The Office of Dr. Elliot Baldwin

“Good choice.” He couldn’t help but feel relief at the choice. Sam had been craving a well-made gyro all morning. “But I’m afraid it’s a bit out of the way. A friend of mine owns a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the other side of town… and I don’t fancy walking that far in these shoes.” 

He proceeded to poke a bit of fun at Elliot, a grin forming on his lips as he flirted. It was getting hard for Sam not to grin whilst around the surgeon. “Looks like you’ll just have to get used to being chauffeured around, Baldwin.”

Sam opened the glass door to the front of the building, holding it to let Elliot pass through. He let his eyes linger over the other man’s back as he passed before drifting downwards just a bit. It wasn’t a long look, but it wasn’t a short glance either. And he didn’t exactly avert his eyes all too quickly when the surgeon turned around. So what if he was eyeing his employee? Elliot didn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, it seemed more like a game forming between the two of them – a cat and mouse strategy where neither of them knew which role they were supposed to be playing yet. 

All Sam knew was that at this point, he really shouldn’t touch. Although… that was more of a guideline than a hard rule. 

They approached the black car parked at the curb and Sam’s driver opened the door for them to enter. “We’re going over to Fifteenth Street,” he told the man before taking initiative and leading Elliot into the backseat of the car.

Sliding over and stretching out, Sam pulled his phone from his jacket pocket to send a quick text to the owner of the restaurant they were headed to. Once finished, he replaced it and turned to Elliot, watching his reaction to the situation carefully. He didn’t know much about him aside from what he’d been told by the man himself and what had been unearthed in his background check. Deducing it was always Sam’s favorite part, though, and he found himself absolutely fascinated by the brunette. 

“Tell me about yourself, Elliot,” Sam prompted, leaning back in his seat, legs falling open just the slightest touch as he relaxed. “Did you grow up here? What branch of surgery did you do?” He asked the questions almost rapid-fire, curious to hear the answers to them. “I’m sure you’ve got a whole host of interesting stories living up in that brain of yours.”

Elliot almost laughed. God, if he didn’t know Sam’s type all too well already! Of course there was a car. Of course he knew the owners of restaurants. Of course, of course, of course.

The surgeon climbed into the sleek black car after the heir, the door being closed for him before he could even reach for the handle. And as quickly as Sam gave the direction, they were off.

Then came the small talk. Elliot thought it a little unconventional that he was only getting to that sort of thing now, but made no mention of it, choosing to answer Sam’s rapid-fire questions as best he could.

“Here? Oh, God, no. No. I grew up in the suburbs of Miami. It was me, my sister, and my parents, and it was miserable. I mean, it’s Florida -- the only state synonymous with ‘we do weird shit’. So, I got out of there, moved up to Baltimore, and blew all my savings on studying pre-med and getting my PhD at Johns Hopkins. I did plastic surgery for a few years, had my own practice... then the virus broke out, my kidneys failed, and well... you know the rest. ...It’s really not all that interesting,” he explained, making sure to leave out the less favorable aspects of his years in Baltimore. Sam didn’t need to know everything. Though, thinking about it, Elliot realized his time spent at Blue Heaven probably came up in his background check.

Damn it.

Elliot rested his hands in his lap a bit uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say. He couldn’t very well ask about Sam’s personal life, could he? Sam was his boss, and, quite frankly, Elliot was fairly certain he knew all the important details regarding him.

Sam’s eyes rolled shut at the movement of his lover’s fingers stroking over him, and he had the brief, frightening thought that Elliot might just stab him in the back and he wouldn’t be able to defend himself – wouldn’t care. As long as Elliot kept touching him the way he did, a single thing wouldn’t matter.

The slap on his ass rang through the room and he jolted, letting out an involuntary moan. The weight lifted off his back and he opened his eyes to watch Elliot circle around the bed – their bed – and dig in his nightstand. A short burst of crippling fear froze Sam in his spot with the idea that Elliot might be going for a weapon, but instead it turned out to be something much more pleasurable. He let the air out of his lungs, sighing as he felt Elliot move back behind him again. His lover was a murderer, yes, but he wasn’t planning on murdering Sam at least – he needed to remember that.

