Disclaimer: I do not own The Newsroom or any of its characters.

The entire office is buzzing with excitement. Drinks are flowing, hugs are being given, Leona's got her feet up on the desk, the Rockette is teaching Tess how to high-kick, Charlie can't stop smiling, Reese is still defending his 'noble' decision, President Obama is staying put for another four years, Mac and Will are surprisingly—yet unsurprisingly—engaged, Sloan kissed him...

Sloan kissed him.

Sloan...

That on top of everything else should've made this the most amazing night. A night to celebrate and drink champagne and chill out with the team for a few hours.

And yet he's in his office, the lights off, the door shut, and with a head that feels like it's about to crack open from pain. The headache came out of nowhere, annoyingly, once he remembered that while no one was resigning, there was still a lawsuit. And not just the one against ACN, but him.

Fucking Dantana, he thinks, lowering his head onto his desk. He's pretty sure the millions of thoughts racing through his head are about to send him over the edge, but he can't pinpoint exactly when. Fifty bucks on three minutes from now.

Sprawled across his desk are Internet printouts of what is essentially Lawsuits for Dummies, but the paper feels cool against his forehead. The noise level outside was what had sent him in his office in the first place, and he's glad to notice that it's finally lowering to just murmurs. He almost wants to look through the window to see how many people are left, but that would require lifting his head and opening his eyes and yeah, it feels like too much work right now.

He's saved from it though, because his door opens anyway. There's no knock; just the click of the handle unlatching and gentle clack of the closure.

He hears tip-toeing across the carpet, tentative pitter-pattering of feet, before feeling the desk shake a little with sudden weight. Something was placed about a foot from his head and he's pretty positive it's the book she'd signed for him.

He knows it's Sloan. He doesn't need to lift his head or open his eyes to confirm this—he just knows it. He can sense the way she moves around the room, can smell the subtle, sweet aroma of her violet and honeysuckle perfume that he's come to love, can recognize that calm feeling that invades his body whenever she's near. His head suddenly aches a little less. But then something slams to the ground.

"Shit!" she whispers, padding across the room once more.

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. "What are you doing?" His words are muffled—his face is still lying on the desk, after all.

"You're not asleep?" She sounds surprised, but her voice lifts a little in relief.

"No."

He listens to the slight ruffle of clothing and can picture her picking up the fallen item before standing once again.

"Can I ask something?"

He still stays face-down. "Go for it."

"I'm trying to come up with possible reasons why you're hiding in your office on a night like tonight, and I've come up with some finalists. Exhibit A: You're mad about Mac and Will. You think it'll ruin the dynamic and rapport of the news team, and so you're ignoring them because you're too nice to ruin their happy night. Exhibit B: You're pissed about the election results, which I'd be surprised at because I pegged you for a Democrat. Exhibit C: You're pissed at Neal for looking into who bought my book. Which wouldn't be fair, by the way, because I told him to do that and he was just following my orders. Exhibit D: You're mad at me. I inappropriately kissed you in front of the sound team and Mac and Tess and—"

"Sloan?" he interrupts. My god this woman could talk.

"Yeah?" she answers softly, voice wavering with nerves and adrenaline.

"Please stop."

"Okay," she obliges.

He can hear her footsteps tentatively walk towards the door.

"Don't leave."

She sounds relieved when she replies, "Oh. Okay." She waits another beat before adding, "Wait, what's...happening right now?"

His brain is still pounding, but he needs to see her, so he slowly opens his eyes and raises his head. It takes a few seconds for his gaze to get used to the dark room; his vision is blurry and it adds another level of pain to the mix, but it dampens the second he focuses on her. She's still in her broadcast clothes, still in that cap-sleeved black dress that does absolutely nothing but amazing things to her figure. The v-neck is lower than what she normally wears on the air—she's always very particular about the appropriateness of her wardrobe—but he finds no reason to complain about that right now.

"I have a headache," he explains simply.

Sloan's eyes soften. "I'm sorry," she says, genuine concern laced through her tone.

"Me too." He gives her a small smile to show her that he wants her here.

"So it's not because of any of those reasons I just listed?"

She's still nervous, he can tell. "Come here," Don asks.

She walks towards him, but still keeps rambling out of habit. "Because I know you may be worried about Will and Mac, but Don...it's true love! You can't be mad at them! I mean—"

Once she's close enough, he takes her hand and pulls her on his lap. It's not very graceful and her dress is on the verge of ripping, but he doesn't care. She's finally quiet and in his arms.

"I'm not mad at the Macs."

