Charity Begins at Home, Part Three
May. 25th, 2010 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraTitle: Charity Begins at Home
Ships: David Cameron/Nick Clegg, David Cameron/Samantha Cameron, Nick Clegg/Miriam González Durántez, possible or hinted other pairings
Word Count: 6,018 in Part Three; 29,696 overall.
Rating: PG-13, for sexual situations and swearing
Tagline: One million pounds to charity. One million pounds of trouble.
Summary: Faced with the strings attached to a £1,000,000 charitable donation, how far are David Cameron and Nick Clegg willing to push themselves? How will they deal with the political and personal fallout? And just what are George Osborne and Vince Cable scheming?
Author's Note: Originally begun for a kinkmeme, this story quickly took on a life of its own. It glories in its self-indulgence, cheese, and crack; you are hereby warned.
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. It is true that real-person fiction is of dubious legality - if you are one of the persons named within, or know one of them, please bear in mind that stories such as this are written for entertainment value only, in full knowledge that they are not based in truth, and that ultimately they are a labor of love; also, if you are one of these people, stop reading immediately and go run the country.
Go to Part One or Part Two.
“One is told,” said the Queen, “that you have had a difficult day today. One hopes you are well.”
David sat on the edge of his chair and tried not to fidget. Even six months in, he still didn’t feel quite comfortable thinking about the fact that he was technically the Queen’s Prime Minister, not just the country’s. It didn’t help that every time he was in her Presence, some part of him still reverted back to the first time he’d met her – as an eight-year-old, dressed like a rabbit, with painted-on whiskers.
“I am very well, thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “I was glad to do my part for the Charity Drive.”
“One did think for a moment,” said the Queen, holding her teacup daintily, “that One might be of help to you, but One decided that One's subjects would be rather more disturbed by One's participation, than gladdened.”
David tried not to choke. Was the Queen really joking about ..kissing someone? He did not want to think about the Queen kissing anyone. Let alone him. That couldn’t be what she’d been implying. Surely not. Oh, god. He forced himself to swallow with a supreme act of willpower. The Queen might not fire him if he upchucked on her rug, but he didn’t want to test her.
“You seem discomfited, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, serenely. “Was it anything One said?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” David hurriedly said, still somewhat hoarse.
“And is Mr. Clegg as well as yourself?” said the Queen.
David nodded. “He is quite well, Your Majesty.”
“A marvelously fit man, Mr. Clegg,” said the Queen, eyes twinkling.
David had no tea in his mouth this time, or he would have spat it out, Queen or no Queen. Was she implying what he thought she was implying?! “Quite so, Your Majesty,” he settled for.
The Queen laughed, a twinkling silvery laugh that always made David think of the girlish figure in his World War II history books from school. “One is an old woman, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “but One is, perhaps surprisingly, more modern in One's opinions than many of One's subjects imagine. One thinks that the events of today are a Good Thing.”
“In what way, Your Majesty?” asked David faintly. He no longer had the urge to fidget.
“One has lived a long time, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, smiling. “In One's reign, One has had twelve Prime Ministers sit where you sit today. When One began, One would not have thought that one of One's Prime Ministers would someday be able to kiss another man in public. One could never have dreamed that he would be cheered, not booed, and that the country would be overwhelmingly in favor.”
David nodded. “It is true, Your Majesty, that the country is changing.”
“One thinks that it is about time,” said the Queen.
Again David felt his eyes widening.
“The Prime Minister is not yet aware,” said the Queen, her eyes laughing at him, “that One is known for One's bluntness in Private.”
David said faintly, “It becomes your Majesty.” The Queen was beginning to remind him disconcertingly of Sam.
“In that event,” said the Queen, placidly, “is Mr. Clegg aware of your feelings for him, Prime Minister?”
David panicked. He quite simply panicked. “Your…your…your…majesty…” His eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head. Play it cool, Dave, he told himself. Swallow. Breathe. “I…I do not know what you mean,” he finally said, miserably.
If there was one thing he never wanted to have seen, it was the Queen raising her eyebrows at him.
“Mr. Clegg is a member of my Government, Your Majesty,” he added desperately, “so of course I admire his work and his dedication to the country.”
“Tosh,” said the Queen, delicately. “One does believe that you are bound to advise One honestly, Prime Minister?”
When she waited for an answer, he looked at his feet. “Yes, Your Majesty, I will always offer you my honest counsel,” he said, in what would have been a mutter if she had not been the Queen.
There was a Queenly sigh. “One does not ask out of idle prurience, Prime Minister,” said the Queen. “You must see that such an attachment is of vital interest to One's country, which One is bound to protect. You might become emotionally compromised; your marriage might become compromised; your reputation might become compromised; and in any of these events your continued service to One might become difficult or impossible.”
“My feelings toward Mr. Clegg, Your Majesty,” David said unhappily, “will not affect my performance as your Prime Minister.”
“You cannot be sure of that,” said the Queen, gently.
He raised his head, becoming aware that it was supremely rude to be staring at the carpet. “I am sure, Your Majesty. I have not told Mr. Clegg of them, and I do not intend to.”
“But you do have them?” said the Queen. “You wish to enter into a relationship with him?”
David sighed. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. I haven’t let myself think about it.” A lie. “Yes, if I was not Prime Minister, and my life was my own, I would broach the subject with him. But I am your Prime Minister, Your Majesty, and it is the most important thing I will ever do. I cannot risk compromising myself and my Government, and I promise Your Majesty that I will not do so.”
“You have misunderstood One,” said the Queen.
There was a terrible sinking feeling somewhere deep in David’s stomach. “Does Your Majesty…wish me to resign?” he got out somehow.
“No,” said the Queen, with a cross between reassurance and impatience. “One has told you, One is a modern Queen.” She reached out and gently took the teacup away from David, who realized with dismay that he had been about to crush it in his death grip. “One is much older than you, Prime Minister, and One has seen many things in One's long lifetime. One may no longer have much power over One's own country, but may One offer you some Royal advice, even though you are no longer bound to take it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I would be very grateful,” he said faintly.
“When One was young, One fell in love with a mechanic,” said the Queen. “It was wartime, you see, and everything seemed like the end of the world had come. One was not as worried about things that would have mattered so very much during peacetime. One was however afraid to say anything to One's mechanic, because One was still very young and One was aware that One would become Queen.”
David was spellbound. He had never dreamed…a stray part of his brain said, “What was with all the obsession about getting a virgin bride for Charles, then?” but he stuffed it away very quickly, feeling like it was blasphemy to even think such a thing in the Presence.
“One does not tell this part of One's history lightly,” said the Queen, sternly, “but because One thinks it will be useful to you. If One had asked anyone One knew, they would have told One to remember One's duty and the service One owed to One's country. One did not ask anyone. One asked Oneself. One decided that One was in love and that One would solve the rest somehow.”
“What happened to him, Your Majesty?” David asked.
“She died,” said the Queen, “in a house fire shortly after the war ended.”
David was convinced now that he was having a very realistic dream, and that it must surely end soon, at which point he was going to take his subconscious out to the shed and shoot it.
“The point is, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, and now there was a distinct edge of tartness to her voice, “that One and One's mechanic had two months together before she was taken away from One, and that the world did not cease to turn. If you have feelings for Mr. Clegg, One's Royal advice is to act upon them.”
“As Queen, you’re telling me to break up my marriage and my government to act on my true love?” David asked, wildly, belatedly adding, “Your Majesty.”
The Queen snorted, daintily. David wasn’t quite sure how, but she did. “Most certainly not, Prime Minister,” said the Queen.
David bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Wake up, he pleaded. Wake up. Wake up.
The Queen put a hand to her forehead. “One shall try to speak more clearly, Prime Minister,” said the Queen. “One's country has been a leader among the nations for centuries. It has survived One's ancestors sleeping with a variety of personages of all sexes and sexual persuasions. One has no doubt that it has survived your predecessors entertaining a similar variety of partners. One happens to know of at least one case where One's great-aunt surprised a Prime Minister over a desk.”
David filed that away to puzzle out later. Not now, he told himself.
“One recommends that you speak to your wife, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “as you have vowed before God to remain faithful to her. But faithful is a word defined by those who use it, and you must find out how your wife defines it. One does know something of her family,” – the twinkle was back – “and One thinks you may be surprised at her answer.”
“Sam’s not the problem, Your Majesty,” David said frankly. If he was going to have this surreal conversation, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. Oh, god.
“If ‘the problem’ is your duty to your country, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “then remember that a distracted, miserable, and frustrated Prime Minister is not what One or One's country needs. The country has just had a General Election to solve that particular problem. You will do better work for One if you remember that while you are One's Prime Minister, you are also a man. And men are Fragile Things who work best when they are happy.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” David said indistinctly.
“However, One did not call you here this afternoon to talk about your love life, Prime Minister,” said the Queen.
David had never been so glad to hear a sentence that he would have been so glad never to hear just a few short hours ago.
“One called you here this afternoon,” said the Queen, “to advise you of a happy occurrence in One's life. One's grandson has asked Ms. Middleton to marry him, and she has accepted him.”
“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” David said, sincerely. This was amazing news. The country would be so caught up in royal-marriage-fever that the Old Tories would be left talking to no one. They’d never gain enough momentum in the House to bring him down, without the echo chamber of the media to help them.
“One thought you would like to know this,” said the Queen, “because it will no doubt help you to control the more reactionary members of your party.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” David said.
“Also,” said the Queen, “because One understands that the announcement will most likely usurp the front page of the newspapers, and One knows how upset politicians can become at losing their column inches.”
David thought she was teasing him, but the idea of the Queen – the Queen - teasing him was a little more than he could handle at the moment.
He tried a smile, although it felt like it was still a little wavering. Shock took a little while to wear off. “I don’t think Nick – Mr. Clegg - and I will mind, Your Majesty. The charity drive is finished now, so we have no more burning need for publicity.”
“Very well,” said the Queen, beginning to stand.
David leapt to his feet respectfully.
“One will not keep you any longer from your duties,” said the Queen, shaking his hand gently, an experience which he never failed to find surreal. “One hopes that you will consider carefully what One has said.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your counsel,” David said, formally.
“It was One's pleasure,” said the Queen.
David was nearly to the door when he heard, “Mr. Cameron?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he asked. What could she possibly have to tell him now? Nothing would have surprised him at this stage. An orca pool for the garden? She was going to learn how to fly a helicopter? Kate Middleton was pregnant? William was pregnant? The last might be medically impossible, but you never knew with royalty.
She beamed at him, a small old figure in a fussy dress, the incarnation of her Royal Office but so much more. David suddenly had the thought that if he lived to be ninety, this was the Sam he was going to wake up next to. “When you get home, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “you will no doubt retreat into your caution, your reluctance to chance your exalted position, for which you have worked so hard. The idea of consequences will once again reassert itself. In the end, however, One must tell you that position is not what matters in life. What matters are the people One loves and the people who love One in return.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said again.
The sunshine outside came in through the window and hit her snow-white hair, creating almost a halo effect. “What One is trying to say,” said the Queen, “is fuck consequences, Prime Minister."
***
David closed the door to the Prime Ministerial flat behind him, and promptly sat down on the floor with his back against it. He was home, and he didn’t think he could move another step. Leaning against the door, he let his head thunk back with a satisfyingly solid sound. It hurt a little, but that just meant it was real. He was alive, and he was awake, and all of this was really happening to him. David thought that sitting very still for a few minutes to try to restore some balance to his spinning world was in order.
Of course today had to be a Tuesday. He hated Tuesdays. Tuesdays meant that everyone was running around like crazy trying to get all the information they needed from all the departments in order to get you properly ready for Prime Minister’s Questions. Wednesdays were better, actually, because by then you had all that information and while it didn’t quite make you feel prepared - nothing ever did make you feel prepared - it got you close enough to get in the zone and go into the Chamber with your head held high.
Tuesdays, however, sucked royally. Particularly this Tuesday, today, with first the Kiss, and then George, and then the Queen, and… Oh God. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Prime Minister’s Questions. William-and-Kate was bound to come up, but since he really didn’t know anything about that, they’d move on to Plan B, which was bound to have something to do with Nick. He didn’t want to think about Nick. But Nick was his Deputy, so he would have to think about him at some point, wouldn’t he?
David thunked his head into the door a couple more times for good measure. What had he done? His life had been going so well, and now he’d made it so complicated.
“David? Is that you?” Sam came around the corner from the kitchen, apron on and carrying a wooden spoon. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?”
“It’s solid,” David said morosely.
“…Right,” said Sam. “Get up, you numpty. I’m making a curry, and I’m damned if I’m going to burn it because you took a sudden penchant for cleaning the floor with your arse.”
David shot her a wary look. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
Sam waved her spoon at him. “Apart from the fact that Nancy and Elwen are at George’s and Fran’s for a sleepover, and you and I were supposed to be spending a romantic evening together?”
David winced. “Right.”
“You arse, you completely forgot. I put it in your planner weeks ago.”
“I haven’t exactly been looking at my planner much today,” David said wryly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the forgiving door. “I haven’t forgotten anything else, have I? It’s not our anniversary, is it?”
“No, you prat, that’s in June. And my birthday’s in April.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t know my name,” David told the back of his eyelids.
A moment’s silence, as he could hear Sam tapping her foot, and then a warm weight settling on his lap. He opened his eyes in surprise to find himself with an armful of wife. “Of course I remember your name,” she purred, leaning distractingly close. “David…” The blouse she had on under the apron was sheer, and David was suddenly not so tired after all.
They shared a deep, messy, passionate kiss, and David was about to use his weight to topple her to the floor next to him, when she suddenly leaped off his lap and started to jog back down the hallway. “Got to get the curry off,” she called back over her shoulder.
“Damn the curry,” David whined.
There was a moment’s crashing from the kitchen. David winced. His precious kitchen that he’d had remodeled before he’d let them move in. He just knew Sam was denting the countertops.
After a moment, Sam padded back into view. She beckoned to him. “Come on, tosser. I mean, David o’David, wooer of my soul and lover of my breasts. You need your dinner.”
“I don’t want my dinner, I want you,” David said pathetically.
She giggled. “Time enough for that later. Come on already.”
With much groaning, he heaved himself to his feet, shucking his suit jacket and dropping it to the floor. Sam rolled her eyes, but let it pass. After fifteen years together, you either got used to your spouse’s bad habits or went crazy. David should know – Sam routinely left her dishes in the sink for days, until he snapped and washed up himself.
In the kitchen, Victoria was cuddled in her baby seat asleep, while Sam’s curry bubbled gently on the stove.
“Shall I get bowls?” David asked, already halfway to the cupboard. The kitchen was such a reassuring place for him. It felt like home more than any other place in the Prime Ministerial flat; he knew what he was doing there, in a way he didn’t in the other rooms, so dark and old and imposing.
“No need,” said Sam, turning from the stove with the spoon. “C’mere.”
“That’s dreadfully unhygienic,” David protested, eyeing the spoon askance.