Cold liquid poured over him, followed almost immediately after by fingers and – 

Oh. 

That felt good. Sam inched a hand down the bed and shifted it under his belly to reach for his cock, stroking slowly as Elliot began to work him over, steady and unrelenting. 

It felt good to let go. After all the lies and the fights and the aching loneliness he’d experienced, it almost seemed ridiculous to let Elliot back in again. Even that evening, Sam had been scared to death that he was going to be the next victim, slain in their own home before Elliot took off into the night to save himself. He groaned and began to push back against Elliot’s fingers, urgency and need prickling beneath his skin. It had been so long since they’d been intimate that every stroke, every spoken word from the man behind him felt like it was dousing him in oil and setting him alight, and he’d be damned if he told him to stop.

“Yes,” he couldn’t help but gasp, rocking back in place, held between his own hand and his lovers’. “Please, Elliot… I can’t…” Sam closed his eyes again and pressed his cheek against the blanket bunched up underneath him, his other hand grasping for purchase. “I need more.”

Elliot cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. What were you saying? You can’t? You can’t what?”

The surgeon leaned forward, his fingers still enveloped by his lover’s heat. He laid some of his weight on top of the smaller man, getting his lips as close to Sam’s bare neck as he could. He knew that even just his warm breath on the blonde’s skin could elicit a vocal and wanton response.

“You need more?” he repeated, almost condescendingly. “You’re gonna have to ask nicer than that, sweetheart.”

Elliot drove another finger quickly into Sam, hoping to earn another lustful moan from his lover, then drew his three fingers slowly out, all but teasing him. A smirk -- nearly playful -- came to Elliot’s face as he listened to the sounds the blonde made for him.

Finally. The moment had arrived. The surgeon felt like he’d been teasing himself more than he’d been teasing Sam by holding off from entering his lover. But now he felt he could hold back no longer, and positioned himself between the blonde’s lightly tanned legs, his member standing erect and more than ready to claim what was rightfully his own.

The surgeon placed a hand on each of Sam’s hips, his fingers digging in hard -- much harder than what was necessary. They were sure to leave marks behind. This wasn’t about giving Sam anything. It was about taking.

“Beg for me,” Elliot demanded. His voice came out in such a way that it sternly commanded respect without being louder than if he’d been in normal conversation.

He thought he was expecting this sort of thing, but at the sound of Elliot’s voice cutting across their shared space, Sam jumped. His head turned to the side, catching movement out of the corner of his eye just before he felt them – fingers clutching into his hips, holding him in place, forcing him to behave.

“Elliot –” Sam said aloud before he was cut off by the man that somewhere in his mind, in his heart, he still loved. Don’t fight me. Even if he’d wanted to turn around and fight Elliot off, he found he wouldn’t have been able to. Not after what had happened downstairs, and especially not after what they’d said in the office. Elliot knew he was Sam’s weakness. And even though Sam was disgusted with himself at that knowledge, he found he would still rather play house with a serial killer than let morality prevail.

Those hands traveled down, and Sam found he was holding his breath, leaning himself back against Elliot’s chest as the buttons on his pants came undone. A shiver went through him at the touch. It had been months since Sam had let Elliot close enough to touch on purpose, and the feel of his hands gripping and stroking at him, roughly even, made him let the air he was holding in his lungs out with a harsh gasp. Against his better judgement, he rocked his hips forward for his lover, determining without a doubt that this was something that he did, in fact, want.

A moment later and he was bent over the bed, bare chest brushing over the duvet as he looked over his shoulder at the surgeon, eyes chasing the fumbling hands. His own fingers brushed back against Elliot’s clothed thigh, waiting to see what would happen next, both nervous and aroused by the hand on his lower back.

Elliot hastily stepped out of his pants and began stroking his length, which had grown hard during these past few moments. His other hand grabbed at Sam’s bare ass, fingers working the soft flesh there. 

The surgeon pushed his hips forward, his cock slipping past Sam’s entrance, coming to lay along the center of his lover’s lower back.

“You want me, Sam. Don’t think for a second that I don’t know that. Even when you pushed me away, you wanted me. You always have,” Elliot purred. His fingers moved towards Sam’s hole and one threatened to push inside, circling the entrance teasingly.

