rating: up to nc17 eventually
disclaimer: I do not own either of these characters except in the conception of this story. They belong to their creators
“Mmmm?” Travis grabbed the phone, putting it to his head upside down. “Fuck.” He clumsily turned it around, almost dropping it. “Yeah?”
“Is this Travis Jensen?” A woman asked.
Travis slowly blinked awake. He didn’t remember giving his number out the night before. He would have remembered that. He rarely got the nerve up to do it, and he was positive no girl had accepted. Of course, he HAD been pretty drunk. “Yes, it is.”
“Mr. Jensen, this is Eva from Senator Stillson’s office.”
Travis sat up in bed, almost dropping the phone again. “Yes, ma’am. Good morning.”
“More like afternoon,” she chuckled. He looked at the clock and winced. One o’clock. “And no need to call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, yes. How can I help you?”
“The Senator wishes to speak with you. May I put you through?”
Like he could really say no. “Uh, yeah. I mean, of course.”
Greg had spent most of his morning locked in his office, staring at the portfolios for the cow parade. It was wasted time; he knew immediately which one he wanted. Other projects were more professionally prepared, done by well-known art and advertising agencies. But something stood out in the boy’s work, and it wasn’t just the boy himself. The talent was obvious, and it was something Greg was more than welcome to put his name on. The main problem was that Travis had only left him a computer disk, and he wanted to see something a little more concrete.
A knock startled him. “Yes?”
Eva poked her head in. “I know you said not to disturb you, Sir, but I was going for lunch and wondered what you wanted.”
Greg glanced at the clock. “Is it that late? I’ll take a ham and Swiss on rye, mustard, not mayo. Side of cole slaw, diet Pepsi.”
“Yes, Sir.” Eva started to close the door.
“Oh, Eva?” Greg called. She came back in. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you get that artist on the phone…the young one?”
“I have the information out here. I’ll do it before I leave.”
“You’re a doll. Thank you.”
Greg sat back and waited for his office line to ring. “Mr. Jensen on line one, Sir. I’ll be back in an hour with your lunch.”
“Take your time,” he answered, suddenly not very hungry.
“Go ahead, Mr. Jensen,” Eva encouraged.
“Mr. Jensen! How are you today?”
“Fine, Sir. Uh, yourself?”
Greg smiled. The young man sounded sleepy. “Did Eva waken you?”
“Yes, actually. I was, uh, up late.”
“I understand. Every now and then I take advantage of the right to be the boss and come in as I please,” Greg said with a laugh. “Of course, don’t tell the taxpayers that.”
“Yes, Sir,” the artist said nervously. “I was surprised to hear from you.”
“I don’t see why. You’re a talented man, Mr. Jensen.”
“Th-thank you, Sir.”
“I’d like to talk more about this cow thing. Are you free this Saturday? I’m afraid my weekdays are quite booked.” Greg picked up a pen and clicked it open and shut. “I was planning on a quiet night at home.”
“At your house?” The tone was pure surprise, but underneath the shock was definite interest.
“If that’s all right with you. I mean, I could always come back into the city, but my townhouse is a lot more comfortable than any restaurant. We could talk freely. Also, I need to see more of your work, and I was hoping you could print something out and bring it along.”
“Of course. I mean, that would be fine. It would definitely give me enough time to come up with something.”
“Excellent.” Greg smiled in satisfaction. “Do you have something to write down directions?”
“Hold on one second, Sir.” He could hear scrambling and cursing. “Sorry, Sir. I sorta tripped over my pants putting them on,” the boy said apologetically.
Greg held the phone away from his ear, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece and moaning softly. The boy slept naked. Christ, he didn’t need to picture that while in the office. “No problem. Here’s the easiest way to get here.” He gave quick directions to an affluent suburb. “Of course, any cab driver will know the way, and I’ll pay for your drive in and back.”
“That won’t be necessary, Sir. Thank you.”
“Shall we say six o’clock Saturday night?”
“That sounds good, Sir. Thank you so much for giving me a chance.”
“Mr. Jensen, if we’re going to be friends and work together, you can drop the Sir. Senator works fine in public, but in private I’m just Greg.”
“If…if you say so, Sir. I mean, Greg. And I’m…I’m not Mr. Jensen. I’m just Travis.”
“Well, Just Travis, I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Yes, Si…I mean, Greg. Thank you.”
“You have a good day.”
“You, too. Goodbye.”
Travis hung up and stared at the phone in shock. The Senator wanted to see him at home to discuss his work. A fucking SENATOR. He hurriedly lit a cigarette, inhaling the relaxing fumes. He then went to his laptop and turned it on. He brought up Maine’s legislative web page and found the Senator’s personal site.
The man was gorgeous, no doubt about it. Travis often felt the tingling of attraction towards other men, but had always fought the mere idea of it. He had a hard enough time finding a woman. There was no way he was putting himself out there to get the shit kicked out of him by men. The picture of the Senator was a serious pose, tie just right, half-smile on the handsome young face. There was sly glint in his eye, as if he knew that anyone looking at this picture could figure out that he was more than a figurehead standing in front of the American flag.
“Fuck,” Travis muttered, looking at the computer for a long moment before getting up to shower.