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FIC: Jack be Nimble
Title: Jack be Nimble
Ship(s): David Cameron/Ed Miliband
Word Count: 734
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Summary: Ed's fingers are nimble. David is destroyed.
Disclaimer: All works posted on this journal are creative works 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.
Someone prompted Ed having nimble fingers, and this is what happened. I initially was going to go with Ed^2, but David showed up and wouldn't get out of it. So have a little ficlet of dominant!Ed and shameless porn.
Jack be Nimble
David gasps without meaning to, his cheek slipping on the wood of the desk as his whole body jerks. Above him, he hears the rumble of a laugh, as the hand on his back presses down warningly.
‘Look at you squirm,’ its owner says, and crooks a finger of his other hand just so. ‘You’re practically gagging for it, aren’t you?’ There’s an odd mixture of triumph and grudging affection in his tone, together with a spike of something darker that makes David thrill.
‘Fuck you,’ David says – or tries to say, but the finger moves again, rubbing against that spot which makes his body light up like a firecracker, and it comes out more like a moan.
The finger is impossibly nimble, and it’s everywhere and everything, and still the hand between his shoulders holds him down against the desk, his arms flung wide, helplessly grasping at air. A second finger is beginning to brush against his entrance, and he panics for a moment, too much and too little all at once.
‘Shhh,’ the man says, stroking his shoulder blades, gentleness and control all at once. ‘Let go. You want it, let it happen.’
David shuts his eyes tighter, curls his fingers into fists. He does want this, and yet… ‘I thought-’
‘You thought you could make your move, push me against the door and have your way with me,’ the man says, matter-of-factly, and the second finger pushes past his entrance, long and thick, and David does moan this time.
‘You thought I was dorky and shy and awkward,’ the man says, conversationally, and David pushes back onto his fingers, needing needing needing.
‘You thought it would be no problem to dominate me, to slake that urge you’ve had ever since you first faced me across the despatch box,’ the man says, his voice slipping lower, and he’s set a rhythm now, his fingers sliding and twisting and thrusting, and David has never felt so open or shameless, writhing on the desk now, despite all his better judgement.
A third finger, and David can barely hear anything above the roaring in his ears. ‘Perhaps you’ve learned your lesson,’ the man says, leaning down to speak in David’s ear, one hand still pressing David’s shoulders down, the other doing unmentionable things to David’s insides. ‘Don’t underestimate me, Prime Minister.’
David lets out what might be a sob. Somehow, what started out as a half-formed plan to get Miliband on his knees, to get that pouting mouth where he’d fantasised about it for months, has turned into a struggle for dominance, has ended up with him over Miliband’s desk, his entire world narrowed to Miliband’s incredibly, impossibly talented fingers. ‘Fuck you,’ he grits out, his voice shaky.
Miliband laughs again, the sound soft and rich, and bends a finger. He hasn’t even touched David’s cock yet, and yet he has David practically rutting against the desk. ‘I think it’s fuck you, David,’ he says.
David tries to pull in a few deep breaths, even as his body betrays him, pushing wantonly back onto those fingers. He feels as if he’s going to crawl out of his skin if someone doesn’t touch his cock soon. Perhaps Miliband would let him…but one tentative move of his arm, and Miliband’s hand is pressing on his shoulders.
‘Fine,’ he says finally, harshly, biting the word out. ‘Do it, then.’
‘Do what?’ Miliband says softly, then takes David’s breath away, speeding the pace of his fingers, fucking them into David fast and sure.
‘Fuck me,’ David says, his voice cracking with frustration and something primal. ‘Fuck me, Miliband.’
Miliband doesn’t answer for a moment, and David bites his lip, forcing back a whimper. The desk is hard, and the sunlight is bright, and what Miliband is doing should be illegal (and probably is in most countries).
‘I don’t think so,’ Miliband says, finally, and David’s cry of protest is arrested by a clever twisting stroke. ‘Not this time.’ His voice takes on a contemplative tone. ‘This time, you’re going to come from my fingers alone, and then you’re going to get on your knees and put your pretty mouth around my cock, where it belongs.’
David gasps for air, as Miliband finishes thoughtfully, ‘You’re not the only one with fantasies, you know.’ He leans down, crooks his fingers, brushing and stroking and caressing. ‘Now moan for me.’
David moans.
