slightly so that he could look at the other man.

Ben’s own gaze was quietly defiant and challenging, and still oh-so-very-pissed. Mike wondered what the American people would think if they knew that their President had such a kinky streak. He also wondered for how long Ben had been wearing the butt plug. Surely not the whole day. But then he remembered the heated look Ben had shot him while he’d stood sentry during lunch with the Austrian Chancellor and he’s forced to reconsider. What if he hadn’t paid Ben a visit tonight? Would the President have just beat one out in the shower? Would he have impaled himself on a dildo and pretended that it was Mike penetrating him? Mike’s getting harder (if that’s at all possible) as these different scenarios run through his mind and the self-satisfied smirk on Ben’s face tells him that’s exactly what the other man had intended all along.

Equal parts irritated and turned on, Mike flipped Ben around a little roughly so that the other man was facing the bathroom sink. Ben braced himself against the marble countertop, spreading his legs as he locked gazes with Mike through the gilded bathroom mirror. Mike could still read the accusation in the other man’s expression, beneath the desire and blatant need. He didn’t know anymore who was punishing whom, but he pulled the plug out and guided himself in. Ben’s body welcomed the invasion, and the President dropped his head slightly as Mike filled him.

“Don’t you fucking touch yourself,” Mike said into Ben’s ear, stilling for a few moments when he bottomed out. “You’ll come when I say you can. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ben replied between gritted teeth. But then the cheeky bastard rocked forward and then pushed back, causing Mike to hiss and grab the other man’s hips to still his actions.

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

“You’ve kept me fucking waiting, haven’t you?” Ben shot back and there was real anger there. He wasn’t simply referring to the past day or even the European trip itself.

Mike decided to shut the other man up with a deep, hard thrust and that’s exactly what he did. Ben grunted in surprise, but it wasn’t long before he was planting himself more firmly on the bathroom rug and pushing back again. Mike knew he was gripping Ben’s hips a little too hard, that there was a decent chance he’d leave bruises there in the morning but sometimes pain was a good thing. It was a reminder. Both men were silent after that, the only noise in the bathroom the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Since Mike had set a hard pace and Ben’s body was already thrumming from unreleased tension, neither of them was going to last long. But this encounter wasn’t about stamina. Mike bit down on Ben’s shoulder to muffle his cry when he came, his right hand gripping the base of Ben’s cock to prevent the other man’s release. He could feel Ben’s body vibrating from the effort, but there was no way the other man would beg. His cock spent, but still buried deep inside the other man, Mike pulled Ben flush against him with an arm across Ben’s chest and his free hand around Ben’s throat. With a handful of quick strokes and a whispered “Come” in Ben’s ear, the other man was spilling into Mike’s hand.

Ben collapsed against him after that and Mike easily bore his weight. The President turned his head, Mike’s hand still around his throat but loosely now, as Ben sought the comfort of a post-coital kiss. This kiss was slow, almost forgiving and Ben eventually turned around in Mike’s embrace, wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist as he continued to explore the other man’s mouth. They didn’t speak when the kiss ended, Ben now leaning comfortably against the counter as he rested his forehead on Mike’s shoulder. Eventually, Mike pulled out one of the hand towels from a nearby rack, wet it with warm water and cleaned them both up. He left the hand towel to dry when he walked out of the bathroom.

By the time Ben stepped out of the bathroom dressed in his personal red bathrobe, he was back to his calm and composed self and Mike was almost finished dressing. Ben walked over to the bed and sat down at its foot, watching as Mike did his tie.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Mike pulled at the final knot and nodded. “Yes,” he said.

Ben remained silent, waiting for Mike to continue.

Mike let out a long breath, steeling himself for the upcoming conversation before he turned to fully face Ben. “We need to take a step back,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ben’s mouth comically dropped open. “Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“No,” Mike said forcefully, taking a step toward Ben. “But we need to be smart about this,” he went on, not so subtly implying that Ben wasn’t being very smart. “There’s been talk, serious talk, that we’ve overstepped the boundaries of protocol, that I might even be compromised and unfit for my position.”

“No shit,” Ben muttered. “Where’s this talk coming from?” he asked, his tone shifting into something more professional.

“Your enemies mostly,” Mike answered. “But I just got an indirect warning from the Director.”

“Adams?” Ben said incredulously.

“Care of Voight,” Mike confirmed. “Listen, Ben, I’m not concerned about myself. If this blows up in our faces, the best-case scenario for me is I’m transferred to some bumfuck post until I get fed up and resign, or I’ll just be dismissed.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Ben countered.

Mike gave the other man a rueful smile. “Contrary to popular belief,” he said. “You’re not all-powerful, Mr. President.” Then his tone grew serious again. “There’s a little over a year until you step down. We should wait it out. Let the heat blow over. There’s too much at stake for you. I’m not gonna let your legacy be tainted because you had an affair with your Agent-in-Charge.”

