FIC: Order, Order!
Oct. 23rd, 2011 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraFandom: UK Politics
Title: Order, Order!
Ship(s): John Bercow/Sally Bercow
Word Count: 503
Rating: PG
Summary: John wishes Sally didn't make important decisions by consulting her "tweeps". But perhaps Sally can persuade him. For this prompt 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.
Order, Order!
“No,” John says.
Sally just looks at him, with that half-smirk that means she knows she’ll get her way in the end. As she always does.
John sinks into a chair at their kitchen table. “We are not naming our cat Order.”
“But I asked my tweeps and it’s leading the poll,” Sally says, as if that’s the most logical thing in the world, as if the world is meant to have things called tweeps.
“I am not calling the cat Order!” John says, desperately.
The cat sidles over and rubs against his leg.
“See, she likes it!” Sally says, delightedly.
John rubs at his temples. “What are the other options?”
“Betty, Harriet, Tweetie, and Hansard,” Sally says. She gets up and comes over to John’s chair, sinking down into a crouch to pet the cat.
John valiantly tries to ignore her distraction. “I absolutely refuse to call the cat Tweetie.” He’s not sure the full horror of the possibility has transferred itself into his voice, but he can hear that at least some of it has.
Sally throws back her head and laughs, the long uninhibited lines of her face melting with her pleasure. John loses himself for a minute. Nine years of marriage, and she still takes his breath away.
This does not mean that he is calling a cat Tweetie, even for love of her.
“Tweetie’s losing, don’t worry,” she says, smiling up at him, her left hand still petting the cat, which has lolled over onto its back in a completely shameless fashion. “Hansard’s in second at the moment.”
“Hansard!” he says. “Hansard seems an eminently suitable name.”
She rises effortlessly, stopping to kiss him on the way up. “I still think Order will win.”
“You have no mercy, wife,” he says.
Sally leans down again to pick up the cat, depositing her in his lap, which means that his suit will soon have cat hair all over it. “Mercy is overrated.”
John scratches the cat behind her ears, and she turns her head into his touch, ecstatic and greedy.
“There’s one other thing I should mention,” Sally says, perching on the table and stretching her legs.
John looks up with foreboding. Sally’s ‘one other thing’ is almost always to be feared. But then, it often has unforeseen rewards as well. Pegging sounded formidable at first…
“What?” he asks, moving on to scratch under the cat’s chin, as she begins to purr.
Sally grins down at him. “Have I ever told you how wet I get when you say Order in that Speakerly voice of yours?”
John’s vision goes a bit starry, but he rallies his forces. “And you want me to say it to the cat?”
“I want you to say it more often,” Sally says, and stretches a long leg out, pushing her foot into John’s lap.
The cat yowls and jumps down. Which is perhaps just as well.
Because they have an hour before the children get home from school, and, well, Sally’s already on the table.
~//~
Title: Order, Order!
Ship(s): John Bercow/Sally Bercow
Word Count: 503
Rating: PG
Summary: John wishes Sally didn't make important decisions by consulting her "tweeps". But perhaps Sally can persuade him. For this prompt 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.
Order, Order!
“No,” John says.
Sally just looks at him, with that half-smirk that means she knows she’ll get her way in the end. As she always does.
John sinks into a chair at their kitchen table. “We are not naming our cat Order.”
“But I asked my tweeps and it’s leading the poll,” Sally says, as if that’s the most logical thing in the world, as if the world is meant to have things called tweeps.
“I am not calling the cat Order!” John says, desperately.
The cat sidles over and rubs against his leg.
“See, she likes it!” Sally says, delightedly.
John rubs at his temples. “What are the other options?”
“Betty, Harriet, Tweetie, and Hansard,” Sally says. She gets up and comes over to John’s chair, sinking down into a crouch to pet the cat.
John valiantly tries to ignore her distraction. “I absolutely refuse to call the cat Tweetie.” He’s not sure the full horror of the possibility has transferred itself into his voice, but he can hear that at least some of it has.
Sally throws back her head and laughs, the long uninhibited lines of her face melting with her pleasure. John loses himself for a minute. Nine years of marriage, and she still takes his breath away.
This does not mean that he is calling a cat Tweetie, even for love of her.
“Tweetie’s losing, don’t worry,” she says, smiling up at him, her left hand still petting the cat, which has lolled over onto its back in a completely shameless fashion. “Hansard’s in second at the moment.”
“Hansard!” he says. “Hansard seems an eminently suitable name.”
She rises effortlessly, stopping to kiss him on the way up. “I still think Order will win.”
“You have no mercy, wife,” he says.
Sally leans down again to pick up the cat, depositing her in his lap, which means that his suit will soon have cat hair all over it. “Mercy is overrated.”
John scratches the cat behind her ears, and she turns her head into his touch, ecstatic and greedy.
“There’s one other thing I should mention,” Sally says, perching on the table and stretching her legs.
John looks up with foreboding. Sally’s ‘one other thing’ is almost always to be feared. But then, it often has unforeseen rewards as well. Pegging sounded formidable at first…
“What?” he asks, moving on to scratch under the cat’s chin, as she begins to purr.
Sally grins down at him. “Have I ever told you how wet I get when you say Order in that Speakerly voice of yours?”
John’s vision goes a bit starry, but he rallies his forces. “And you want me to say it to the cat?”
“I want you to say it more often,” Sally says, and stretches a long leg out, pushing her foot into John’s lap.
The cat yowls and jumps down. Which is perhaps just as well.
Because they have an hour before the children get home from school, and, well, Sally’s already on the table.
~//~
