FIC: First Kiss
Sep. 28th, 2011 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraFandom: UK Politics
Title: First Kiss
Ship(s): Ed Miliband/Justine Thornton
Word Count: 411
Rating: G
Summary: Just a bit of fluff. For the prompt "first kiss", here.
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.
First Kiss
Outside, a cluster of reporters is gathered, impatiently waiting for their pound of flesh. Their cameras will roll and flash, broadcasting images across the country of the new Labour leader and his bride. Headlines will scream that he has finally made her an honest woman; fashion editors will smirk knowingly over her lack of a veil and compare her dress to Kate Middleton’s; political mandarins will take the opportunity to mock his awkward smile and bring up his estrangement with his brother.
For the moment, Ed has neither eyes nor care for them. Justine is standing in front of him, with her hands in his, and she has just become his wife. He doesn’t believe that a piece of paper is what validates a relationship, and he doesn’t believe that they are any different now than they were yesterday. And yet there is something about the pledging of troths, the simple solemnity of taking one’s love by the hand and promising to cherish and love and keep, that has set his heart to hammering and his soul to soaring.
It has been the smallest, the quietest of weddings. In a moment, they will push open the door and walk down that path to the waiting, ravening horde. For now, though, they are alone, hand in hand, standing in the lobby, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Husband,” she says, testing the word out.
“Wife,” he says, and can’t help the smile that spills onto his lips, shy at first but growing into something almost terrifying, irrepressible and joyous and full.
She kisses him then, standing on her tiptoes, and he holds her to him, reverently and almost in awe, that this woman has chosen him, out of all the world; to have and to hold, to father her children, to comfort and be comforted against the dark, to stand with against the world. Marriage does not change that choice, nor does it validate it – but it does put a certain sweet surety to it, and helps him to realise, all at once, the enormity of what they have together, above and beyond the ability of the state to recognise it.
She kisses him, and he kisses her back, this woman who is his, and whose he is. Behind them, the enormity of the past; before them, the wide open spaces of the future. Together, he thinks they can do anything. Together, they share the first kiss of the rest of their life.
~//~
Title: First Kiss
Ship(s): Ed Miliband/Justine Thornton
Word Count: 411
Rating: G
Summary: Just a bit of fluff. For the prompt "first kiss", here.
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.
First Kiss
Outside, a cluster of reporters is gathered, impatiently waiting for their pound of flesh. Their cameras will roll and flash, broadcasting images across the country of the new Labour leader and his bride. Headlines will scream that he has finally made her an honest woman; fashion editors will smirk knowingly over her lack of a veil and compare her dress to Kate Middleton’s; political mandarins will take the opportunity to mock his awkward smile and bring up his estrangement with his brother.
For the moment, Ed has neither eyes nor care for them. Justine is standing in front of him, with her hands in his, and she has just become his wife. He doesn’t believe that a piece of paper is what validates a relationship, and he doesn’t believe that they are any different now than they were yesterday. And yet there is something about the pledging of troths, the simple solemnity of taking one’s love by the hand and promising to cherish and love and keep, that has set his heart to hammering and his soul to soaring.
It has been the smallest, the quietest of weddings. In a moment, they will push open the door and walk down that path to the waiting, ravening horde. For now, though, they are alone, hand in hand, standing in the lobby, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Husband,” she says, testing the word out.
“Wife,” he says, and can’t help the smile that spills onto his lips, shy at first but growing into something almost terrifying, irrepressible and joyous and full.
She kisses him then, standing on her tiptoes, and he holds her to him, reverently and almost in awe, that this woman has chosen him, out of all the world; to have and to hold, to father her children, to comfort and be comforted against the dark, to stand with against the world. Marriage does not change that choice, nor does it validate it – but it does put a certain sweet surety to it, and helps him to realise, all at once, the enormity of what they have together, above and beyond the ability of the state to recognise it.
She kisses him, and he kisses her back, this woman who is his, and whose he is. Behind them, the enormity of the past; before them, the wide open spaces of the future. Together, he thinks they can do anything. Together, they share the first kiss of the rest of their life.
~//~