Ben’s expression was thoughtful, bordering on calculating as he looked at Mike. “You are breaking up with me,” he said, after a long moment.

“No sir,” Mike refuted, but even the response sounded hollow to him. There was some truth to Ben’s accusation, to the fact that he was feeling the pressure of being in a proper relationship with Benjamin Asher, even without all the fucking complicated extenuating circumstances. The urge to cut and run was strong, and the traitorous thought that he was using Voight’s warning as an excuse to take a time out – a long time out – had crossed his mind. He didn’t even know if they could go back to what they had before, to that purely professional relationship between a target and a Secret Service agent, which seemed like so many lifetimes ago. He might have to transfer himself off the President’s protection detail anyway. It seemed more plausible, now that Voight was back in the saddle. He trusted Voight with Asher’s security.

“Ben,” Mike began, but found there was no more to say. He nodded curtly. “Good night, Mr. President,” he said, before he left the room.

Chapter Text

The last few days of the European trip saw the relationship between the President and the Secret Service Agent-in-Charge go from professional to cool to almost glacial. Ben’s quiet fury was something to behold, and Mike hadn’t understood until that moment how passive-aggressively Asher was going to fight his decision to “take a step back.” The jokes among the junior agents who witnessed first hand the cooling of the relationship between the President and his most favored Secret Service agent ranged from “the bromance is over” to “Asher and Banning have broken up.” It was all said in jest but little did those agents know how accurate their assessment was.

Voight knew and when he and Banning disembarked from Air Force One onto U.S. soil for the first time in twelve days, he quietly murmured to his friend, “Jesus Banning, you never do anything half-assed.”

“Neither does he,” Mike replied.

“When I suggested to cool things off, I didn’t mean winter from a nuclear fallout.”

“His call,” Mike said with a shrug.

Voight looked like he disagreed but wisely stayed silent.

If Ben’s response was the proverbial cold shoulder, Mike was much more proactive. He gave it exactly three weeks after the end of the European trip before he transferred himself out of the President’s protection detail, relocating to the Secret Service headquarters in the Department of Homeland Security. At this point, he was the ranking Special Agent in Charge, reporting only to the Director, the Deputy Director and Assistant Director above him. He’d requested a meeting with Adams to change his commission but the Director had refused.

“You’re too important now, Banning,” Adams had stated matter-of-factly. “The poster boy of the best that we can be.”

Mike was impressed that Adams could actually say that last line without a shred of irony.

“I thought we were supposed to be anonymous, sir,” he’d replied.

“You gave up your anonymity after Olympus,” Adams had curtly replied. “Suck it up, Banning. You’re the Special Agent in Charge. If you need to delegate some ground responsibilities until you sort out whatever it is you need to sort out, then do so.”

Mike had inwardly smiled at Adams’ evasion. That was as close as the Director was going to allude to Mike’s not-so-professional relationship with the President, one that apparently no longer existed. He did, however, take Adams’ words to heart, singling out Voight to take over said ground responsibilities.

The one thing that had truly bothered Mike about his “time out” from the President was the effect it would have on Connor. It was hard enough being the President’s son and living in that fishbowl. The kid needed stability and Mike, in his own way, had helped provide that. He wasn’t about to take that stability away just because things between Asher and himself were no longer hearts and chocolates. He didn’t think Ben would mind either since Asher had worked so hard to encourage a personal relationship between Mike and his son. With that in mind, Mike split his time between the Department of Homeland Security where he now spent his mornings and the afternoons with Connor. He’d placed Voight nominally in charge of Asher’s detail (technically, that detail still belonged to him and he had to approve all of Voight’s decisions) and put himself in charge of Connor’s detail. He was the one who picked up Connor after school, watched over him during his swim practice, went to the swim meets, helped him work on his baseball swing. Connor was growing up to be athletic and talented, as well as being smart. Mike could tell he was going to be a real heartbreaker.

One day, after swim practice Connor sat beside Mike on one of the grandstands that lined the swimming pool, a towel across his shoulders while the other agents milled about in their designated areas.

“Good practice today,” Mike commented. “What did your coach say about the medley relay?”

Connor grinned. “I’ll anchor the team on Sunday’s meet,” he replied.

Mike nodded in approval. “You’ve earned it,” he said, giving Connor a shoulder bump. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed, toweling his hair. But just as Mike was standing up, Connor said, “You’ll teach me to drive, right?”

Mike was taken by surprise by the non sequitur and he looked down at Connor. “By the time you can get your Learner’s Permit, your dad will be out of office,” he reminded him. “Wouldn’t you rather he taught you?” Although based on Ben’s driving ability in London, privately Mike thought he would be the better choice.