“No one need ever know,” Sam whispered theatrically. Then, at her usual volume, “Open your mouth, Cameron, and swallow.”
As David obeyed, and Sam fed him a mouthful of curry, she added thoughtfully, “…That’s what Nick said.”
It took David a moment to get what she meant, and then he promptly inhaled a chickpea.
***
Three glasses of water and much coughing later, he was sitting on one of the barstools, glaring at Sam. “You tried to kill me!” he said theatrically.
Sam looked unimpressed. “You know, this sort of thing is why it's important to always chew your food.”
“I wasn’t the one making sexual innuendos while feeding my husband spicy Indian food!”
“If you want Nick for a husband, you’re going to have to pass plural marriage as well as same-sex marriage.”
“Gah!” David was about to throw up his hands in frustration, when he realized how stupid that would make him look. He buried his face in them instead. “First the Queen, and now you. Can’t a man get a little peace?”
“What did the Queen say?” Sam sounded distinctly interested.
“A lot of things I don’t really want to think about right now,” David said. “You’d like her.”
Sam sighed, and began to knead at the knots in his neck. “You’re incredibly tense. Been doing anything stressful lately?”
“That feels really good,” David said, muffled. “You have such talented hands.”
“Save the pickup lines for after I’ve fed you,” Sam said, withdrawing her hands from his neck and using them to pull open one of the dishware cupboards. “Here, have a bowl of curry while I move Victoria to her bassinet in the nursery. Try not to choke while swallowing…that’s what -”
“Don’t you dare say ‘that’s what Nick said’ again, minx.”
***
“So,” said Sam, slightly breathless, “what did the Queen have to say?”
David looked at her in disbelief. “Woman, you are on top of me, pinning my wrists to the bed, and you want to talk about the Queen?”
“Would you rather wait until you’re inside me?” Sam asked reasonably.
“Nnggh,” said David.
“I want to know what the Queen said,” Sam wheedled. “It sounded like it had something to do with Nick, or else with dirty jokes. But surely the Queen doesn’t tell dirty jokes.”
“You’d be surprised,” David said darkly. “That woman is a menace.”
“David!” Sam let go of one of his wrists to slap his hand, then pinned it down again. “That’s your Sovereign you’re talking about.”
He sighed. He was not telling Sam about the Queen’s mechanic lover. That was a step too far. Which meant getting into the whole feeling bit. Damn. “She just…somehow divined that I have feelings for Nick. I don’t know how. She probably looked at me and Knew.”
Sam laughed, then sobered. “You do have feelings for Nick, then?”
“Do we have to talk about Nick right now?” David said plaintively. “You have no bra on.”
“It’s the best time to talk to you,” Sam said. “I know I have your full attention.”
David tried to glare at her, but kept getting distracted by her breasts, mother-full, swinging above him. Before he’d had a pregnant wife, he would have been so turned-off by the idea of breasts with milk in them. No longer.
“So the Queen thinks that you have feelings for Nick,” Sam said slowly, “and you’re not denying it.”
David sighed, and closed his eyes to wield off temptation. “If I talk to you about this for five minutes, can we get back to the sex part?”
“If you answer all my questions honestly and fully, I will ride you like a cowgirl,” Sam agreed. “Or anything else you want, really. We have all night.”
“…Okay,” David agreed manfully.
“Do you want to fuck Nick?” Sam said immediately.
“Fuck, Sam,” David said, startled.
“No, fuck Nick,” Sam said.
He glared at her.
She softened. “It’s a serious question.”
His wrists were still pinned down, and she was still on top of him. Best to get this over with before she drove him completely mad. “Yes.”
“In the abstract, like, he’s a tidy bugger, or like, every time I see him I want to shag his brains out?” Sam persisted.
Wincing, David admitted, “The latter. Both.”
“Then are you going to make a move on him?”
“I don’t know,” David said wearily. “The Queen basically told me to. No, she did tell me to. But I just…I just can’t get over the massive step it would be, the incredible amount of danger I’d putting our family in, the Party in, the Government in – all for one piece of arse?”
“It is one very nice piece of arse,” Sam pointed out.
“But I already have you,” David argued. “Most people would think going after another world-class piece of arse was supremely selfish.”
She leaned down to kiss him. “That was sweet.”
He tried to keep her in the kiss, make her forget about the interrogation, but he had no leverage and Sam was soon back to business. “I guess you could ignore sexual attraction if you thought it was your duty and all that. The bigger question is, are you in love with him?”
David closed his eyes. There it was. The question he hadn’t let himself even get close to thinking, all this fortnight. Every time he’d half-glimpsed it in the distance, he’d steered his thought direction back to purely sexual attraction. He felt fairly certain he could deal with his sex drive – if it went into overdrive for a little while, well, his wife lived upstairs, and she was almost always up for it if he went down on her first. Yes, he was the luckiest man alive, he knew it.
The other question, however, was something which David had known - without thinking about it (for he would not think about it) - would present far trickier difficulties. He’d always thought before that you could only be in love with one person at a time. How stupid he'd been. Monogamy was just a construct, a particular kind of construct put together for particular societal and biological goals. It didn’t necessarily correlate to reality, and it certainly didn’t correlate to David’s reality.
Was he in love with Nick Clegg? Surely not in the same way that he was in love with Sam, the mother of his children, the partner of his life, the woman who knew him better than he did himself, the only person with whom he could be completely and utterly himself, laying himself open and vulnerable in a way even his mother had never seen.
But was he in love with Nick Clegg? Love, David was beginning to realize, came in different shapes and sizes. When Nick stayed late working on voting reform, and he looked haggard when he came in to clarify a point, and David looked up from his work and felt a surge of worry, wanting somehow to make everything right – was that love? When David held his breath every time Nick went up in a plane, even though he knew in his head that planes almost never crashed – was that love? When David’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of a genuine Nick smile; when David’s skin prickled when Nick stepped too near; when the best moment of David’s day was sometimes Nick’s beam of surprised appreciation at something David did or said; when one look from Nick was enough to derail David’s train of thought for ten minutes; when David secretly found the minor fusses the Liberal Democrats threw to be adorable, because of the way Nick stepped in to soothe their fur; when he sometimes woke up thinking, “What do Nick and I have to do today?” – was all this love? What was love?
He gradually became aware that he’d been saying at least part of all this out loud. “I…don’t know if I love him,” he finished lamely. “I might be falling in love with him. But I know I love you.”
“Shhh,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I don’t even need to ask that question.”
“How would it even work?” he said, desperately. “I can’t let myself think – I can’t let myself want – because then we get into fantasizing territory, and I just don’t think…do you know how difficult that would be to keep a secret? An affair between the two top politicians in the Government? What that would be worth to someone selling the story? We’d be sold out in three days!”
“I think it would work pretty easily,” Sam said. “We have a spare suite in the flat. Announce that you’re letting Nick have it for now, because he works late so many nights. He can stay some weeknights, go home some weeknights, just on an as-needed basis. Pitch it as a green thing – he doesn’t have to waste petrol commuting as much - and a time-saving thing. People will make jokes, of course – Nick Robinson will have a field day – but ultimately they’ll just see it as a natural extension of the whole buddy-buddy thing. Of course you’ll have to give him weekends off to make up for it so he can spend time with the boys.”
“We already take weekends off,” David protested.
Sam snorted. “No, you don’t. Remember, I’m married to you, I know these things.” She finally let go of his wrists, in order to stroke his cheek. “Anyway, do all that, and then just remember that you have to keep your hands off of each other in public – CCTV is a nuisance. Tada! Secret affair made simple.”
