soft!McGraham for Lindsey's 60th birthday, gifted to my friend @2180234
Lindsey Graham sighed as he entered the dark house, fumbling for a moment to find the light switch. He flicked it up and suddenly the room was bathed in a soft yellow light.
It was his birthday. 60 years old. He never thought he would be able to make it this far and a wave of pride coursed through him at what a normal person would consider an average feat. He would admit it, he was proud of himself, proud of what he'd been able to accomplish against all odds. He wasn't ashamed to admit it, the admiration he felt towards his own person. His chest felt lighter as he stepped further into the sparse room.
He'd lived here for years, but he never accumulated many possessions. Maybe it was a habit from his military days, but he didn't like memories. Old family photographs of his relatives, of his parents and sister, passed down trinkets and collectables; no, he wasn't fond of those. His sister's house was littered with knick-knacks of all sorts in shelves lining the walls, but his home was simply decorated with the bare necessities.
Of course, he wasn't completely unsentimental. His treasured belongings, the ones he held a peculiar and irrational attachment to for such purely materialistic objects, he kept in his basement.
His basement was what he jokingly called the time warp. It was a room few were privy to see.
"What basement?" he would say when anyone inquired about the room. It was just, well, his basement was private. The sound of the creaky wooden steps was amplified as he lightly tread down them, the room itself was probably filled with a layer of dust, but he couldn't bring himself to clean it. His basement was his sanctuary and torment, his soul felt elated and equally sunken with despair when he entered the room.
Memories were not good. Memories brought tears and sadness, flashbacks and breakdowns. Yes, he was known as a joker, always making light of his situation, of his experiences. That was part of the facade he so carefully and painstakingly maintained throughout the majority of his life. Humor was a part of him, his greatest asset and biggest foe.
Nobody likes a crybaby. That's what they told him as a boy when he was bullied. Despite the pathetic situation, the words stuck with him, becoming a creed which he lived by for the rest of his life. At heart, Lindsey was a sensitive man, words hurt him more than actions, and no matter how hard he tried to conceal it, the slew of insults and derogatory remarks thrown at him stung even after the incident in which they featured in had long past.
His sister, bless her soul, never spoke about the nights his sobs would echo through air vents when he thought she was asleep. Night was the time for sorrow, for him to pity himself and his misfortune, and he always felt a pang of disgust for himself afterwards. Many people suffered far worse than him, yet here he was, trying to conceal the puffy redness around his eyes from suspecting onlookers.
That was why he kept his memories locked away in the basement, the good and bad, he didn't need those extreme emotions in his life.
That all changed however, when he entered the senate. His sister's loving remarks could only remedy so much.
As a boy and a young man, he always had a group of friends, people who would laugh at his jokes and punch him in the arm with tears in their eyes as they begged him to tell another one. He let comedy define him and ultimately guide him in all his future social interactions. It was humor that lead him to meet John McCain. John, his best friend and greatest ally. They met during one of the early senate luncheons. Of course, anyone who's anyone in the military heard of the great Admiral John F. McCain and his son, the POW who took his father's name. Lindsey knew who the other senator was at first glance, if the man's white hair and oval shaped face weren't an immediate give away. John had been standing around in the corner, talking to some of his other colleagues about something or another. As the other's in his group departed, John had been left standing there and that's when Lindsey knew it was his chance to introduce himself.
He couldn't exactly remember how it went down, only stray thoughts and random details, like thinking to himself that McCain was taller than he expected, while it was only about a two inch difference, Lindsey felt very small in the other man's presence. He also recalled the way the skin around John's eyes crinkled after Lindsey told a particularly bad joke. It was laugher just like any other man's but there was something different about John that made Lindsey feel relaxed. He'd built his life on the ability to make other's feel at ease with humor, it was a skill and a burden, but it was a proven technique for success. Yet with John, he felt as though he could let his pretenses drop, like he could allow the other man to see the side of Lindsey Graham few were ever privy off. The boy who cried when he was bullied and the man who still ached with unresolved emotions. This man, this war hero and legend of the senate, had just laughed at his lame joke and slung his around him like he'd known Lindsey his whole life. Lindsey had never experienced anything like this, even his buddies in the armed forces had never taken to him as quickly as John had. It was new and it was refreshing and after two days, Lindsey had fallen in love with John McCain.
They say love is a fickle thing, that it takes time, that it changes a man, makes him do things he would have never considered in his wildest dreams.
It wasn't like that for Lindsey. He and John had went out for afternoon coffee, an outing which would some become a daily routine for them. They sat across from each other, John retelling some story about his early days in the senate. As he spoke, Lindsey watched as John's fingers absentmindedly rubbed the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtless action, a meaningless gesture, but Lindsey knew right then and there that he was in love with Senator John McCain.
Everything after that was a blur, days spent paling around in the Capitol, carless jokes and casual touches, and with each subsequent encounter, Lindsey felt his heart clench with an aching need for the other man. He opened up to John like he never did to anyone else, revealing stories he never told to none of his previous friends or lovers, not even his sister.
Their first kiss had been unexpected, chaste and clean. They sat on the couch at Lindsey's house, both men having had one too many drinks. Alcohol had the effect on Lindsey like it did many men in the military, it made him loose with his words and open with his gestures. Privacy was cast to the wind and it started with Lindsey's hand sliding up to rest on John's thigh as he continued on with a recollection from his youth. John hadn't seemed to mind the touch and Lindsey's intoxicated mind told him John wouldn't mind if he slid his hand up just a bit forward, so he did just that. John didn't seem fazed by the movement at all, staring straight at Lindsey as he spoke. Lindsey's speech became slower, his words taking longer to enunciate; he was, distracted. He felt the warmth of John's skin radiating from beneath his trousers. He tapped his fingers against John's upper thigh, and John's expression changed, his usual open expression shifted, a hitch to his brow and a twitch of his lips. Lindsey wasn't sure what to make of it, couldn't tell what his friend was trying to say with the gesture, but he was too drunk for subtleties.
Lindsey let his fingers press into John's skin, squeezing gently but with a noticeable pressure. He heard the unmistakable sound of John's breath catching and he decided to take the risk of moving his hand just a little further up. John sighed deeply and Lindsey couldn't take it anymore, he grasped John's right shoulder and leaned in for a kiss.
Since that night, their relationship had continued in quiet alcoves in the senate building and in the reserved section at the back of the bar. John was everything Lindsey ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of in a partner, and with him, he felt secure in a way he'd never felt before. His childhood fears and adult nightmares were quelled, suppressed by the sweetest of John's kisses and the kindness of his reassuring words.
"Lin, are you going to just stand there or are you going to move aside and let me in?"
Lindsey turned at the sound of the familiar voice, having been lost in his thoughts. 60 years and he'd never felt as at peace with himself than he did right now with John McCain at his side.
"Oh, sorry about that, John," Lindsey chucked, moving out of the way as John entered the foyer and closed the door behind him. Lindsey heard the top notch lock and smiled as John turned to him, his hand coming up to caress Lindsey's face.
Lindsey broke away after a moment, a smirk playing at his lips. "Come now, John. I don't want to stand around here for the rest of the night."
John gave a noncommittal reply, dragging Lindsey by the hand and pulling him towards Lindsey's room, towards the bed they had so often shared. Lindsey let himself be lead by his lover, ready for what he had been waiting for all day. Out of the corner of his eyes, Lindsey caught a glimpse of his basement door, his secret room of memories. A coherent thought seeped into his brain, perhaps it was time he left the door to his past open and let his memories be free.