“You can both teach me,” Connor suggested. “Dad, the regular stuff and you, the not-so-regular stuff.”

“The not-so-regular stuff?” Mike repeated.

“The cool stuff,” Connor clarified, standing up as well. “Y’know, tricks and stunts.”

“Because you plan on being a stunt driver?”

Connor laughed. “You’re the one who says I should always be prepared.”

That was true. But there was something about Connor’s question that made Mike’s heart ache. Connor was assuming that Mike would still be around when Ben stepped down from office. The kid was making plans with Mike still a part of his life and Mike couldn’t guarantee that. He wouldn’t make promises that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep.

“Hey, Mike,” Connor said, grasping his arm before he could walk away. “I know things aren’t great between you and Dad right now, but this will blow over.”

“Your dad’s pretty pissed at me,” Mike told him.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss you,” Connor said with a shrug.

If Mike’s life were a cheesy romance novel, he might’ve told Connor, “I miss him, too.” As it was, Mike simply nodded, but the insistent tug on his jacket arm made him look at Connor again.

“You’re just waiting things out, right?” Connor asked, a little hesitantly. “Maybe until Dad steps down from office? Then you’ll get back together?”

“What does your dad say?” Mike asked in return.

Connor made a frustrated sound and looked away. “He won’t talk to me about it, even though I’ve asked him a couple of times,” he admitted. “But that plan makes sense to me. The waiting it out, I mean, if things get too tough and you have to keep your distance from each other.”

Mike shook his head, but it was in disbelief and amazement. There was a faint smile on his face when he said, “You’re one smart kid, Connor.”

“Dad’s the smartest man I know,” Connor replied seriously. “Just not when it comes to you.”

At this, Mike laughed outright. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

“Mike,” Connor said, as they began to walk down the grandstand. “Thanks.”

“For?”

Connor gestured a little aimlessly about them. “For sticking around,” he finally said.

For sticking with me, Mike translated. He nodded, speaking into his receiver. “Boys’ locker room?”

“All clear,” came the quick reply.

“Sparkplug’s coming in,” Mike said.

“Do I ever get to change my code name?” Connor asked him.

“You got another designator in mind?”

“Not yet,” Connor admitted. “But I’ll think about it.”

The President completely cleared his schedule so that he could attend Connor’s swim meet on Sunday afternoon. It was the only competition he’d been able to attend all school year (normally, he watched the recordings at home with Connor) and it was also the most important one so far – the District Championships. Mike had known in advance that POTUS would be there since he’d gone over the building layout and security assignments with Voight. Since Mike spent the most time in the swimming complex, he was also the one most familiar with its strengths and weaknesses from a security standpoint.

On the day itself, there was a noticeable buzz at the swim meet. The place was crawling with Secret Service agents since both Ben and Connor’s details were there, together with additional snipers and officers from the Uniformed Division.

“I guess it’s a good thing that Dad isn’t able to attend all these meets,” Connor said, standing beside Mike just before the first event. Even he looked a little stunned by the security, although he should’ve been used to it by now. It was still different seeing the full complement of Secret Service agents in one of his regular haunts.

“Good luck out there,” Mike told him.

“Thanks, Mike.”

Mike could feel Ben’s gaze tracking him when he stepped out of the locker area a few paces behind Connor and the other swimmers who were making their way to the different school divisions. It was the first time they’d properly seen each other beyond glimpses in the hallways of the White House since Mike had officially transferred to the HQ three weeks ago, six weeks since their fateful talk in Vienna. Mike didn’t shy away from that searching gaze, meeting it head on and giving the President a respectful nod. Asher returned the gesture, and Mike wasn’t sure what he read in Ben’s expression, knowing that his own expression was carefully shuttered.

Mike took his regular position as sentry, discreetly coordinating with the different teams throughout the meet. Connor’s school did extremely well, earning a berth in the State Championships. Connor himself won two of the events in his age division: the 200m freestyle and the 200m backstroke. His team also won the 400m-medley relay.

“We’re going to State!” Connor yelled at the end of the meet, hugging his dad even though he was still dripping wet.

Mike was keeping a respectful distance, but Connor would have none of that, dragging Mike over to celebrate. “Did you hear that Mike?” Connor practically yelled in his face. “We’re going to State!”

“Congratulations, kiddo,” Mike said, also accepting a very wet hug from Connor, mindful of the shoulder holster as Connor embraced him.

“We gotta celebrate,” Connor said excitedly.

Mike felt an instant flare of panic that he was fairly certain was mirrored on Ben’s face.

“Go celebrate with your teammates first,” Asher said smoothly, pushing his son towards a gaggle of teenage boys crowded near the deep end of the pool.