She huffs out a laugh. "The Macs. That's cute."

"I'm not mad at Neal, and I'm not mad about Obama. You're right, by the way. I vote Blue."

Her shoulders lift, eyes flirt with him. "I have a gift."

His hands find their way to her waist and he smiles when she suddenly breathes in. "And I'm definitely not mad about the kiss."

It takes that for her to finally relax. The tension visibly seeps out of her shoulders and face at his words. "You're not?"

He gently tucks her hair behind her ear, simply because he can. His hands are moving at their own volition at this point. "No, I'm not," he confirms, admiring the way her eyes crinkle with happiness.

She sighs, "Good," and finally smiles wide. Somewhere in the time between the show sign-off and now she's painted a fresh coat of red on her lips. It's his favorite color on her, as far as lipsticks go, but he still really wants to kiss off.

"My head just hurts, that's all. I needed a break. From them, not you."

She tilts her head to the side, looks at him fondly, and softly trails a hand through his hair. It takes everything in him not to moan at the feeling, but it feels too damn good. The gentle back-and-forth movement of her palm lulls his head towards her chest, and he closes his eyes in relief. He can't even take the time to think about the fact that Sloan Sabbith is touching him or that his head is against her breasts. He just revels in the easing ache and diminishing pain and the feeling of being able to breathe for the first time in twelve hours.

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that, but she just continues weaving her fingers in soothing, dancing motions until her lips skirt the top of his head. She presses a kiss in the bed of his hair, lingering her mouth on the spot for a moment. Then, palms cradling his ears, she pulls him away from her, smirking at his lackluster protest. Minding his aching head, she gently tilts it up so she can look at him again.

Her lips touch his forehead first, raining soft kisses across it as if it'll erase the pain, before lowering to his mouth. The first time she did this, hours ago, it was hard, to-the-point, and way too short.

This time, she takes the opportunity to revel in it. Drown in it. Lose herself in him. His lips are still so new, still so very different, but there's a familiarity about them that uncoils something deep inside her. It's as if they've been doing this for years.

Don gently pulls her closer, and when her legs part around his waist, he silently thanks Sloan's outfit addition. He hadn't realized it before, but while she's still wearing the dress, she's also put leggings on underneath.

(The temperature in the studio is always kept at a cool 63 degrees—no matter what—because the lights add so much warmth at the desk. Since starting at ACN, Sloan has complained about it to him every third commercial break, but always waits to put on leggings until after the show's over on particularly cold days. Never mind the fact that she could always have them on under the desk and the audience would never know otherwise.)

He's happy now, though, because her dress rises easily up on her hips, allowing him to wrap her even closer. The little noise she makes when their tongues touch drives him a little wild. He instinctively tightens his hold of her, as his hips cant against her and his hands trail up her bowed spine. He's positively dizzy with emotion.

If there's a word to describe what's going on inside him, inside her, it's... finally.

The hand wrapped around his neck is teasing and a little ticklish, and he gives himself away when he laughs against her lips. When she pulls back, Sloan's face is flushed and dazed, but she still smiles triumphantly; she's proud of herself for unearthing a weak spot so soon into this whole thing. Pride swells inside him too, though, when he notices her smudged and significantly faded lipstick he's kissed off her mouth. It lessens a tad when he realizes where it is now, but she takes care of that by brushing her thumb across his lips to wipe it off. Her fingers continue to trail around his skin, as if mapping the planes of his face into her memory, and he takes the moment to catch his breath.

"Why does your head hurt?" she asks softly.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Lots of things. The lawsuit, the hundreds of numbers I read tonight, the pressure of making sure everything ran smoothly, the fact that I haven't eaten in hours. That fucking music Neal started blaring out there."

She laughs. "Did you drink?"

He nods, annoyed at himself. "Yeah. A few sips of champagne."

"That never helps."

"Yeah, it made it worse. I need water."

"You need sleep."

"That too."

She leans towards his body, but diverts his lips, instead reaching over to the shelf behind his chair. Since her neck is in the perfect spot, he presses his mouth to the skin underneath her ear, smiling against her when she sighs at the feeling. She lets him lavish the spot for a few more seconds, even craning her neck further to help him, but pulls away after a moment.

He makes a noise in protest when she lifts off his lap, before propping herself up on the desk behind her. Her legs still dangle on either side of his, so he's not totally disappointed, but he watches patiently as she pivots to grab something. When she twists back around he takes the red Solo cup she hands him.

"Here."

"What is it?"

"Water."

"Oh."

