zaubra: (red-soled heels)
[personal profile] zaubra
Fandom: UK Politics
Title: Election Night Manoeuvres (In Bed)
Ship(s): Sally Bercow/John Bercow
Word Count: 328
Rating: PG
Summary: There's an election on, but Sally wants her husband to come to bed, and she's very good at getting what she wants. Can also be found here at the meme.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.



Election Night Manoeuvres (In Bed)

Sally stands in the doorway of her husband’s study and grins. Her husband – the great impartial Speaker – is riveted in front of his telly, as engrossed as a twelve-year-old watching his favourite team play a crucial game. His hands grip the chair arms, and his lip looks bitten.

“They’ll be hours yet,” she says, and stifles a chuckle as John jumps. “Come to bed.”

It is a measure of love that he turns to look at her. “I’ll be there soon. They’ve promised some more results in the next half-hour…”

He trails off at Sally’s arched eyebrow. They haven’t been married for ten years for nothing; John speaks fluent eyebrow.

“I do believe,” Sally says, “that we have a television in our room.”

John’s face crinkles. He knows where she’s going with this now, but they have to play the game. “Indeed. But this chair is very comfortable.”

Sally drops her hands to the hem of her shirt, and in one quick movement has it over her head and dropped on the floor. “Hmm. That’s odd. I seem to have lost my shirt.”

“You do indeed,” John says. Behind him on the telly, Jeremy Vine seems to have regressed to some earlier stage of evolutionary development, crawling around the studio on hands and knees, but John’s eyes are riveted on the curves of her breasts emerging from her bra.

Tapping a finger on her cheek, Sally continues, “I wonder if our bed might not be more comfortable than that chair after all?”

John gets up in one fluid movement and turns off the telly with one dramatic flourish of the remote control. “I think, wife, that you may be correct.”

“After all,” Sally says over her shoulder, secure in the knowledge that her husband is close on her heels, “Tis possible to enjoy swingometer action in bed, y’know.”

And with John’s laughter ringing in her ears, Sally even begins to contemplate the possibilities of that Jeremy Vine pose…

~//~

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