Mike was about to conveniently excuse himself after Connor joined his teammates, but Ben’s hand on his arm stopped him. Asher released him just as quickly, as though that kind of familiarity was now taboo for them.

“Mike,” Ben said. It was the first time Mike had ever heard uncertainty in the President’s voice. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done with Connor. It means a lot to him. To both of us,” he added.

Mike nodded. “It’s not a problem, sir,” he replied. He was about to excuse himself again but Asher kept right on talking.

“Do you have plans this evening?”

The question was the first time Mike had felt off balance all day, and his professional veneer almost faltered. For one wild moment, it seemed like the President might actually propose something ‘celebratory’ just like Connor wanted. Mike mentally cringed at the bullshit he’d have to spin to get out of it, and how disappointed Connor would be. But to Mike’s own surprise, he wound up simply telling Ben the truth.

“No plans,” he replied. “Staying in with a bowl of nachos and some cold beers to watch the game.”

“Game 3s are always crucial,” Asher agreed. “Especially when a series is tied at one apiece. Game 3 becomes the momentum shift.”

“Don’t want to lose that home field advantage,” Mike added.

“Well,” Asher said, and there was something in his tone that indicated he was drawing their brief conversation to a close. Mike was relieved.

“You have a good evening, Mike.”

“You too, sir.”

The Washington Nationals, for all the insane talent the team possessed, did not have a good record in the playoffs. No matter how well they played during the regular season – and there were years when they seemed to steamroll through their opponents – it all counted for nothing once the calendar turned to October. This year was gonna be different, Mike thought, settling in front of his couch with his promised bowl of nachos. Sure, it was an even year, which meant that the baseball gods might smile on the Giants again, but Mike just wanted a good game. Preferably one that the Nationals won but he’d take any kind of downtime.

The commentators were doing their introductory spiel when the doorbell chimed. Mike wasn’t expecting anybody and he was a little irritated to be moved from his comfortable slouch, but he placed the large bowl of nachos on the coffee table in front of him and stood up. Better to be interrupted before the game started than afterwards. Nothing could have prepared him for what greeted him when he opened the front door.

“Brought the good stuff,” Benjamin Asher said, holding up a six-pack of imported beer.

Mike wasn’t paying attention to the beer. He was scanning the area behind the President, taking note of the convoy of SUVs, the agents near the vehicles and those already walking the perimeter of the street and his townhouse. He made eye contact with Voight, who gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Are you going to let me in?” Asher asked.

Mike seriously considered saying ‘No’ before opening the front door wider and allowing the President to walk through.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been to your place,” Ben commented, looking around in interest.

Mike shut and locked the front door. When he turned around, he said in the calmest tone he could manage, “What . . . the fuck . . . are you doing here?”

“Mike,” Ben said, holding up his free hand in a placating gesture. “Let’s just watch the game, okay?”

For a full minute, Mike was too stunned to reply. Then he shook his head. “And people think I’m insane,” he muttered. When he looked at Ben again, he’d reached a decision. “Fine, we’ll watch the game,” he agreed stonily. “But first I need to talk to Voight. Then the security detail needs to clear the townhouse and set up a proper perimeter.”

“I was kind of hoping we’d have a private evening,” Ben admitted.

“This is as private as it gets, Mr. President,” Mike snapped, the Secret Service agent in him coming to the fore. A part of him was seething that Ben would flout security protocol so openly. (And what the hell was Voight thinking?) Another part of him couldn’t believe (and was secretly exhilarated) that Ben was actually in his home to watch a baseball game. His life had become another episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Go put those beers in the fridge,” Mike said, as if casually ordering the President around in his home was an everyday occurrence. “We’ll get to the good stuff later. Kitchen’s on the right.”

Ben tried to rein in his victory smirk and was only partially successful. When Mike went outside to speak to Voight, the President was already getting comfortable on his couch.

“We’ve secured the street,” Voight said to Mike by way of greeting. He’d been standing on Mike’s front doorstep since the President had gone inside.

“I put you in charge because I thought you could handle him,” Mike replied, a note of accusation in his voice.

“He’s normally not like this,” Voight said in return, his look daring Mike to say otherwise. “And at the end of the day, he is the President.”

“Who doesn’t know a rat’s ass about his own security,” Mike shot back.

“Hell, he’s probably safer in there with you than out here with us anyway,” Voight said. Before Mike could comeback with an outraged reply, Voight held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “That was a joke, man,” he said. “Just trying to lighten things up. I know we’re fucked. I don’t even know what you’re gonna tell the Director.”

“I’ll deal with that tomorrow,” Mike said darkly. “Gomez! Mitchell!” he called out to the agents nearest them. “Clear the interior and then park yourselves in the backyard. Hope you brought warm coats. POTUS wants to watch the game, so it’s gonna be a long night.” Then he turned to Voight. “Put two more on the roof, including the sniper.”