“Then why do you see secret affairs killing the careers of politicians every bloody day?” David asked.
“Because they don’t have genius wives who concoct genius plans of how they’re going to do it,” Sam said sensibly. “They think with their pricks, and since pricks don’t have brains, they get caught an awful lot. How often do you hear of female politicians having affairs?”
“I can count them on one hand,” David said slowly. “But I thought that was just because female politicians were too smart to have affairs.”
Sam looked at him pityingly. “To sum up: Mr. Prime Minister, you are in love with your Deputy (or very nearly so), you have been presented with a good plan for how to shag him on a regular basis, and your wife and your Queen have given their blessing. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know if he wants to,” David burst out.
“This all comes down to your fear of rejection?” Sam said incredulously.
“You of all people should know about it!” David said, frustrated. “You had to jump me and push your tongue down my throat before I’d ask you out!”
“Yes, but I thought you’d gotten over that. You know, what with becoming one of the leaders of the Free World and all.”
“It’s not exactly…it’s not like I’m saying, ‘Wanna have a beer?’ We’re not eighteen! It’s ‘You’re married, I’m married, we have families we care about more than anything in the world, we have careers that fulfill us and scare the heck out of us, neither of us have ever had a relationship with another man, if we get found out it means the end of our lives as we know them...” he trailed off, trying to get his voice under control.
“And yet you think you love him,” Sam said softly.
“I know I love him,” David said, turning his face into the pillow.
In the ensuing moment of silence, there was a sudden yelp of pain.
In under five seconds, David had thrown Sam off of him with a strength he hadn’t known he had and leaped across the room to the emergency security bell pull. He actually had the bell pull in his hand and was about to yank hard when Sam, from the depths of the pile of pillows in which she had landed, yelled “No, David! Don’t pull it!”
He stopped, keeping the bell pull in his hand. “There’s someone hiding in our room! Get behind the bed!”
Sam’s very guilty face peeked up above the headboard. “I know who it is,” she said.
David just stared at her for a moment, and then his mouth dropped open. He let go of the bell pull and strode across the room to the closet, heedless of the fact that he was only wearing boxers and an undershirt. He yanked open the closet door.
Miriam Durántez fell out of the closet. David waited for a second, then opened the door wider and peered inside. A very sheepish-looking Nick Clegg, holding a toy tank in his hand, stared back at him.
***
“You hid him in the closet,” David said to Sam, supremely wounded. “You hid him in the closet, and then you pinned me down and made me talk about my…my feelings. I trusted you.” He was distinctly not looking at Nick, who was sitting uncomfortably and awkwardly on the edge of one of the armchairs. “What kind of wife are you?”
“The kind of wife that loves you,” Sam said, arms crossed over her chest. She still wasn’t wearing a bra, but David was far too distracted to pay attention (something he never would have expected to happen). “The kind of wife who knows you well enough to know that your fear of rejection stops you from going after what you want and need.”
“But…but Sam,” David said helplessly, unable to articulate his sense of betrayal. “Sam.”
He felt a hand on his elbow and nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was only Miriam. “She is the exact kind of wife I am. Who do you think made Nick do it?”
David looked at her warily. Wives, he was beginning to suspect, might be more trouble than he’d ever imagined.
She put her hands on her hips, mirroring Sam. “Sometimes wives have to take matters into their own hands. You men may be able to run the country – although I think women would do a better job – but you are hopeless at running your own lives.”
“But…” David got out.
“Sam and I talked. I made Nick talk to me. She made you talk to her. We have solved the problem. Why are you being so difficult?”
“But you haven’t solved the problem!” David near-shouted.
“David,” Sam said. “Victoria!”
David lowered his voice. She was right, a screaming baby would be just the touch that would send this outrageous situation into outright lunacy. “You haven’t solved the problem! You’ve just made an absolute fool of me and made it impossible for me to ever work with Nick again!”
Miriam sighed. “Nicholas,” she said, beckoning to him, “get over here right the fucking now.”
David heard Nick get up and come to stand about a wary two feet from him.
“Tell him,” Miriam said, gently.
And David finally forced himself to look straight at Nick, for the first time since that awful moment when he’d pulled open the closet door and Nick had been standing there on one foot, holding that goddamned toy he’d stepped on in his hand.
Nick didn’t look horrified, as David had half expected. After the way Nick had reacted to the very idea of the Kiss back at the beginning of this whole saga, hearing that the Prime Minister wanted to shag him – was in love with him, for fuck’s sake – was hardly something David had expected to go over well. Forget the whole kissing practice fiasco from – was that last night? It felt like an eternity ago. They had obviously gotten …carried away, and in the cold light of day Nick had probably reverted back to his old self.
But Nick did not look horrified. He looked uncertain, and…shy? David had never seen Nick look shy before, but he thought that was what it was.
Nick met his eyes for only a minute before flushing and looking at the ground.
“Tell…” Miriam began.
“I’m telling him!” Nick cut her off. “Just…give me a minute.”
For the very first time, David felt the beginnings of a glimmer of hope, somewhere deep inside. He tried to push it down. He was an inveterate pessimist. Nick could be about to say anything, best not to get excited.
Next to him, Nick took a deep breath. “I…I…” he stammered, then wet his lips. David tried to keep his eyes from following Nick’s darting tongue, but failed. No time to get distracted, he told himself sternly.
The room felt very close. Beside him, Sam sat perched on her pillows; across from Nick, Miriam stood, hands still on hips; all eyes on Nick.
And then Nick raised his eyes from the floor, and met David’s again. “I think I’m falling in love with you too,” he said simply, a hectic flush surging over his face. “I don’t…I don’t know what we do, I don’t know how we do it, I don’t know where we go from here. But I think I’m in love with you.”
David heard nothing after the first sentence. He felt an idiotic grin pulling at his mouth, and surrendered to it in a daze. Slowly, an answering grin – if still a little uncertain – spread over Nick’s face in return.
David stepped forward and kissed it off.
Continue to the Epilogue.
-----------------
A/N: Feedback is much loved! Anon comments are on, so don't be shy. :)
Ships: David Cameron/Nick Clegg, David Cameron/Samantha Cameron, Nick Clegg/Miriam González Durántez, possible or hinted other pairings
Word Count: 6,018 in Part Three; 29,696 overall.
Rating: PG-13, for sexual situations and swearing
Tagline: One million pounds to charity. One million pounds of trouble.
Summary: Faced with the strings attached to a £1,000,000 charitable donation, how far are David Cameron and Nick Clegg willing to push themselves? How will they deal with the political and personal fallout? And just what are George Osborne and Vince Cable scheming?
Author's Note: Originally begun for a kinkmeme, this story quickly took on a life of its own. It glories in its self-indulgence, cheese, and crack; you are hereby warned.
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. It is true that real-person fiction is of dubious legality - if you are one of the persons named within, or know one of them, please bear in mind that stories such as this are written for entertainment value only, in full knowledge that they are not based in truth, and that ultimately they are a labor of love; also, if you are one of these people, stop reading immediately and go run the country.
Go to Part One or Part Two.
“One is told,” said the Queen, “that you have had a difficult day today. One hopes you are well.”
David sat on the edge of his chair and tried not to fidget. Even six months in, he still didn’t feel quite comfortable thinking about the fact that he was technically the Queen’s Prime Minister, not just the country’s. It didn’t help that every time he was in her Presence, some part of him still reverted back to the first time he’d met her – as an eight-year-old, dressed like a rabbit, with painted-on whiskers.
“I am very well, thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “I was glad to do my part for the Charity Drive.”
