zaubra | FIC: The Princess of Zock

Fandom: UK Politics
Title: The Princess of Zock
Ship(s): Tony Blair/Gordon Brown, Tony Blair/OFCs
Word Count: 2,464
Rating: NC-17
Content: Explicit sex. Also spanking, tentacles, and 'aliens make them do it'.
WARNINGS: Kidnapping, noncon, dubcon, tentacles, aliens.
Summary: Tony Blair is abducted by aliens. 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.

The Princess of Zock

“Forgive me for asking,” Tony says, “but who the hell are you?”

He doesn’t usually swear in public, because you never know if there are reporters about, and the public wouldn’t approve of blue language from its Prime Minister. But this, Tony thinks, is a special case.

The gorgeous blonde smiles up at him inscrutably. Her legs are crossed, showing off every beautiful inch, and her breasts are barely hidden beneath the shimmery fabric of her top. She looks like a Bond girl, worlds of mystery in her eyes.

“I know who you are,” she says, and her voice is vaguely Russian, low and sultry. “And that, I think, is enough to be getting on with.”

“I’m the Prime Minister,” Tony says, “and I need to know what’s happening.” He tries valiantly not to look at the curves of her waist, and doesn’t entirely succeed.

The blonde smiles, deep red lips in a perfect face, and opens her mouth languidly -

Then she shimmers, somehow, and the next thing Tony knows, she’s turned into a short plump girl with a mane of red hair. And freckles.

“Oh, bugger,” she says.

~//~

“So I’m not dreaming.”

The girl shrugs. “You can think that if you like.” She sounds less Russian now, more Irish.

(If Irishwomen were ever-so-slightly lavender.)

“I don’t know what to think,” Tony says carefully. He’s been in tricky situations before. He can get out of this one. “I was in my bed, and now I’m here. It sounds like a dream to me.”

The girl gets up from her chair and comes over to him. Tony resists the urge to back away.

She smiles up at him. “Does this,” and she strokes his face, “feel like a dream to you?”

“Who are you?” Tony asks, swallowing.

“A dream girl, apparently,” she says, and her eyes crinkle.

He raises his eyebrows, tries desperately to look charming and boyish and appealing.

She laughs. “I’m the Princess of Zock.”

“The Princess of Zock,” Tony repeats, slowly. “And where is Zock, precisely?”

The Princess beams benignly at him. She has a freckle on her lip. “About twenty-five zogs away.”

Tony bites back his first question, which is What is a zog?, and asks the second. “What do you want from me?”

“The same thing I want from everyone I bring up here,” the Princess says, and runs a finger down his cheek. “Sex.”

“I beg your pardon,” Tony says, drawing himself away from her.

“Sex,” the Princess says again, then evidently sees that she will need to explain. She sighs, blowing her fringe away from her face. “I get bored. Right now it is just the scientists, doing their thing, and there’s nothing for me to do. So I watch telly.”

“Telly,” Tony repeats, faintly.

The Princess beams. “Telly! A glorious Earthling invention. And when I fancy someone off the telly, or when I just get very bored, I bring them up here and have sex with them.”

Tony walks very slowly over to her chair and sinks down in it.

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” she says, and claps her hands.

Several women come laughing through a doorway Tony hasn’t noticed.

“We can make it very pleasurable for you,” the Princess says, and smiles.

Tony swallows.

~//~

It could be worse.

There are four women touching Tony. He is naked. There is a hand on his cock and lips on his nipples and a tongue lapping at the curve of his spine. His own face is buried in a ginger mound that smells faintly of cinnamon.

It could definitely be worse.

He is, however, keeping an eye on the tentacles.

~//~

They are clever sex-tourist aliens, Tony will give them that. They wait until they have him so pliable, so loose and wordless and elemental, that he hardly has the capacity to remember his own name, let alone the will to put up any resistance.

It’s then, and only then, that Tony feels the first slippery poke at his arsehole.