Elliot spanked Sam’s rear once quickly. “Stay.”

He moved toward the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube. It hadn’t been touched since the last time they’d made love.

Elliot returned to his original position, flipping the cap open and spilling the contents over Sam’s rear. He gathered some on his finger and began working at his lover’s entrance, one finger pushing in, then two, slowly preparing Sam for his length. This was Elliot’s favorite part, just listening to the carnal sounds Sam made for him. It made his breath shallow and his cock twitch.

The electoral college does not vote until December 19th. We have 40 days.

What does this mean?

Right now, the presidential election results are only a PROJECTION of the election outcome. They are PRELIMINARY RESULTS. A candidate still needs to earn 270 electoral votes to win. Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, which means that more than 50% of the voters wanted her for president. The electoral college shouldn’t guarantee an override of the public’s opinion– and it doesn’t have to.

There are 21 states that do NOT restrict which candidate the electors vote for. Out of these 21, Hillary lost the following:

As you can see, these states are worth 166 electoral votes. As it currently stands, Hillary Clinton is projected to receive 232 votes. Trump is projected to win 306. This means that 37 votes need to be taken away from Trump to bring him down to 269. Hillary Clinton needs 38 votes ADDED to win 270. These electoral voters can also abstain, which means that they can refuse to vote for either candidate. If 37 of the voters within these states abstain then no candidate will have reached the required 270. In this case, the vote would be taken to the House.

Trump won Pennsylvania, a state that typically votes blue, by less than 100,000 votes. While it is highly unlikely to get all 20 electoral voters to cross party lines and vote democrat, it also isn’t impossible to convince a few of them to be “faithless electors.” We only need to convince 38 out of the 166. That is 23%. There are SIXTEEN states we need to focus our attention on.

A move like this would be unprecedented. However, as we all saw on November 8th, odds don’t guarantee reality. Trump had a less than 20% winning, yet given the circumstances, enough people came together and made it happen. We can make this happen. 

Ask yourself this: What do we have left to lose? We can stay complacent and accept that this country will be run by a racist, sexist, islamophobic, homophobic, ablest bigot, or we can at least try. 

How?

SPREAD THE WORD. Trend #NotMyPresident to let people know that we do not accept being led by a man who does not care about our wellbeing. Email your professors, email the dean of your colleges. The last thing a university wants is negative press. Millenials can take a stand, but that doesn’t mean we have to be the only ones. Church-led events helped bring a lot of disillusioned voters to the polls. Spread the word in any way possible, whether it be on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or even in person. Stage a peaceful protest. Hand out flyers. Let the people around you know that you don’t accept this man as your leader when he won’t even accept you as a citizen with your designated rights.

These 166 people need to face the consequences of electing this man. 

“Things change so quickly, Elliot,” Sam said over his shoulder, waiting for the other man to catch up to him. “Of course the older families have their ways of staying on top, but it’s the socialites you need to watch out for. They’ll do anything to stay relevant, including clawing down others in order to retain their rightful place among the elite.” He roamed blue eyes over the brunette. “You wouldn’t be the first surgeon they attempt to sink their teeth into to catch an organ deal.”

A laugh escaped him as he ushered Elliot through the office door in front of him and toward the elevator. “But you’re smart, aren’t you, Baldwin? I don’t see you as the type to be swayed by a pretty starlet.” Sam reached out and pressed the descending floor button. “Not when you have someone as… Affluent as myself to remind you to keep things in check. It’s all about balance, after all. Flirting helps reputation, fucking doesn’t.” Unless you’re fucking me, he thought covertly, though he kept that sentiment to himself. They were only business associates after all, regardless of the looks they had been exchanging.

He followed Sam to the elevators, listening to the blond heir talk. It was no wonder the Nightingale family was at the very top echelons of society -- they certainly had a way with words.

“What would I like...” Elliot repeated the question slowly, thinking it over. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten anything but leftovers at home, but I’m told that, psychologically, the second option someone gives is the option they want themselves. So let’s go with Greek. I’m quite partial to pastitsio, after all.”

The doors of the elevator let the two men out on the ground floor of the GeneCo building, and Elliot let Sam step out first to lead the way.