Dougie throws the party, and the only reason TJ even thinks about showing up is because his mom begs him to.
Once he’s there and has finished all of his housekeeping responsibilities (greeting everyone that he absolutely has to, and shamelessly flirting with one of Anne’s cute friends) he pushes his way towards the bar. He listens to his mother’s speech, plastering his best fake smile on his face when the few cameras allowed into the party start snapping photos of him. His mother finally stops talking, the music resumes, and the bar is back open for business
“You’re the Hammond kid, right?” A man behind him asks after 10 minutes of TJ sitting alone, and TJ swallows back another sip of vodka. He doesn’t make eye contact yet.
“What’s it to you?”
“Ooh, pushback. I like that,” the man says, and his eyes have a mischievous glint in them that makes TJ want to know more. He looks back at the man, drinking him in, slower than he did with the vodka in his hand. He wants the man to see him looking, and when he sees the way the man’s fingers flex against his thigh as TJ’s eyes scan over chest and down past the waistband of his shorts, he knows he’s accomplished just that.
“The name’s Walsh. Connor Walsh,” the man says, holding out his hand. TJ takes it, willing to play along. He shakes firmly, and tries not to think about what those hands would feel like on him.
“TJ Hammond. But you of course already knew that.”
“Indeed I did. You’re much sassier in person; has anyone told you that before?”
“Can’t say that they have,” TJ says, obviously amused.
“Hm. Like I said, pushback. I like that.” Connor murmurs, biting down on the corner of his lip ever so slightly.
“Is that your way of telling me you like a bit of a struggle?” TJ says, and Connor steps closer, chuckling.
“Maybe I’ll get the chance to show you what I mean.”
“The rumors about me being easy for pretty boys aren’t true. Don’t waste your breath; you’ll have to try a little harder than that.” TJ says, drawing him in closer. This man knows how to play; TJ knows that much for sure. He wants something from TJ; probably some sealed document from his mom’s office or a private interview with Douglas about the internal affairs of the State office. He doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t care. He’s more than willing to play his own games before he lets the other man call checkmate and move on to print whatever article he’s in the midst of.
Boys can play games with TJ Hammond, but TJ will always play them better.
“You think I’m pretty, TJ Hammond?” Connor breathes close to him as he reaches for his drink, breath hot against TJ’s ear. TJ’s eyes flutter ever so slightly, and he tugs indiscreetly at his shirt collar. Fuck. Connor smirks, taking his own vodka orange from the counter.
“Oh, you’re something Connor Walsh. I look forward to figuring out the intimate details,” TJ says, and Connor’s eyes go a shade darker. It sends a shiver down TJ’s spine.
“Find me afterwards,” Connor says before he slips away, and it isn’t a question. It’s not even a request.
It’s a goddamn promise, and TJ has all intentions of holding him to that.
Connor drags him away at midnight, when the party has started to slow, but it’s still crowded enough that they can slip away unseen. TJ takes the lead as soon as they’re away from the main hall, leading Connor back behind into the depths of the White House. TJ chuckles at how familiar these hallways are, and the use he’s finding for them now compared to those of his childhood.
“Let’s just- here,” TJ says helplessly, consequences be damned. He kicks the door shut and grip Connor’s tie, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Connor’s mouth is relentless against his own, teeth sinking into the meat of his lower lip. TJ thinks he tastes traces of blood, but then Connor’s hands are slipping down the back of his suit pants, and TJ finds he doesn’t much care at all.
“You were watching me, all night. You want me,” TJ whispers when they break apart, and Connor surges forward, hands grabbing at TJ’s ass, lifting him up just enough to set him on the mahogany wood of the desk belonging to some White House official. The thought of how fucking dirty they’re being is setting his nerves on fire.
“Goddamit,” Connor gasps, sitting TJ up on the desk and stepping between his thighs. TJ’s so fucking turned on his head is spinning. He wraps his legs around Connor’s hips, grinding down hard. “Fuck, I can’t-“
TJ rips his shirt open, exposing toned muscles and tan skin. Connor looks slightly annoyed, but then TJ leans down to bite at his collarbone, and Connor snakes his hands through TJ’s hair. The look of distaste immediately disappears. TJ’s shirt comes off next, and there’s no stopping Connor’s hands. His blunt nails scratch at the surface of TJ’s skin and TJ fucking loves every second of it. TJ undoes Connor’s tie with fumbling fingers, palms sweating as they reach forward to touch goosebump-riddled skin.
When TJ has finally fought his pants off, boxers and all, Connor’s hand is on his dick the second he’s spit on his palm, jerking him off tight and hard and fast. TJ’s thighs seize up because Christ that’s good. And once TJ starts talking, it’s like he can’t stop.
“What do you want from me?” TJ murmurs, gripping Connor’s hair tightly and pulling back slightly. His mouth falls open in a small moan, moving his hand faster and gripping tighter. Connor can’t even answer. It’s never been like this; he’s always been the manipulator, but right now, he’d gladly scream for TJ to give him a touch, a kiss; anything.
“This,” he fights out, and TJ shakes his head, pulling more sharply.
“There’s more,” TJ whispers and Connor can’t think. “I know there is, but you’re not going to get it until I’m finished with you. You like to play games, don’t you Connor? I know you do. You may think I’m some starry-eyed little twink who will get on my eyes for you just because you look at me the right way, but oh no. I can play your games just as well as you can. I know your type, and I can tell you right now, you don’t know what you’ve started, Connor Walsh. You don’t know how far I’ll go just to hear you beg,” TJ hisses and comes with a ragged gasp, pushing up into Connor’s hand. Connor can’t breathe, vision cloudy as TJ switches their positions, slamming Connor’s back against the wooden desk, kneeling in front of him.
TJ yanks Connor’s pants down and doesn’t tease. Connor’s so hot for him, so thick and hard, the weight heavy and familiar in the back of his throat. It’s the most erotic and dirty TJ’s ever felt, and there’s no way he’s letting this go. He sucks dutifully, cheeks hollowing in, throat squeezing tightly when Connor shoves his hips forward. He’s moaning, his fingers tightening their grip in TJ’s hair painfully. All TJ can think about is how fucking perfect it will be when he’s able to have Connor laid out for him in his bed, limbs stretched out wide, legs spread apart and ass exposed and open so that TJ can control everything Connor feels, down to every last touch-
“TJ, fuck, fuck-“ is all Connor can manage before he’s spilling, warm down the back of TJ’s throat. TJ rests his forehead against Connor’s thigh as he comes down, and Connor’s hand pets through his hair once.
It’s the closest this relationship will ever come to intimacy, and that immediately puts TJ at ease.
They dress quickly and silently, save for a few accidental touches when their elbows knock together as they redo their button-ups. TJ picks Connor’s tie up off the floor, wrapping it around his neck and tying the knot firmly. Connor smirks, and TJ steals one more kiss just because he can. Connor gives TJ back his suit jacket, and as TJ puts it back on, he notices that Connor has already slipped a business card into his breast pocket.
“Next time, I’ll give you a struggle,” TJ promises, and then Connor is smirking at him, eyes lit up with the flashing cameras.
“Who’s that?” Dougie asks, and TJ turns around to tell him.
TJ looks back a minute later as a blushing Dougie walks away to talk to their mother.
Connor has already vanished.