“Yes, sir,” Voight said smartly.

When Mike re-entered his home, he was accompanied by Gomez and Mitchell who proceeded to clear the townhouse. They scrupulously went through all the rooms, including the attic before giving Mike the all clear. Then they really did park themselves out in the picturesque backyard in the cool October weather. While Gomez and Mitchell had been clearing the interior, two more agents had entered, one of them carrying a sniper rifle. Both of them acknowledged Mike with a quick ‘Sir’ before taking up their posts on the roof. Protocol dictated that more agents should have been stationed inside the townhouse, but Mike relented and kept everyone else outside. He knew that at some point, he and Ben were going to have that private talk and they needed actual privacy for that. All the while, Ben lounged on Mike’s sofa, drinking a bottle of beer and munching on nachos. Mike took a moment to appreciate the sheer unreality of the situation before he joined the other man.

“Now I know why you work out all the time,” Ben remarked, when Mike finally settled down beside him.

“The perils of being a bachelor,” Mike answered without thinking. Of course, he froze the minute the words were out of his mouth. Highlighting his single status was probably not the best way to start a conversation with . . . his ex?

Ben took his faux pas in stride. “Need to get back in the ring after this,” he went on, holding up an extra large nacho laden with ground beef, slathered in cheese sauce and topped with a jalapeno. “It’s been tough finding a sparring partner to replace you.”

“I can imagine,” Mike said dryly. “I hear you’re not supposed to hit the President of the United States.”

Ben laughed at that and settled even more comfortably into Mike’s sofa.

For the next two hours all they did was watch baseball, drink, eat and talk about anything that didn’t have to do with politics. Mike had never seen Ben so at ease, so unlike his professional and public persona, save perhaps during their pseudo-family dinners at the White House. Ben also, apparently didn’t have much stamina because after the 7th inning stretch he began to doze, propping himself up on the cushions of Mike’s couch. By the 8th inning, Ben had given up on the idea of propping himself up and had decided to stretch out on Mike’s sofa. He was out like a light when the 9th inning rolled around with the score tied at 4-4. Mike let him sleep. Now that he could see Ben’s face in repose, he noticed how tired Ben really looked, how perhaps the President may have lost a little weight despite his self-proclaimed lack of exercise. He wondered if Ben hadn’t been sleeping well. Then he guiltily wondered if Ben hadn’t been sleeping well because of him.

Over an hour and a half later, with the marathon third game of the NLCS finally over, Mike sat beside the President, his right arm across the back of the sofa as he gently woke the other man.

“Did we win?” was Asher’s groggy response to Mike’s mild shaking of his shoulder.

“Five to four, 12 innings.”

Asher cracked open an eye and sighed. “I suppose this is the part where you kick me out,” he said.

“Ben,” Mike said seriously, ignoring the other man’s light-hearted joke. “I need you to promise me something.”

Mike’s tone and his choice of words caught Asher’s attention and his gaze sharpened. “What is it?” he asked, equally seriously.

“Promise me that you won’t go off-book like this again. Your schedule is planned in advance down to the last minute for your safety. We can’t protect you to the best of our ability when you pull a stunt like this.”

Asher flashed him a crooked smile. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m safer with you than with the rest of them?” he teased.

Mike shook his head. “You and Voight make the same bad jokes,” he told the other man.

“Voight’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is.” Mike paused. “Do you promise?”

Asher was completely awake now and he had that calculating air about him. “On two conditions,” he answered.

Mike held back a sigh. He couldn’t believe the President was about to negotiate his own safety. “Let’s hear them,” he said.

“The first is that you come back to the White House,” Ben began. “I had a word with Adams. He told me that you’re still the Special Agent in Charge and he’s got no plans to demote you. So be the Special Agent in Charge. Come back to the White House where you belong.”

“And the second condition?”

“You wake up next to me tomorrow morning.”

Mike’s brow furrowed. Waking up next to Ben meant . . . he shook his head. “Ben –” he started to say, but was quickly cut off.

“Mike, hear me out,” Ben said, sitting up properly now. “You know what Connor told me the other day? He said I’m smart about everything except when it comes to you.”

Mike had heard a variation of that and he had to agree.

“But you know what else? I may not be smart when it comes to you, but you also make me a better person, a better leader.” Ben paused, taking a deep breath as he seemed to consider his next words. “I understand what you’re saying about waiting it out. It is the smart play. But it’s also unacceptable. I tried it your way for the past month and a half and this is just . . . unacceptable,” he said again. “Let my enemies attack. We’ll get through it together.”

“There are some things I can’t protect you from, Ben.”

“There are some things from which I don’t need your protection.”

A silence fell between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable or filled with rancor. It spoke of . . . potential.