***
A/N: Comments are very much loved (and anon commenting is on), but never required. <33
Ship(s): David Cameron/Ed Miliband
Word Count: 734
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Summary: Ed's fingers are nimble. David is destroyed.
Disclaimer: All works posted on this journal are creative works 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.
Someone prompted Ed having nimble fingers, and this is what happened. I initially was going to go with Ed^2, but David showed up and wouldn't get out of it. So have a little ficlet of dominant!Ed and shameless porn.
Jack be Nimble
David gasps without meaning to, his cheek slipping on the wood of the desk as his whole body jerks. Above him, he hears the rumble of a laugh, as the hand on his back presses down warningly.
‘Look at you squirm,’ its owner says, and crooks a finger of his other hand just so. ‘You’re practically gagging for it, aren’t you?’ There’s an odd mixture of triumph and grudging affection in his tone, together with a spike of something darker that makes David thrill.
‘Fuck you,’ David says – or tries to say, but the finger moves again, rubbing against that spot which makes his body light up like a firecracker, and it comes out more like a moan.
The finger is impossibly nimble, and it’s everywhere and everything, and still the hand between his shoulders holds him down against the desk, his arms flung wide, helplessly grasping at air. A second finger is beginning to brush against his entrance, and he panics for a moment, too much and too little all at once.
‘Shhh,’ the man says, stroking his shoulder blades, gentleness and control all at once. ‘Let go. You want it, let it happen.’
David shuts his eyes tighter, curls his fingers into fists. He does want this, and yet… ‘I thought-’
‘You thought you could make your move, push me against the door and have your way with me,’ the man says, matter-of-factly, and the second finger pushes past his entrance, long and thick, and David does moan this time.
‘You thought I was dorky and shy and awkward,’ the man says, conversationally, and David pushes back onto his fingers, needing needing needing.
‘You thought it would be no problem to dominate me, to slake that urge you’ve had ever since you first faced me across the despatch box,’ the man says, his voice slipping lower, and he’s set a rhythm now, his fingers sliding and twisting and thrusting, and David has never felt so open or shameless, writhing on the desk now, despite all his better judgement.
A third finger, and David can barely hear anything above the roaring in his ears. ‘Perhaps you’ve learned your lesson,’ the man says, leaning down to speak in David’s ear, one hand still pressing David’s shoulders down, the other doing unmentionable things to David’s insides. ‘Don’t underestimate me, Prime Minister.’
David lets out what might be a sob. Somehow, what started out as a half-formed plan to get Miliband on his knees, to get that pouting mouth where he’d fantasised about it for months, has turned into a struggle for dominance, has ended up with him over Miliband’s desk, his entire world narrowed to Miliband’s incredibly, impossibly talented fingers. ‘Fuck you,’ he grits out, his voice shaky.
Miliband laughs again, the sound soft and rich, and bends a finger. He hasn’t even touched David’s cock yet, and yet he has David practically rutting against the desk. ‘I think it’s fuck you, David,’ he says.
David tries to pull in a few deep breaths, even as his body betrays him, pushing wantonly back onto those fingers. He feels as if he’s going to crawl out of his skin if someone doesn’t touch his cock soon. Perhaps Miliband would let him…but one tentative move of his arm, and Miliband’s hand is pressing on his shoulders.
‘Fine,’ he says finally, harshly, biting the word out. ‘Do it, then.’
‘Do what?’ Miliband says softly, then takes David’s breath away, speeding the pace of his fingers, fucking them into David fast and sure.
‘Fuck me,’ David says, his voice cracking with frustration and something primal. ‘Fuck me, Miliband.’
Miliband doesn’t answer for a moment, and David bites his lip, forcing back a whimper. The desk is hard, and the sunlight is bright, and what Miliband is doing should be illegal (and probably is in most countries).
‘I don’t think so,’ Miliband says, finally, and David’s cry of protest is arrested by a clever twisting stroke. ‘Not this time.’ His voice takes on a contemplative tone. ‘This time, you’re going to come from my fingers alone, and then you’re going to get on your knees and put your pretty mouth around my cock, where it belongs.’
David gasps for air, as Miliband finishes thoughtfully, ‘You’re not the only one with fantasies, you know.’ He leans down, crooks his fingers, brushing and stroking and caressing. ‘Now moan for me.’
David moans.
***
A/N: Comments are very much loved (and anon commenting is on), but never required. <33
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