Alternate Ending
by Josan, then Rac
Once, he would have sat in his favourite armchair, propped his feet up on
the coffee table to watch whatever had taken his fancy. No more.
He sat at an angle, wriggling his back solidly into the corner. He stretched
out his legs, propped one ankle on top of the other on the ottoman and
waited.
From the kitchen came the sound of the refrigerator door opening then
closing.
"Has it started yet?" Alex held out a bottle of his favourite brew.
Walter twisted the cap off and shook his head. "About to."
Alex plunked himself down next to Walter, rested his back against his
lover's side and let his legs take over most of what was left of the couch.
Walter wrapped his arm under Alex's stump—he rarely wore the prosthesis
after supper, around his chest and hauled him in a little closer.
From the kitchen came anew the sound of the fridge door opening and closing.
Without conscious thought, Alex moved his legs closer to the back of the
couch so that their partner would have enough room to settle comfortably.
"Have I missed anything?" JD sat in the free corner, pulled his legs up and
crossed them under him.
"Just starting." Alex wriggled his socked feet so that JD's bony knee
wasn't pressed against them. JD moved over an inch.
The opening trailer had their complete attention. Once or twice, someone
snickered quietly at the dialogue. Had to be quietly because the dialogue
was machine-gunned at them.
The trailer faded into the opening credits. Walter took a chug of his beer.
JD shook his head. "I don't remember all that talking and walking when I
did my stint in the White House."
"It's a fairy tale," explained Alex, expression serious. "We all know that
White House staff can't talk and walk at the same time."
Walter bopped Alex on the head. "Knock it off, you two. I want to watch
this show once without having to settle an argument between the two of you."
His two lovers looked at him, highly insulted.
"We do not argue," said Alex.
"We are merely exchanging opinions," said JD.
"Shut up," said Walter. "It's starting again."
He had peace and quiet until the next commercial break.
"Love the way CJ handled that idiot question," JD smiled. "Sorkin writes
her well."
"You just plain love CJ," snickered Alex.
"She's got great long legs," said JD.
Alex grinned, raised an innocent eyebrow. "Bet you'd like those 'great long
legs' wrapped around you."
JD turned an equally innocent grey-blue-eyed stare onto the man sipping his
beer. "Fortunately for you, I do happen to like great long legs wrapped
around me." And he leaned over and patted the long legs that were next to
him.
Alex moved one of his feet so that it rested against JD's crotch. With a
wicked smile, he rubbed his foot back and forth. JD reached down, grabbed
Alex's white sock where his little toe should be and pinched hard. Alex's
foot went back to its mate. "Later, little boy," promised JD, in his bedroom
voice.
Walter pretended great interest in some movie-of-the-week promo, cock
twitching at JD's tone.
The next portion of the program was serious, with only one light moment to
relieve the tension and then build it right back up.
"Pity Bartlet wasn't eligible to run," muttered Alex.
JD nodded in agreement. "Mind you, he'd have to be a hell of a lot less
noble in Real Life."
"I thought," said Walter, in his strictest voice, "that we had all agreed
that party partisan politics were off limits under this roof." And then he
went on, ignoring his own statement. "While I agree that in TV-land, he's
written well, I doubt very much that Bartlet, or his staff, would be able
to do the things they do in the real White House."
Alex cocked his head sideways the better to see Walter's face. "You're just
pissed off they put Ainsley in the steam pipe maintenance room."
JD nodded. "Have you noticed that she's got a great pair of legs, too?"
Alex scoffed. "Pervert."
"What? Are you trying to tell me you haven't noticed that all the women on
the show either have great legs or are stacked?"
"I," said Alex, righteously, "do not look at the women that way. Not like
they are sexual objects. Not like some people do." He stuck his tongue out
at JD. "I like the women on this show because they are intelligent and
usually portrayed as such."
"I see. You're attracted to their brains." JD nodded, accepting this. "So
are you also attracted to Sam's brains?"
"Hell, no! Him, I'd like to fuck!"
Walter pinched Alex's side. "I never knew you were a Rob Lowe groupie?"
"I'm not. But I do like Sam Seaborn. He's hot."
The discussion ended suddenly as the program took up. The next segment was
lighter. Walter slouched in his corner. Alex propped his feet on JD's hip.
JD, his legs beginning to fall asleep from their position, uncrossed them,
stretched them out alongside Alex's, feet resting under his armpit, against
Walter's thigh.
JD was shaking his head as the next of commercials began. "That Donna!"
"What?" Alex balanced his empty bottle on his stomach. "You don't think
she's got great legs?"
"I just don't think anyone who acts and talks like she does would last a
minute in the White House."
"In other words, you don't have the hots for her as much as you do for CJ."
"She's too young," interrupted Walter before this got out of line.
"Too young?" Alex smirked at JD. "She's about the same age as Ainsley."
"Ainsley," said Walter, jumping to the defense of a character he felt had
been sadly underused, "has brains and puts them to use."
