theirlawyer | (no subject)

(no subject)

The Nexus has a lot of benefits, ranging from plush comfortable mattresses to long buffets filled with all kinds of food that Ainsley could normally only dream of, but what she finds is the very best door so far is the one she opens when she goes to find Sam and instead opens a door to a tropical beach paradise. The calming rush of ocean waves to the shore of a private beach and a cabana makes Ainsley all too aware that what she's missing is a beach vacation.

She props the door open with her shoe before heading off to find the appropriate clothes and the right partner for that kind of thing. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt that belongs to some guy she'd accidentally stolen it from, Ainsley hitches her well-stocked bag of preparations (and food) higher over her shoulder while she tries the door right next to the beach one, as if Sam might have moved without telling her.

"Sam?" she calls, knocking steadily. "I'm giving you another thirty seconds. Trust me, you'll like it," she promises sweetly, because she really can't imagine anyone who wouldn't like the hot sun and sand of a beautiful beach where no expectations or responsibilities lay on their heads.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, it will be if we plan it properly," she says, even though her mouth has made it ahead of her mind, because even though she's replying to Sam, she's actually wondering if it's possible that they'll end up in a Gilbert and Sullivan type number. "Pirates of Penzance isn't real, right? I mean, I know these doors can do that, but not like that, you think?"

She's not sure whether she wants it or whether it'd be just too, too weird.

"Well, I'm not inclined to say anything isn't real, considering the very existence of this place, but should Pirates of Penzance be real and we somehow stumble into our very own version of it, I think we know it well enough to make our way out. It's not something I'm going to worry about at the moment."

Sam grins at her. "Because at the moment, I have a date with a beautiful, brilliant blonde and there's a beach waiting for us."

"Because I can't sing, Sam," Ainsley says, very seriously when it comes to this most important matter. She likes to sing, but she can't do it very well and if she ends up in some Gilbert and Sullivan piece, then she's likely to get booted out on the merit of her singing. "And who might this beautiful, brilliant blonde be?" she does ask, to tease him along.

"Well, she's a Republican from North Carolina, which isn't really my type, but I just can't help myself," Sam says, winking at her. "She's smarter than me in every way imaginable and all it does is makes me want her even more than I already do."

Ainsley ducks her head down, her lips split in a delighted smile for the compliments (and she hides her face so that the pink rise in her cheeks doesn't earn her more teasing). "I hope you don't think you can win a long campaign to convert me to being a Democrat," she warns, peeking into public doors to see if she can find the beach one, but the first few are a no go. "And to think, I'm going on a date with the most eligible bachelor in the White House," she muses. "Good thing there's no gossip columnists lurking around this place."

"What can I say? I love a woman who can make me look like an ass," Sam says. It's true. He's never been satisfied with less than an intellectual equal and, in many ways, Ainsley surpasses him. It challenges him and makes him want to do better and that's something that keeps him interested.

It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful. Ainsley Hayes is quite possibly one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen in his life and she's the complete package. Any man would be so lucky. He's especially so.

It works, because Ainsley likes making him out to be one. Not that she's going to confess to that very loudly, but it's still the complete truth. She smiles warmly and shifts her bag to her other hand so that she can lean a little into his side -- her giant t-shirt all that she's wearing overtop her bikini, with the flip-flops.

"Here we go," she says, drawing open the door with a victorious smile. "Ready for some sun and relaxation?"

"Born ready." The beach is gorgeous - sparkling white sand and deep blue water. It reminds Sam of being back home in California in a lot of ways only he bets the water is a hell of a lot warmer than it is back home in Newport.

"But I'm a little more ready to see what you've got under that shirt of yours."

Ainsley laughs warmly when she sets up the towel under one of the beautiful palm trees, because while she may be eager to worship the sun, her skin isn't always the same. She stretches out and dips her toes in the sand, nudging her fingers towards him. "Eye for an eye," she insists. "Your shirt for mine."

Sam has no issues with pulling off his shirt and he does. He had more of a tan in his California days; long hours indoors during the relatively-harsher DC winter has made what was once golden brown very, very pale. Still, he can work on his tan now and he plans to.

"I think I got the better end of this deal."

Ainsley gives him a smile and does the same, though it's hardly the revealing kind of bikini that most men might hope for. She'd grabbed her sports two-piece from home that she'd always enjoyed swimming in, though it does occur to her that this is the first time Sam is seeing any bare part of her.

"I feel like this is something most people do for the first time in private," she confesses. "You show me yours, I show you mine."

"Well, I don't see anyone else around," Sam says, laughing lightly. "Ainsley, you're gorgeous. You know that, right?"

It's also the least important part of their relationship, in Sam's mind. It's wonderful, to be sure, but it's her mind and her convictions and her tenacity that draw him to her more than her creamy skin and long blonde hair.