“So,” Ben said, when Mike didn’t appear to have any more protests left in him. “Do I get to spend the night?” At Mike’s unconvinced look, he added, “I get that I’ve screwed us over by coming here. But at this point, does it really matter if I stay over? Is there any agent outside that doesn’t know what I’m doing here?”

Mike shook his head in resignation. “You’re the one who’s going to be making coffee for a dozen cold and pissed off Secret Service agents in the morning,” Mike told him.

Ben’s smile was radiant. “Deal,” he agreed.

There was no fooling around by the time the two of them made it upstairs and into Mike’s bedroom around 1:00am. Mike threw Ben one of his old T-shirts to sleep in and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“I kind of imagined that you slept naked,” Ben commented, when Mike simply took off his jeans and got into bed wearing his boxers and a T-shirt.

“Only in the summer,” Mike replied.

“So, are we going to . . .?”

“Good night, Mr. President.”

It had been years since Mike had shared a bed with anybody else, not since Leah and even then the bed had been empty half of the time. They’d loved each other, but their marriage had been rocky at best. Ben, as it turned out, was a heat-seeking missile who liked to hog the sheets. Thankfully, Mike wasn’t too particular about that, especially when Ben provided enough warmth for the both of them. Of course, the closet romantic President of the United States was also a cuddler. Mike fell asleep with Ben virtually wrapped around him and he woke up at his customary hour in the same position, except there was a very persistent hand worming its way under the strap of his boxers.

“Should I take care of that for you?” a voice whispered in his ear.

“I’m not going to object,” Mike replied.

He felt the press of a kiss at the side of his neck and then Ben was moving downwards, lifting his T-shirt to trail kisses along his abdomen before finally reaching Mike’s cock. As Mike was engulfed by the warm, wet heat of the President’s mouth, he decided that there were definite advantages to waking up beside Ben in the morning.

It was still very early when they were done trading ‘Good morning’ blowjobs, so early that Ben propped himself up on one arm, his other hand on Mike’s chest as he said, “Let’s go for our usual jog.”

Mike grinned lazily. “Trying to work off those nachos, sir?”

“It is so hot when you call me ‘sir’ in bed,” Ben observed.

“It’s hot having to salute someone I wake up next to in the morning,” Mike returned.

“Fuck,” Ben muttered, forcing himself into a sitting position. “If we don’t get up now, we’re never getting out of this bed.”

Mike trailed a hand down the other man’s back. “You don’t sleep in?”

Ben glanced behind him with a rueful expression. “I’m the President of the United States,” he answered. “I can’t sleep in. C’mon,” he encouraged, pulling the covers off of Mike. “I’m supposed to make coffee.”

Ben changed into a pair of Mike’s jogging pants and then pulled a heather gray sweatshirt over the T-shirt he was wearing. By the time Mike came downstairs dressed in his own sweats and jogging pants, the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting from the kitchen. He had to adjust to the sight of Ben rinsing out the coffee grinds from the coffeemaker in order to brew a second batch.

“I made the coffee,” Ben pointed out. “You get to serve it.”

Mike didn’t complain. He took a drink out of what he presumed to be Ben’s coffee mug before picking up the other two mugs and heading for the backyard. “Styrofoam cups are in the cabinet on the right,” he said over his shoulder. He didn’t have a dozen mugs to serve every agent on duty.

When Mike pulled open the sliding door that led to the patio and the backyard, Mitchell and Gomez snapped to attention.

“Not a word or I’m dumping both of you at Treasury,” Mike threatened, as he passed over the two steaming mugs.

Mitchell and Gomez accepted the coffee with matching smirks.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Gomez said, actually managing to sound contrite, but the smirk was definitely still on his face.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Mitchell added.

“Screw you both,” Mike said, but it was all in jest.

The only other agent Mike personally brought coffee to was Voight, who once again went to meet him at the front step.

“Let the guys know there’s coffee in the kitchen but they gotta get it themselves,” Mike told him.

Voight spoke into his radio. “Coffee run in the kitchen. Self serve,” he added.

Mike knew the guys would organize themselves into shifts to get the coffee. He suspected that Ramirez, the sniper on the roof would come down first. Ramirez was a coffee addict.

“You make this?” Voight asked, taking a drink.

“Asher did,” Mike replied.

“No shit,” Voight said, with a raised eyebrow. “POTUS makes good coffee.”

“I don’t scrimp on the beans,” Mike added.

Voight chuckled. “So, it’s all good between you two?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Mike admitted. “We’re gonna play this by ear. But don’t worry, you’re off the hook.”

“About time,” Voight said with a smile over the rim of his mug. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Be ready to leave in fifteen. POTUS is taking his regular jog. Push the shift change to 6:30am.”

“Will do.”