"Donna," said Alex, defending the character he felt was much misunderstood,
"would not stayed as Josh's assistant if she were as clueless as people
think she is."
"Hiding her brains under that hair, eh?" teased JD.
"Well," Alex came back, "no one is calling her a 'blonde long- haired sex
kitten'."
"Make that," growled Walter, " a 'blonde long-haired Republican sex
kitten'."
"Anyone for chips?" JD moved quickly into the kitchen, emptied a large bag
of chips into a bowl, grabbed three beers—each of them from a different
brewery. He and Alex found it funny that Walter felt so protective of
Ainsley. Mind you, Leo had those feelings too, thought JD as he handed out
the beers. Must be something about Ainsley that brought out the Protector
in older men.
"This Gilbert and Sullivan thing is a bit much," grouched Walter. "It's time
Sorkin found himself another running gag."
Alex swallowed his mouthful of beer too quickly. "What," he coughed, "do
you have against Gilbert and Sullivan?"
Walter grimaced.
"It's good stuff," insisted Alex.
"Iolanthe is good stuff?" mocked Walter.
Alex shrugged. "Okay, but Mikado is brilliant." And, in a voice that was
just a hint off-key, began singing "Behold the Lord High Executioner".
JD groaned loudly, used a foot to not so gently nudge the singer. "Shut up.
It's starting again," even though the commercial was still extolling the
wondrous advantages of some cleanser.
"Alex? Why don't you want to fuck Toby?" asked Walter, out of the blue.
Eyes on the screen, Alex answered without thinking. "He's too old."
JD winced.
"He's my age," said Walter, in a very steady voice.
Alex had realized what he'd said as it was leaving his mouth. Too late to
call it back. He knew that Walter was a bit sensitive to being the oldest
among them. He did some quick thinking.
"Yeah, maybe chronologically. But he's old. Not like you. And he's so
damn fucking serious all the time. He wouldn't be any fun in bed. Not,"
and here he dared look to see how Walter was taking all this, "adventuresome
like some we could mention." And he gave Walter his most innocent smile.
Walter hid his smile and pleasure at the compliment behind his beer bottle.
"Nice come-back," whispered JD.
The next segment was machine-gun delivery after machine-gun delivery as a
variety of story lines crossed paths.
"We are taping this?" Alex wondered aloud in a moment of rare silence on
the screen.
"What? You missed that? Something wrong with your hearing, elf- ears?" JD
snickered as he grabbed a handful of chips.
"Nothing wrong with my hearing. Your chip crunching is louder than the
audio on the set. Yoda-ears."
"Enough!" Walter pinched the foot on his thigh, the shoulder next to it.
"And yes, we are taping. That way I get to hear all the stuff your
arguing makes me miss," he growled.
His lovers got the message.
They watched in silence until Sorkin's credit appeared on the screen,
indicating the program was over.
"Ainsley," said Walter, "had some good lines tonight."
"Everyone had some good lines tonight," said JD. "Nothing like good
writing."
"Not like this thing," groused Alex, as a commercial for a show that was in
its eighth season came on.
The three men watched, all grimacing.
"I thought they were going to use the AD more this year. Wasn't that what
they promoted in all those interviews? Now there's an underused character!"
"The new guy might be half decent if someone wrote some half decent
scripts."
"I hear the assassin is finally going to show up only in the last couple of
shows. What a waste!"
"Are there any previews of next week's episode?" asked JD, using a wet
finger to pick up the last of the chip crumbs in the bowl.
"Better be," said Alex, picking up the crumbs that he had scattered on the
front of his t-shirt.
"Hey!" smiled Walter. "More Ainsley next week."
JD frowned...this could turn ugly. Walter had been ranting—well, for him
it could be called ranting—about poor Ainsley walking in the closet when
the President arrived, and how she obviously needed someone to take her
under his wing to mentor her in the hectic political reality of the West
Wing.
Alex was beginning to look like a thundercloud even though he hadn't said a
word. But JD knew...he recognized that predator look in his eye, and Walter
wasn't paying attention at all. It was poor Ainsley this, poor Ainsley
that.
When Alex silently stalked after Walter when he'd gone upstairs, JD wasn't
surprised at all. He simply cleaned up the living room of bottles and
snacks, cleaned up in the kitchen, locked the doors and turned off the
lights.
By that time, he was already aroused just thinking about what punishments
Alex was doling out to poor Walter for seeming to be more animated, more
involved and more attracted (ah, that was the real offense to Alex) to
Ainsley than to Alex.
Grinning, JD bounded up the stairs, in a hurry to get to bed.
alter, beer bottle in hand, settled in the corner of the extra- long
leather couch that faced the wide-screen television set at the other end of
the living room. With one foot, he dragged over the matching ottoman as he
placed his beer on the table next to the couch. He picked up the remote,
aimed it at the screen and, while the ending credits of some program
scrolled, made himself comfortable.