She drops three Advil in his palm and points behind him. "There was a bottle on your shelf."

He takes them immediately, wondering how he didn't remember he had it—he always has Advil. The condensation on the cup makes the water feel colder than it actually is, but it's still just what he needs. It tastes good.

When he finishes the whole thing, she takes the cup back and sets it aside.

"Thanks," he says.

She gives his cheek a little caress and nods towards the door. "We're the last ones here." When he doesn't answer, she adds, "And we need to be back here in four hours."

He groans, running a hand over his face. "Fuck me."

It's out of his mouth before he realizes, and he shakes his head. "I meant—"

Her eyes soften, but she's definitely still amused. "I know what you meant."

Don looks at her gratefully. "Thanks."

She gives a smug grin. "I mean, I would like to fuck you."

He groans again, "Jesus, Sloan."

"Not tonight," she continues, relishing his reaction. "But yeah, I think that should happen sometime."

His face echoes what it looked like in the control room after she first kissed him. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," she repeats, pulling her legs up and twisting to get off the desk. "Let's go."

His mind is still catching up from that conversation, and his head swims when he stands, but he still manages to ask, "Where?"

"My hotel. I convinced Charlie to get me a room for election week. With the long hours it's too far to travel all the way home every night. It's across the street."

"He should do that for everyone," Don mutters, pulling on his coat.

She frowns. "But then it wouldn't be special for me."

The adjoining room next to her's is available, so Don ends up booking that one for the night. While the sleeping arrangements and extremely close proximity to Sloan had sounded more than tempting, the idea of a king bed to himself after the week he's had sounds even better. She's not even offended by the gesture, knowing she has a well-deserved, giant bed to herself, too.

They keep the connecting door between their rooms open while he showers and she orders dinner. The kitchen isn't thrilled by their request, but delivers grilled cheeses on the promise of a hefty tip from Sloan. They eat on the floor of her room and take turns dunking their crusts into the shared bowl of tomato soup. They're both too tired to talk, so they watch the news instead, barely registering what the reporter is even saying.

When they finish, Don turns off the tv and takes the tray out to the hallway, before walking back into her room. Her robe is on the floor, and she's under the covers, but he knows she's still got pajamas on.

He picks it up and drapes it over the chair. "I was too tired to do that," she explains.

"I know." He walks over to the door again and shuts off her lights. The reading lamp beside her is still on, though, so he can still see her face under the glow.

"Why did you buy it?"

He's been waiting for this all night, but is still unprepared to answer it. He brushes it off, "I don't know."

"Yes you do," she accuses.

He smiles at that. "Yes, I do." He leans against the doorway, equidistant between his bed and hers. They are both so tempting.

He finds her eyes. "I wanted to have a piece of you to myself. And...selfishly...I wanted to take away that chance from anyone else that night."

She ponders that for a beat. "You didn't need to buy the book to do that, Don."

He shrugs. "It was the easiest way. Well, then." She stays silent, so he adds, "It was also for charity. That's a good enough reason."

"I guess," she agrees. "I like the first reason better, though." She sits up, the action dropping the sheets to her waist, and then gets out of bed. It's dark, but Don can still make out the tank top and shorts she has on, and he feels something similar to honor thrum through his bones. His heart beats at the distinct privilege of seeing her like this: she's allowing him to see her in her pajamas, face free of make-up, body drowsy with fatigue, words totally unfiltered... Sloan at her very core. He knows she doesn't let many people see her like this.

She meets him in the doorway, wraps her arms around his waist, and gets as close as she can to him. For a moment she just looks at him, but then finally leans in.

She kisses him soundly, lips sliding over his with a comfort only recently gained, but with a fervor she's not sure she'll ever get used to. It's lazy and romantic, with just the sounds of their stilted breaths as the soundtrack, but she adores it as much as the other times they've done it. It takes all her strength to pull away, but she does so to simply hug him. "Thank you," she whispers against his shoulder.

He kisses her cheek and she hums in content.

"Go to bed," she orders. She's back under the covers in seconds.

"I hope I'm able to fall asleep," he sighs. She'd worked him up again.

"You will be. I can tell." She grins wide. "And if you can't...just read the first chapter of my book. Knowing you, you'll be out in two seconds." She switches off the reading light.

Don smiles softly. "Goodnight, Sloan."

"Goodnight, Don."

A/N: I may add to this story in the coming months. Just little one-shots here and there, snapshots of them together, etc. Would you be interested?

I'm still getting used to writing their characters, so hopefully I'm getting them right. I always appreciate reviews!