There was something familiar and comforting about going through the paces with the convoy of SUVs behind them, together with their usual morning banter. The difference this morning was that instead of heading home to change and clean up before reporting for duty as Mike would normally do, he went back with Ben to the White House, used his bathroom and then sat at the breakfast table as though he did that every day. Mike was spreading jam on his toast when Connor walked in wearing his school uniform. Connor actually froze for a moment as he took in the scene before him, his gaze traveling between his Dad and Mike. Then his face broke into a huge smile as he took his place in front of Mike.

“So, Mike,” Connor began as soon as he sat down.

Mike listened as Connor chattered on about what was happening at school, glancing briefly at Ben. Ben was completely relaxed, his attention focused on his son. For the first time in what seemed to be a long time, Mike didn’t feel uneasy. Sitting at the breakfast table with Ben and Connor, he understood that this was where he belonged.

Fin.

Chapter Text

“Connor!” Mike called, rapping on Connor’s bedroom door. “It’s time!”

There was a muffled reply and then the door was opened with Connor in the process of putting on a jacket. “Do we gotta be so formal?” he asked, shutting the door behind him. He was smoothing out his jacket as he fell into step beside Mike.

“It’s a Presidential engagement,” Mike reminded him.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Connor countered.

“It’s Thanksgiving with the President,” Mike said.

Connor laughed at that.

“How’s Lisa?” Mike asked instead as they reached the long curving staircase that would lead them to the expansive foyer below. He knew that Connor had been talking to his girlfriend when he’d knocked on the door.

“A little sulky,” Connor admitted.

“We told you she could’ve spent the weekend with us.”

“And put her through this horror show?”

“It’s not gonna be that bad.”

“Do we get to work on 360s this weekend?” Connor asked, changing the subject.

“Three-sixties?” Mike repeated. “You need to master the 180 first. You’re still –”

“Dropping the clutch too soon,” Connor finished for him. He sighed. “I know.”

Mike gave him a sideways grin before nodding to the Secret Service agent posted near the foot of the stairs. The agent returned the nod and said, “Marine One’s ETA is two minutes, sir.”

“Thank you, Baxter,” Mike replied. “Your dad’s waiting for us outside,” he told Connor, steering the young man towards the very wide back patio that spilled onto the steps leading to the back lawn.

Mike had always known that Ben had come from money. He just hadn’t realized how much money until Ben had stepped down from office and they’d moved back into Ben’s old home. The Asher estate was huge, spanning 250 acres in upstate New York. Mike had spent two weeks redesigning the security until he was satisfied.

“I’m no longer a high profile target,” Ben had reminded him, amused.

“We’re bullet-proofing the bedroom,” Mike had replied.

It had been ten months since Ben had stepped down from office and the three of them were still getting used to their new lives post the Asher presidency. Of the three of them, Connor had had it the easiest. He was in senior high school now, had a new girlfriend and was the champion of his new school’s swim team. To his relief, his Secret Service detail had been pared down considerably.

“For how long do I have to have a Secret Service detail?” he’d asked Mike one day.

“Until you turn twenty-one,” Mike had replied.

“I thought it was eighteen.”

“Twenty-one.”

Mike had assumed, incorrectly as it turned out, that Ben would’ve wanted to stay in Washington after his second term ended. But Ben wanted a break from politics and wanted to spend more time with his son before Connor left for college. He did a lot of writing now (“You’re too young to be working on your memoirs,” Mike had teased him.), made the occasional guest appearance, and gave the occasional interview. He’d been offered a teaching position at Cornell University that he was considering for the spring semester. But most of all, Ben enjoyed doing things that he’d been unable to do while running a country, usually simple things like reading for pleasure or catching up on movies. He’d also taken up gardening (“My grandmother loved gardening,” he’d told Mike.) and with the manicured lawns of the Asher estate, Mike could understand the appeal.

Perhaps the person who had had to adjust the most to life after the Asher presidency was Mike. The scandal that both he and Ben had prepared themselves for never materialized, just like Mike never became the First Gentleman. Even now, almost a year after Ben had stepped down from office, their relationship was not public knowledge, although within certain circles in D.C., it was an open secret. The night after Ben had paid Mike a visit to watch Game 3 of the NLCS (the Giants had ended up winning the World Series that year), Mike had had a very candid discussion with the Director and the Secret Service had closed ranks. Mike had been prepared to resign, but Asher and Adams wouldn’t hear of it. The three of them decided to cross that bridge when they got there, but they never got there.

In hindsight, Mike supposed it wasn’t all that surprising. Ben’s approval numbers were at an all-time high after the London attacks, and he’d ridden the wave of strong economic and foreign policy. The sharks that had been circling the waters had had to look towards other targets since their party seemed to be imploding from within. They had had to take care of their own business instead of trying to bring down the incumbent president. Ben’s final year in office was as ‘peaceful’ as they could’ve hoped. When Ben stepped down, Mike also retired from the Secret Service. At the time, Ben had been dubious about Mike’s decision.