“One did think for a moment,” said the Queen, holding her teacup daintily, “that One might be of help to you, but One decided that One's subjects would be rather more disturbed by One's participation, than gladdened.”
David tried not to choke. Was the Queen really joking about ..kissing someone? He did not want to think about the Queen kissing anyone. Let alone him. That couldn’t be what she’d been implying. Surely not. Oh, god. He forced himself to swallow with a supreme act of willpower. The Queen might not fire him if he upchucked on her rug, but he didn’t want to test her.
“You seem discomfited, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, serenely. “Was it anything One said?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” David hurriedly said, still somewhat hoarse.
“And is Mr. Clegg as well as yourself?” said the Queen.
David nodded. “He is quite well, Your Majesty.”
“A marvelously fit man, Mr. Clegg,” said the Queen, eyes twinkling.
David had no tea in his mouth this time, or he would have spat it out, Queen or no Queen. Was she implying what he thought she was implying?! “Quite so, Your Majesty,” he settled for.
The Queen laughed, a twinkling silvery laugh that always made David think of the girlish figure in his World War II history books from school. “One is an old woman, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “but One is, perhaps surprisingly, more modern in One's opinions than many of One's subjects imagine. One thinks that the events of today are a Good Thing.”
“In what way, Your Majesty?” asked David faintly. He no longer had the urge to fidget.
“One has lived a long time, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, smiling. “In One's reign, One has had twelve Prime Ministers sit where you sit today. When One began, One would not have thought that one of One's Prime Ministers would someday be able to kiss another man in public. One could never have dreamed that he would be cheered, not booed, and that the country would be overwhelmingly in favor.”
David nodded. “It is true, Your Majesty, that the country is changing.”
“One thinks that it is about time,” said the Queen.
Again David felt his eyes widening.
“The Prime Minister is not yet aware,” said the Queen, her eyes laughing at him, “that One is known for One's bluntness in Private.”
David said faintly, “It becomes your Majesty.” The Queen was beginning to remind him disconcertingly of Sam.
“In that event,” said the Queen, placidly, “is Mr. Clegg aware of your feelings for him, Prime Minister?”
David panicked. He quite simply panicked. “Your…your…your…majesty…” His eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head. Play it cool, Dave, he told himself. Swallow. Breathe. “I…I do not know what you mean,” he finally said, miserably.
If there was one thing he never wanted to have seen, it was the Queen raising her eyebrows at him.
“Mr. Clegg is a member of my Government, Your Majesty,” he added desperately, “so of course I admire his work and his dedication to the country.”
“Tosh,” said the Queen, delicately. “One does believe that you are bound to advise One honestly, Prime Minister?”
When she waited for an answer, he looked at his feet. “Yes, Your Majesty, I will always offer you my honest counsel,” he said, in what would have been a mutter if she had not been the Queen.
There was a Queenly sigh. “One does not ask out of idle prurience, Prime Minister,” said the Queen. “You must see that such an attachment is of vital interest to One's country, which One is bound to protect. You might become emotionally compromised; your marriage might become compromised; your reputation might become compromised; and in any of these events your continued service to One might become difficult or impossible.”
“My feelings toward Mr. Clegg, Your Majesty,” David said unhappily, “will not affect my performance as your Prime Minister.”
“You cannot be sure of that,” said the Queen, gently.
He raised his head, becoming aware that it was supremely rude to be staring at the carpet. “I am sure, Your Majesty. I have not told Mr. Clegg of them, and I do not intend to.”
“But you do have them?” said the Queen. “You wish to enter into a relationship with him?”
David sighed. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. I haven’t let myself think about it.” A lie. “Yes, if I was not Prime Minister, and my life was my own, I would broach the subject with him. But I am your Prime Minister, Your Majesty, and it is the most important thing I will ever do. I cannot risk compromising myself and my Government, and I promise Your Majesty that I will not do so.”
“You have misunderstood One,” said the Queen.
There was a terrible sinking feeling somewhere deep in David’s stomach. “Does Your Majesty…wish me to resign?” he got out somehow.
“No,” said the Queen, with a cross between reassurance and impatience. “One has told you, One is a modern Queen.” She reached out and gently took the teacup away from David, who realized with dismay that he had been about to crush it in his death grip. “One is much older than you, Prime Minister, and One has seen many things in One's long lifetime. One may no longer have much power over One's own country, but may One offer you some Royal advice, even though you are no longer bound to take it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I would be very grateful,” he said faintly.
“When One was young, One fell in love with a mechanic,” said the Queen. “It was wartime, you see, and everything seemed like the end of the world had come. One was not as worried about things that would have mattered so very much during peacetime. One was however afraid to say anything to One's mechanic, because One was still very young and One was aware that One would become Queen.”
David was spellbound. He had never dreamed…a stray part of his brain said, “What was with all the obsession about getting a virgin bride for Charles, then?” but he stuffed it away very quickly, feeling like it was blasphemy to even think such a thing in the Presence.
“One does not tell this part of One's history lightly,” said the Queen, sternly, “but because One thinks it will be useful to you. If One had asked anyone One knew, they would have told One to remember One's duty and the service One owed to One's country. One did not ask anyone. One asked Oneself. One decided that One was in love and that One would solve the rest somehow.”
“What happened to him, Your Majesty?” David asked.
“She died,” said the Queen, “in a house fire shortly after the war ended.”
David was convinced now that he was having a very realistic dream, and that it must surely end soon, at which point he was going to take his subconscious out to the shed and shoot it.
“The point is, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, and now there was a distinct edge of tartness to her voice, “that One and One's mechanic had two months together before she was taken away from One, and that the world did not cease to turn. If you have feelings for Mr. Clegg, One's Royal advice is to act upon them.”
“As Queen, you’re telling me to break up my marriage and my government to act on my true love?” David asked, wildly, belatedly adding, “Your Majesty.”
The Queen snorted, daintily. David wasn’t quite sure how, but she did. “Most certainly not, Prime Minister,” said the Queen.
David bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Wake up, he pleaded. Wake up. Wake up.
The Queen put a hand to her forehead. “One shall try to speak more clearly, Prime Minister,” said the Queen. “One's country has been a leader among the nations for centuries. It has survived One's ancestors sleeping with a variety of personages of all sexes and sexual persuasions. One has no doubt that it has survived your predecessors entertaining a similar variety of partners. One happens to know of at least one case where One's great-aunt surprised a Prime Minister over a desk.”
David filed that away to puzzle out later. Not now, he told himself.
“One recommends that you speak to your wife, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “as you have vowed before God to remain faithful to her. But faithful is a word defined by those who use it, and you must find out how your wife defines it. One does know something of her family,” – the twinkle was back – “and One thinks you may be surprised at her answer.”
“Sam’s not the problem, Your Majesty,” David said frankly. If he was going to have this surreal conversation, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. Oh, god.
“If ‘the problem’ is your duty to your country, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “then remember that a distracted, miserable, and frustrated Prime Minister is not what One or One's country needs. The country has just had a General Election to solve that particular problem. You will do better work for One if you remember that while you are One's Prime Minister, you are also a man. And men are Fragile Things who work best when they are happy.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” David said indistinctly.
“However, One did not call you here this afternoon to talk about your love life, Prime Minister,” said the Queen.
David had never been so glad to hear a sentence that he would have been so glad never to hear just a few short hours ago.
“One called you here this afternoon,” said the Queen, “to advise you of a happy occurrence in One's life. One's grandson has asked Ms. Middleton to marry him, and she has accepted him.”
“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” David said, sincerely. This was amazing news. The country would be so caught up in royal-marriage-fever that the Old Tories would be left talking to no one. They’d never gain enough momentum in the House to bring him down, without the echo chamber of the media to help them.