His head pops up with alarm from its business (he’ll say this for alien anatomy, the clitoris being twice its human size makes it easier to find). “No! No tentacles!”

The Princess pouts at him, and tries to push his head back down where it was. Her spare hand is extended, the tentacle protruding from her palm snaking behind Tony and out of sight. He has the distinct feeling that he knows where it is.

“No tentacles!” Tony says again, firmly.

The Princess sighs and nods at her women. They all stop what they’re doing, and Tony shivers, bereft. “You get one No. Is this your No?”

“Why do I only get one No?” Tony asks.

The Princess grins, slow and toothy. “Because I said so.”

Tony can’t argue with that. Not in his current position, with four women snuggled around him and another holding court at his head. He has no doubt that if he put up a fight, they could subdue him with ridiculous ease. For one thing, they have tentacles. Tentacles can reach a long way, and are very flexible.

He decides to pick his battles. “All right, I get one no. No tentacles.”

The Princess pouts again. Tony is not immune to the pout, but he is when it involves tentacles and his arse. “No tentacles.”

“Fine,” she says. “No tentacles.”

Relieved, Tony ducks his head, ready to get back to the licking and the touching and the incoherent moaning (mostly from himself, he has to admit). Apart from the tentacles, sex with aliens is a wonderful experience.

Instead, he winces as a hand uses his hair to pull his head back up.

The Princess smiles down at him. “Perhaps it’s time to move on to something else.”

Tony isn’t entirely sure he likes the sound of that.

~//~

Tony whimpers. “This isn’t fair.”

“You used your no,” the Princess reminds him, from somewhere near his head.

Tony is bent over some sort of alien table, his hands tied behind his back. No one is touching him, which strikes him as unfair. He is still achingly hard.

And there are beautiful women giggling behind him, and he can’t see them.

“Do I have to stay like this forever?” he asks. He would pity himself if he heard himself sound like that, he knows he would.

“Not forever,” the Princess says, and smiles. “Zenara, do you have the coordinates I gave you?”

Zenara of Zock. Now there’s a name. Try saying that five times fast. Tony tries thinking it five times fast, but only manages to make himself go cross-eyed.

This is perhaps why it takes his brain a moment to catch up with the sudden sickening drop of his stomach, when he hears a very familiar growl.

~//~

“What the fuck is going on here?” Gordon asks.

Tony’s not sure whether to be insulted or flattered that the Princess doesn’t attempt the seductive blonde routine with Gordon. She stays her freckled lavender Irish self.

After she’s finished the bored-alien-Princess-wants-sex explanation, she beams coquettishly upwards. (Tony’s torn between wishing he could see Gordon’s face and being devoutly glad that he can’t.) “So, you see, when Tony said he wouldn’t do tentacles, I thought you could help.”

“I could help,” Gordon says, slowly, the first time he’s spoken since that initial startled exclamation.

“Yes,” the Princess says, and pats Tony on the head. “He’s such a shameless bottom, really, but he doesn’t want to be penetrated by tentacles, and we don’t have penises. We have penis-shaped implements, but they’re not really the same thing, are they? So I thought perhaps you could help.”

“You want me to fuck Tony,” Gordon says.

The Princess claps her hands. The tentacles seem to have pulled themselves back in for the moment, but the clap still sounds a little squishy. “Exactly!”

Gordon snorts. “Who says I want to fuck Tony?”

“Weellll,” the Princess says, petting Tony’s hair contemplatively, “you get one No too. You can say No to fucking him. If you use up your No on that, I suppose it might be nice to get out the whip and see which one of you moans the prettiest.”

Tony freezes.

Now that he’s looking, he can see the darkly mischievous look in her eyes. This isn’t a woman who is accustomed to being thwarted; this is a woman who takes what she wants.

He’d almost admire her, but seeing as he’s bent over a table, naked, with Gordon deciding whether to fuck him or not, he thinks he’ll resist that particular impulse.