“After a month, you’ll be bored out of your mind,” Ben had warned him.

“Maybe I need a break too,” Mike had replied, indirectly referring to Ben’s own self-imposed break from politics.

Privately, Mike had been amused that Ben thought his life needed to be filled with ‘action,’ that he wouldn’t be able to ‘switch off’ that part of himself. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to properly test out that theory because his break from active service lasted all of four months, thanks to the evening he and Ben returned from dinner to find a man bleeding in their living room. Mike had instantly stopped Agent Baxter, one of the four Secret Service agents assigned to Ben now, from calling it in. Even though Banning was no longer their field boss, the agents behaved as if he were. It was hard to break old habits.

“Do you know him?” Ben had asked, as Mike treated the stranger’s wounds with Agent Baxter’s assistance.

“Sergeant Michael Stonebridge,” Mike had answered. “Top flight S.A.S. operative. Doing black ops for MI-6 last I heard.”

“Banning,” Stonebridge had said, gripping Mike’s arm with surprising strength. “Scott. Finn. You have to get to them.”

“Let me patch you up first,” was Mike’s reply. “We’ll get to that.”

“Fuck, I’m bleeding all over your couch,” Stonebridge had mumbled before passing out.

Thanks to Michael Stonebridge and Damien Scott, Ben had gotten a taste of Mike’s world before he'd entered the Secret Service. After that, Mike had been reactivated and designated a special operative for the C.I.A., specifically for the Special Activities Division. It was spy-speak for direct engagement counter-terrorism through paramilitary tactics. The reactivation had been part of a trade-off to ensure that Stonebridge, Scott and Damien’s son, Finn, had been given new identities by the U.S. government. Asher had done the deal himself. Scott, in particular, was wanted dead and Stonebridge had a target painted on his back from certain sectors of own government, even though he’d officially resigned his commission.

So, that was where Ben and Mike were nearly a year after Ben’s presidency had ended. Life was about as normal as it would get for them, including spending Thanksgiving with the President of the United States. Marine One landed in the Asher’s massive back lawn, flanked by its escorts, Marine Two and Marine Three. The President and his wife disembarked, together with their regular complement of Secret Service agents. The other agents had arrived in advance and coordinated with Mike.

“Allan,” Ben said, greeting President Trumbull with a warm hug.

“Ben,” Allan Trumbull replied, returning the hug. “Retirement suits you,” he said when they broke apart. “Suits you both,” he added, turning to shake Mike’s hand. “We miss you at the White House.”

“We don’t miss it,” Ben answered, earning a laugh from Trumbull. “Not that this one’s very retired,” he added, nodding in Mike’s direction.

“So I hear,” Trumbull agreed, giving Mike an appraising look. “That was quite a job you did in Pakistan,” he said, dropping his voice.

“Had a good team, sir,” Mike said, always deflecting praise.

“We’re lucky to have you, Banning,” Trumbull replied. “And how’s this young man?” he asked, turning to Connor as Ben greeted Alice Trumbull.

“About to be unleashed on unsuspecting motorists,” Mike answered on Connor’s behalf, as Connor shook Trumbull’s hand.

“Hello, Mr. President,” Connor said politely. “He’s the one to blame if I flunk my driving test.”

“I thought your Dad would be the one to blame,” Mike countered. “He’s the one teaching you the regular stuff, right?”

“And what are you teaching him?” Trumbull inquired.

“The cool stuff.”

The three of them laughed as they began the walk up the back staircase leading to the patio.

“Ben, I wanted to talk to you about Tariq Mansoor,” Trumbull said, as Ben fell into step beside him.

“I hear he’s gaining momentum within the Taliban,” Ben replied effortlessly.

Mike and Connor exchanged looks and subtly dropped behind, allowing the two Presidents to discuss the latest terrorist threat. There was a good chance that Mike would hear about Tariq Mansoor in bed that evening. There was an even better chance that he’d receive a call from the SOG and be sent in to deal with Tariq Mansoor and his associates at a later date.

“Allow us to be your escort, Ma’am,” Mike told Alice Trumbull, as he offered her his arm.

Alice Trumbull smiled warmly as she accepted. “With such two handsome men, how can I possibly refuse?” she replied. “Those are exquisite rose bushes,” she commented, admiring the rose bushes that lined both sides of the wide staircase.

“Dad’s taken up gardening as a hobby,” Connor explained.

“You father has a very green thumb,” Alice said ruefully. “If only I had half as much talent. What about you, Mike? What’s your hobby?”

“Shooting,” Mike replied.