“One thought you would like to know this,” said the Queen, “because it will no doubt help you to control the more reactionary members of your party.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” David said.
“Also,” said the Queen, “because One understands that the announcement will most likely usurp the front page of the newspapers, and One knows how upset politicians can become at losing their column inches.”
David thought she was teasing him, but the idea of the Queen – the Queen - teasing him was a little more than he could handle at the moment.
He tried a smile, although it felt like it was still a little wavering. Shock took a little while to wear off. “I don’t think Nick – Mr. Clegg - and I will mind, Your Majesty. The charity drive is finished now, so we have no more burning need for publicity.”
“Very well,” said the Queen, beginning to stand.
David leapt to his feet respectfully.
“One will not keep you any longer from your duties,” said the Queen, shaking his hand gently, an experience which he never failed to find surreal. “One hopes that you will consider carefully what One has said.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your counsel,” David said, formally.
“It was One's pleasure,” said the Queen.
David was nearly to the door when he heard, “Mr. Cameron?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he asked. What could she possibly have to tell him now? Nothing would have surprised him at this stage. An orca pool for the garden? She was going to learn how to fly a helicopter? Kate Middleton was pregnant? William was pregnant? The last might be medically impossible, but you never knew with royalty.
She beamed at him, a small old figure in a fussy dress, the incarnation of her Royal Office but so much more. David suddenly had the thought that if he lived to be ninety, this was the Sam he was going to wake up next to. “When you get home, Prime Minister,” said the Queen, “you will no doubt retreat into your caution, your reluctance to chance your exalted position, for which you have worked so hard. The idea of consequences will once again reassert itself. In the end, however, One must tell you that position is not what matters in life. What matters are the people One loves and the people who love One in return.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said again.
The sunshine outside came in through the window and hit her snow-white hair, creating almost a halo effect. “What One is trying to say,” said the Queen, “is fuck consequences, Prime Minister."
David closed the door to the Prime Ministerial flat behind him, and promptly sat down on the floor with his back against it. He was home, and he didn’t think he could move another step. Leaning against the door, he let his head thunk back with a satisfyingly solid sound. It hurt a little, but that just meant it was real. He was alive, and he was awake, and all of this was really happening to him. David thought that sitting very still for a few minutes to try to restore some balance to his spinning world was in order.
Of course today had to be a Tuesday. He hated Tuesdays. Tuesdays meant that everyone was running around like crazy trying to get all the information they needed from all the departments in order to get you properly ready for Prime Minister’s Questions. Wednesdays were better, actually, because by then you had all that information and while it didn’t quite make you feel prepared - nothing ever did make you feel prepared - it got you close enough to get in the zone and go into the Chamber with your head held high.
Tuesdays, however, sucked royally. Particularly this Tuesday, today, with first the Kiss, and then George, and then the Queen, and… Oh God. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Prime Minister’s Questions. William-and-Kate was bound to come up, but since he really didn’t know anything about that, they’d move on to Plan B, which was bound to have something to do with Nick. He didn’t want to think about Nick. But Nick was his Deputy, so he would have to think about him at some point, wouldn’t he?
David thunked his head into the door a couple more times for good measure. What had he done? His life had been going so well, and now he’d made it so complicated.
“David? Is that you?” Sam came around the corner from the kitchen, apron on and carrying a wooden spoon. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?”
“It’s solid,” David said morosely.
“…Right,” said Sam. “Get up, you numpty. I’m making a curry, and I’m damned if I’m going to burn it because you took a sudden penchant for cleaning the floor with your arse.”
David shot her a wary look. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
Sam waved her spoon at him. “Apart from the fact that Nancy and Elwen are at George’s and Fran’s for a sleepover, and you and I were supposed to be spending a romantic evening together?”
David winced. “Right.”
“You arse, you completely forgot. I put it in your planner weeks ago.”
“I haven’t exactly been looking at my planner much today,” David said wryly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the forgiving door. “I haven’t forgotten anything else, have I? It’s not our anniversary, is it?”
“No, you prat, that’s in June. And my birthday’s in April.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t know my name,” David told the back of his eyelids.
A moment’s silence, as he could hear Sam tapping her foot, and then a warm weight settling on his lap. He opened his eyes in surprise to find himself with an armful of wife. “Of course I remember your name,” she purred, leaning distractingly close. “David…” The blouse she had on under the apron was sheer, and David was suddenly not so tired after all.
They shared a deep, messy, passionate kiss, and David was about to use his weight to topple her to the floor next to him, when she suddenly leaped off his lap and started to jog back down the hallway. “Got to get the curry off,” she called back over her shoulder.
“Damn the curry,” David whined.
There was a moment’s crashing from the kitchen. David winced. His precious kitchen that he’d had remodeled before he’d let them move in. He just knew Sam was denting the countertops.
After a moment, Sam padded back into view. She beckoned to him. “Come on, tosser. I mean, David o’David, wooer of my soul and lover of my breasts. You need your dinner.”
“I don’t want my dinner, I want you,” David said pathetically.
She giggled. “Time enough for that later. Come on already.”
With much groaning, he heaved himself to his feet, shucking his suit jacket and dropping it to the floor. Sam rolled her eyes, but let it pass. After fifteen years together, you either got used to your spouse’s bad habits or went crazy. David should know – Sam routinely left her dishes in the sink for days, until he snapped and washed up himself.
In the kitchen, Victoria was cuddled in her baby seat asleep, while Sam’s curry bubbled gently on the stove.
“Shall I get bowls?” David asked, already halfway to the cupboard. The kitchen was such a reassuring place for him. It felt like home more than any other place in the Prime Ministerial flat; he knew what he was doing there, in a way he didn’t in the other rooms, so dark and old and imposing.
“No need,” said Sam, turning from the stove with the spoon. “C’mere.”
“That’s dreadfully unhygienic,” David protested, eyeing the spoon askance.
“No one need ever know,” Sam whispered theatrically. Then, at her usual volume, “Open your mouth, Cameron, and swallow.”
As David obeyed, and Sam fed him a mouthful of curry, she added thoughtfully, “…That’s what Nick said.”
It took David a moment to get what she meant, and then he promptly inhaled a chickpea.
Three glasses of water and much coughing later, he was sitting on one of the barstools, glaring at Sam. “You tried to kill me!” he said theatrically.
Sam looked unimpressed. “You know, this sort of thing is why it's important to always chew your food.”
“I wasn’t the one making sexual innuendos while feeding my husband spicy Indian food!”
“If you want Nick for a husband, you’re going to have to pass plural marriage as well as same-sex marriage.”
“Gah!” David was about to throw up his hands in frustration, when he realized how stupid that would make him look. He buried his face in them instead. “First the Queen, and now you. Can’t a man get a little peace?”
“What did the Queen say?” Sam sounded distinctly interested.
“A lot of things I don’t really want to think about right now,” David said. “You’d like her.”
Sam sighed, and began to knead at the knots in his neck. “You’re incredibly tense. Been doing anything stressful lately?”
“That feels really good,” David said, muffled. “You have such talented hands.”
“Save the pickup lines for after I’ve fed you,” Sam said, withdrawing her hands from his neck and using them to pull open one of the dishware cupboards. “Here, have a bowl of curry while I move Victoria to her bassinet in the nursery. Try not to choke while swallowing…that’s what -”
“Don’t you dare say ‘that’s what Nick said’ again, minx.”
“So,” said Sam, slightly breathless, “what did the Queen have to say?”