"Oh, I know very well that I'm an attractive woman," Ainsley assures, giving Sam a look that says there's never been any doubt in her mind about that. "I also happen to enjoy my intimacies more in private than public, but I do think you're right," she admits, peeking left and then all the way down right. "I don't think anyone's really watching," she says, nudging off her shorts before she starts to lay out the towels and food.

"When you're ready, I get to rub suntan lotion all over that manly back of yours. It's just my part in preventing skin cancer," is what she has to say, so innocently, on the subject.

"Thank God I have you. Otherwise, I'd just have to take my chances with ozone layer holding up," Sam says, tossing her the bottle of sunblock.

While there's a practical purpose in it, Sam can't deny a certain pleasure in having Ainsley's hands all over his skin.

Ainsley catches it with both hands and settles herself in her place so that she's plenty comfortable. Once the blanket is the right way and the umbrella is doing what the tree isn't, she shifts closer to Sam, tapping on his shoulder to get him to face away from her while she starts to lather up her hands with the sunscreen.

"When's the last time you were on a beach vacation that wasn't California?" she wonders.

"Once upon a never," Sam admits. Ainsley's hands feel good against his back and Sam doesn't bother to suppress a sigh or the smile that comes along with it. It's been a long time since he's been able to share simple intimacy like this with anyone and it feels good. It feels like there's something more to his life than work and work and more work; while he loves his job and believes passionately in the Bartlet Administration and his part in it, part of him wants something for himself - his own personal legacy. Ainsley feels like she might be a part of that.

"I planned one, once, but then I had to cancel because of work. What about you? When was your last vacation?"

She digs her fingers a little deeper, encouraged on by that little sound. Her smile is a self-satisfied little thing, pleased with the vacation and of having Sam Seaborn prone and open to her whims and wills. "I think it was before my switch to my last job. I went to London for a week, but wound up lurking around and trying to get on the floor of the House of Commons to watch their processes."

"That's something I would like to see," Sam says. "Seeing how government works in another country, especially one so similar to our own...I would probably go through a ream of paper taking notes and still wouldn't have enough. Luckily I have a very good memory. So, did you actually get to see them introduce any legislation?"

"No, they made me leave before anything interesting happened," Ainsley admits. "Apparently, someone who stays on the floor that long without any actual security clearance or reason to be there sort of throws up a few flags and they might have been concerned about what I was doing there," she says with a wry smile.

She finishes with the sunscreen, wiggling the bottle in Sam's face. "My turn," she says happily, lying on her stomach on the towel.

While Sam thinks he could talk about legislation all day, he thinks the only thing more interesting than that is the smooth, soft expanse of Ainsley's skin. He takes the sunscreen and rubs it between his hands before sliding them along her back.

"I wouldn't want you to get burned. You're so fair...I bet you get freckles, don't you?"

"Unfortunately," Ainsley agrees, because she'd grown up thinking that freckles are a sign of a redhead's skin and she'd always treasured her long, flowing blonde locks. "That's nice, though, what you're doing," she murmurs, trying not to flush at the feel of Sam's hands on her skin. "Don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmurs, rubbing her back long after the lotion is rubbed into her skin. It's nice, having an excuse to touch her like this and he thinks they'll have to arrange beach trips more often.

"Ainsley...what would you say about something more serious? Exclusive?"

Ainsley tilts her head to the side to give him a considerate look. It's not that she disagrees with the notion or that she's been wanting otherwise, but maybe there's a part of her that thinks that they're not on the same page if Sam doesn't already know that she wants to be exclusive. Then again, they've never talked about it, so how could they have figured it out? "I wouldn't mind that at all," she promises, smiling up at him. "If nothing else, I want to make sure we give us the best chance we can."

"Exactly. And I think it's a disservice to us and especially you if I'm not in it head first," Sam says, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

"I'm crazy about you, Ainsley. I've been crazy about you for a long time. It's more than just something I want to consider as casual, at any rate, and I didn't exactly know how to broach the subject without frightening you off so I decided to just put my feelings out there and hope for the best. It's always the bravest moments that are off the cuff and...I'm rambling, aren't I?"

These are all the right things to say and even though Ainsley wants to believe them with all her heart, there's a part of her that knows she should be wary. Guys like Sam don't come along all the time and sure, he might have politics that she completely disagrees with, but he's smart and handsome, and fun to argue with and willing to listen to her. Plus, he doesn't think she's weird.

"I'm a little crazy about you too, Sam," she admits, turning onto her side so she can look at him properly while they talk. "I guess it was never really the right time at work. I mean, everyone would definitely talk. Your reputation would probably be tainted, not to mention mine."