David looked at her in disbelief. “Woman, you are on top of me, pinning my wrists to the bed, and you want to talk about the Queen?”
“Would you rather wait until you’re inside me?” Sam asked reasonably.
“Nnggh,” said David.
“I want to know what the Queen said,” Sam wheedled. “It sounded like it had something to do with Nick, or else with dirty jokes. But surely the Queen doesn’t tell dirty jokes.”
“You’d be surprised,” David said darkly. “That woman is a menace.”
“David!” Sam let go of one of his wrists to slap his hand, then pinned it down again. “That’s your Sovereign you’re talking about.”
He sighed. He was not telling Sam about the Queen’s mechanic lover. That was a step too far. Which meant getting into the whole feeling bit. Damn. “She just…somehow divined that I have feelings for Nick. I don’t know how. She probably looked at me and Knew.”
Sam laughed, then sobered. “You do have feelings for Nick, then?”
“Do we have to talk about Nick right now?” David said plaintively. “You have no bra on.”
“It’s the best time to talk to you,” Sam said. “I know I have your full attention.”
David tried to glare at her, but kept getting distracted by her breasts, mother-full, swinging above him. Before he’d had a pregnant wife, he would have been so turned-off by the idea of breasts with milk in them. No longer.
“So the Queen thinks that you have feelings for Nick,” Sam said slowly, “and you’re not denying it.”
David sighed, and closed his eyes to wield off temptation. “If I talk to you about this for five minutes, can we get back to the sex part?”
“If you answer all my questions honestly and fully, I will ride you like a cowgirl,” Sam agreed. “Or anything else you want, really. We have all night.”
“…Okay,” David agreed manfully.
“Do you want to fuck Nick?” Sam said immediately.
“Fuck, Sam,” David said, startled.
“No, fuck Nick,” Sam said.
He glared at her.
She softened. “It’s a serious question.”
His wrists were still pinned down, and she was still on top of him. Best to get this over with before she drove him completely mad. “Yes.”
“In the abstract, like, he’s a tidy bugger, or like, every time I see him I want to shag his brains out?” Sam persisted.
Wincing, David admitted, “The latter. Both.”
“Then are you going to make a move on him?”
“I don’t know,” David said wearily. “The Queen basically told me to. No, she did tell me to. But I just…I just can’t get over the massive step it would be, the incredible amount of danger I’d putting our family in, the Party in, the Government in – all for one piece of arse?”
“It is one very nice piece of arse,” Sam pointed out.
“But I already have you,” David argued. “Most people would think going after another world-class piece of arse was supremely selfish.”
She leaned down to kiss him. “That was sweet.”
He tried to keep her in the kiss, make her forget about the interrogation, but he had no leverage and Sam was soon back to business. “I guess you could ignore sexual attraction if you thought it was your duty and all that. The bigger question is, are you in love with him?”
David closed his eyes. There it was. The question he hadn’t let himself even get close to thinking, all this fortnight. Every time he’d half-glimpsed it in the distance, he’d steered his thought direction back to purely sexual attraction. He felt fairly certain he could deal with his sex drive – if it went into overdrive for a little while, well, his wife lived upstairs, and she was almost always up for it if he went down on her first. Yes, he was the luckiest man alive, he knew it.
The other question, however, was something which David had known - without thinking about it (for he would not think about it) - would present far trickier difficulties. He’d always thought before that you could only be in love with one person at a time. How stupid he'd been. Monogamy was just a construct, a particular kind of construct put together for particular societal and biological goals. It didn’t necessarily correlate to reality, and it certainly didn’t correlate to David’s reality.
Was he in love with Nick Clegg? Surely not in the same way that he was in love with Sam, the mother of his children, the partner of his life, the woman who knew him better than he did himself, the only person with whom he could be completely and utterly himself, laying himself open and vulnerable in a way even his mother had never seen.
But was he in love with Nick Clegg? Love, David was beginning to realize, came in different shapes and sizes. When Nick stayed late working on voting reform, and he looked haggard when he came in to clarify a point, and David looked up from his work and felt a surge of worry, wanting somehow to make everything right – was that love? When David held his breath every time Nick went up in a plane, even though he knew in his head that planes almost never crashed – was that love? When David’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of a genuine Nick smile; when David’s skin prickled when Nick stepped too near; when the best moment of David’s day was sometimes Nick’s beam of surprised appreciation at something David did or said; when one look from Nick was enough to derail David’s train of thought for ten minutes; when David secretly found the minor fusses the Liberal Democrats threw to be adorable, because of the way Nick stepped in to soothe their fur; when he sometimes woke up thinking, “What do Nick and I have to do today?” – was all this love? What was love?
He gradually became aware that he’d been saying at least part of all this out loud. “I…don’t know if I love him,” he finished lamely. “I might be falling in love with him. But I know I love you.”
“Shhh,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I don’t even need to ask that question.”
“How would it even work?” he said, desperately. “I can’t let myself think – I can’t let myself want – because then we get into fantasizing territory, and I just don’t think…do you know how difficult that would be to keep a secret? An affair between the two top politicians in the Government? What that would be worth to someone selling the story? We’d be sold out in three days!”
“I think it would work pretty easily,” Sam said. “We have a spare suite in the flat. Announce that you’re letting Nick have it for now, because he works late so many nights. He can stay some weeknights, go home some weeknights, just on an as-needed basis. Pitch it as a green thing – he doesn’t have to waste petrol commuting as much - and a time-saving thing. People will make jokes, of course – Nick Robinson will have a field day – but ultimately they’ll just see it as a natural extension of the whole buddy-buddy thing. Of course you’ll have to give him weekends off to make up for it so he can spend time with the boys.”
“We already take weekends off,” David protested.
Sam snorted. “No, you don’t. Remember, I’m married to you, I know these things.” She finally let go of his wrists, in order to stroke his cheek. “Anyway, do all that, and then just remember that you have to keep your hands off of each other in public – CCTV is a nuisance. Tada! Secret affair made simple.”
“Then why do you see secret affairs killing the careers of politicians every bloody day?” David asked.
“Because they don’t have genius wives who concoct genius plans of how they’re going to do it,” Sam said sensibly. “They think with their pricks, and since pricks don’t have brains, they get caught an awful lot. How often do you hear of female politicians having affairs?”
“I can count them on one hand,” David said slowly. “But I thought that was just because female politicians were too smart to have affairs.”
Sam looked at him pityingly. “To sum up: Mr. Prime Minister, you are in love with your Deputy (or very nearly so), you have been presented with a good plan for how to shag him on a regular basis, and your wife and your Queen have given their blessing. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know if he wants to,” David burst out.
“This all comes down to your fear of rejection?” Sam said incredulously.
“You of all people should know about it!” David said, frustrated. “You had to jump me and push your tongue down my throat before I’d ask you out!”
“Yes, but I thought you’d gotten over that. You know, what with becoming one of the leaders of the Free World and all.”
“It’s not exactly…it’s not like I’m saying, ‘Wanna have a beer?’ We’re not eighteen! It’s ‘You’re married, I’m married, we have families we care about more than anything in the world, we have careers that fulfill us and scare the heck out of us, neither of us have ever had a relationship with another man, if we get found out it means the end of our lives as we know them...” he trailed off, trying to get his voice under control.
“And yet you think you love him,” Sam said softly.
“I know I love him,” David said, turning his face into the pillow.
In the ensuing moment of silence, there was a sudden yelp of pain.
In under five seconds, David had thrown Sam off of him with a strength he hadn’t known he had and leaped across the room to the emergency security bell pull. He actually had the bell pull in his hand and was about to yank hard when Sam, from the depths of the pile of pillows in which she had landed, yelled “No, David! Don’t pull it!”
He stopped, keeping the bell pull in his hand. “There’s someone hiding in our room! Get behind the bed!”
Sam’s very guilty face peeked up above the headboard. “I know who it is,” she said.
David just stared at her for a moment, and then his mouth dropped open. He let go of the bell pull and strode across the room to the closet, heedless of the fact that he was only wearing boxers and an undershirt. He yanked open the closet door.
Miriam Durántez fell out of the closet. David waited for a second, then opened the door wider and peered inside. A very sheepish-looking Nick Clegg, holding a toy tank in his hand, stared back at him.
“You hid him in the closet,” David said to Sam, supremely wounded. “You hid him in the closet, and then you pinned me down and made me talk about my…my feelings. I trusted you.” He was distinctly not looking at Nick, who was sitting uncomfortably and awkwardly on the edge of one of the armchairs. “What kind of wife are you?”
“The kind of wife that loves you,” Sam said, arms crossed over her chest. She still wasn’t wearing a bra, but David was far too distracted to pay attention (something he never would have expected to happen). “The kind of wife who knows you well enough to know that your fear of rejection stops you from going after what you want and need.”
“But…but Sam,” David said helplessly, unable to articulate his sense of betrayal. “Sam.”
He felt a hand on his elbow and nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was only Miriam. “She is the exact kind of wife I am. Who do you think made Nick do it?”
David looked at her warily. Wives, he was beginning to suspect, might be more trouble than he’d ever imagined.
She put her hands on her hips, mirroring Sam. “Sometimes wives have to take matters into their own hands. You men may be able to run the country – although I think women would do a better job – but you are hopeless at running your own lives.”
“But…” David got out.
“Sam and I talked. I made Nick talk to me. She made you talk to her. We have solved the problem. Why are you being so difficult?”
“But you haven’t solved the problem!” David near-shouted.
“David,” Sam said. “Victoria!”
David lowered his voice. She was right, a screaming baby would be just the touch that would send this outrageous situation into outright lunacy. “You haven’t solved the problem! You’ve just made an absolute fool of me and made it impossible for me to ever work with Nick again!”
Miriam sighed. “Nicholas,” she said, beckoning to him, “get over here right the fucking now.”
David heard Nick get up and come to stand about a wary two feet from him.
“Tell him,” Miriam said, gently.
And David finally forced himself to look straight at Nick, for the first time since that awful moment when he’d pulled open the closet door and Nick had been standing there on one foot, holding that goddamned toy he’d stepped on in his hand.
Nick didn’t look horrified, as David had half expected. After the way Nick had reacted to the very idea of the Kiss back at the beginning of this whole saga, hearing that the Prime Minister wanted to shag him – was in love with him, for fuck’s sake – was hardly something David had expected to go over well. Forget the whole kissing practice fiasco from – was that last night? It felt like an eternity ago. They had obviously gotten …carried away, and in the cold light of day Nick had probably reverted back to his old self.
But Nick did not look horrified. He looked uncertain, and…shy? David had never seen Nick look shy before, but he thought that was what it was.
Nick met his eyes for only a minute before flushing and looking at the ground.
“Tell…” Miriam began.
“I’m telling him!” Nick cut her off. “Just…give me a minute.”
For the very first time, David felt the beginnings of a glimmer of hope, somewhere deep inside. He tried to push it down. He was an inveterate pessimist. Nick could be about to say anything, best not to get excited.
Next to him, Nick took a deep breath. “I…I…” he stammered, then wet his lips. David tried to keep his eyes from following Nick’s darting tongue, but failed. No time to get distracted, he told himself sternly.
The room felt very close. Beside him, Sam sat perched on her pillows; across from Nick, Miriam stood, hands still on hips; all eyes on Nick.
And then Nick raised his eyes from the floor, and met David’s again. “I think I’m falling in love with you too,” he said simply, a hectic flush surging over his face. “I don’t…I don’t know what we do, I don’t know how we do it, I don’t know where we go from here. But I think I’m in love with you.”
David heard nothing after the first sentence. He felt an idiotic grin pulling at his mouth, and surrendered to it in a daze. Slowly, an answering grin – if still a little uncertain – spread over Nick’s face in return.
David stepped forward and kissed it off.
Continue to the Epilogue.
-----------------
A/N: Feedback is much loved! Anon comments are on, so don't be shy. :)
Tags:
- british politics,
- fic,
- genre: drama,
- genre: mystery,
- genre: romance,
- length: 20k+,
- pairing: cameron/clegg,
- pairing: clegg/durantez,
- pairing: foursome,
- pairing: the camerons,
- person: david cameron,
- person: miriam gonzalez durantez,
- person: nick clegg,
- person: samantha cameron,
- person: the queen,
- rating: pg-13,
- theme: first time,
- theme: open marriages,
- theme: powerful women
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 09:52 pm (UTC)This. Is. AWESOME.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:00 pm (UTC)It was fun writing the Queen. She reminds me of my great-grandmother. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:01 pm (UTC)Oh, I have waited. I have! And I need more!
Part of me is saying, however, that you got the characterisation of the Queen very badly wrong. She does not refer to herself as "we" or "us". It's "one". One does not pretend; One does not deny; One thinks. She does not refer to herself in third person but in archaic first person. I really do love this story, but my brain wouldn't shut up about that... Sorry
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:08 pm (UTC)I only know this from the nineteenth century (historian) and the Queen did use the royal we, so that's where I'm coming from, haha.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:15 pm (UTC)One's desire to see this or one's happiness at that. She would perhaps go with "we" or "us" if it involves someone else directly, such as Philip, but when speaking of herself it is usually "one" or a derivative of.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:23 pm (UTC)I'll try not to feel like such an insect.
I do love your story. I want more of it like I want more air.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:29 pm (UTC)Story's almost done now, I just have to bring it home. I should be done with that pretty soon. I may play around a little in the universe now and again, but the main story will be winding up tomorrow, most likely. I'm so glad you continue to enjoy it!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 10:39 pm (UTC)OMG, ILU! I seriously cannot wait for the end. Well, not really, I don't want it to end, but you know what I mean.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-26 05:19 am (UTC)That aside, though, I absolutely adore this fic. I was the person who posted the original prompt over in the meme, and this is so far above and beyond anything I could have dreamed of, it's fantastic. Funny, touching, uplifting, sexy, more funny; it really has everything. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-26 05:23 am (UTC)I am so glad you like the fic! I kind of took your prompt and ran the heck away with it, didn't I? :)
woah
Date: 2010-05-25 10:29 pm (UTC)Brilliant sory.
Re: woah
Date: 2010-05-25 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-28 01:57 pm (UTC)"fuck consequences, Prime Minister." BEST. LINE. EVA!
The scene with Nick Clegg in the closet was PRICELESS!!!! And awwww, finally, they talk to each other about their feelings! <3
no subject
Date: 2010-05-28 03:47 pm (UTC)"fuck consequences, Prime Minister." BEST. LINE. EVA!
Hee, thank you! I knew when I started writing this scene that I had to get the Queen to swear somehow. :D
The scene with Nick Clegg in the closet was PRICELESS!!!! And awwww, finally, they talk to each other about their feelings! <3
Only like 25K words into the story, hahahaha, but yes!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-28 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-28 03:00 pm (UTC)*standing ovation for you* Truly, brilliant :D
Now I'll pop off to read the epilogue! <3
no subject
Date: 2010-05-28 03:53 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for your lovely comment. I hope you enjoy the epilogue! Solid, solid porn - what am I coming to these days? ;)