“And after all,” the Princess says – and Tony’s a politician, he knows when someone is playing a trump card – “it is only a dream.”

She tips Tony’s face up, runs a finger down his cheek. He closes his eyes.

But he can still hear her. “I know you hate him, for what he’s done to you. Anything you want, he’s yours. You’ll wake up in the morning feeling all the better for having exorcised some of your demons.”

“Anything,” Gordon says, scratchy rumble, so very close.

He can hear the smile in her voice, in that pleasant normal Irish accent. “No killing, of course. But anything else.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Gordon says, and Tony blesses him with a fervour he hadn’t known he possessed. “Not much.”

A hand comes down on Tony’s arse, large and firm and sure.

~//~

A steady rain of blows, leaving Tony biting his lip, blinking back tears. None are too hard – Gordon isn’t beating him beyond what he can stand – but the cumulative effect is beginning to take its toll.

It doesn’t help that Gordon is keeping up a litany of complaints against him, matching them to the smacks. Tony had no idea quite how infuriating he apparently is. Well, he had a certain amount of an idea, given how much Gordon glowers and mutters, and then there’s the times he swears and throws things – but apparently Gordon also keeps a mental list of each and every time Tony crosses him, or breaks a promise, or fails to live up to expectations.

Which, unfortunately for Tony’s poor arse, seems to be a daily event.

“I’m sorry!” Tony says desperately, for the third time.

“Sorry for what?” Gordon asks.

“Sorry for whatever you want,” Tony says, honestly.

Gordon laughs at that, and stops. Blessedly. Tony loses himself in the bliss of it, shutting his eyes and trying to avoid thinking about the burn of his arse.

A hand in his hair, tugging. Tony winces and opens his eyes again.

“If you’re sorry,” Gordon says, “prove it.”

~//~

Gordon obviously believes the Princess that this is a dream, Tony thinks dazedly, in the space in his brain not taken up by trying to remember how to breathe around Gordon’s cock. It’s been a long time since he did this.

Or perhaps Gordon doesn’t believe her, and is just pretending to.

The Princess hovers by Gordon’s shoulder, occasionally tracing Tony’s cheek, touching the bulge of Gordon’s cock.

Tony blinks up at her, letting her see the wetness in his eyes.

She purses her lips. A long moment – and then a clap of her hands brings her attendants forward again, with their soothing hands and laughing kisses and teasing licks.

For a moment, Tony loves her.

~//~

The nimble fingers of the women have done their work, and Tony is loose and ready when Gordon pushes into his arse. He’s even hard, thanks to one woman’s very talented mouth.

The disorienting thought that perhaps he shouldn’t be calling them women - since they aren’t human and he hasn’t seen their genitalia - is overtaken by the feeling of Gordon’s cock breaching his entrance.

“Shh,” the Princess says, crouching in front of him.

He breathes against her mouth, overwhelmed and full and helpless.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, the freckles on her lips glistening. “You love this, don’t you?”

Gordon is wasting no time, pounding into him fast and furious. And yes, he is hard, and getting harder – and yes, there are stars building behind his eyes – but does he really love this? He would never have chosen it. Yet he is enjoying it now, he can’t deny that…

“Say you love it,” the Princess says, insistently.

Tony obeys. “I love it.”

“Louder,” she says, and the glint is back in her eyes.

“I love it,” Tony says, louder, and Gordon grunts above him, and fucks him harder.

Tony’s arse still hurts from Gordon’s spanking (although he suspects that the Princess did something alien-science-y, because he rather thinks it should hurt much more than it does), but yet he thrills to Gordon’s thrusts, and he finds himself shoving backwards to meet them, as a woman plays with his cock, and two other women fondle each other in his line of sight, and the Princess presses kisses to his jaw.

Gordon fucks him, fast and wild and silent.

Tony moans. The Princess swallows it.

~//~

Near the end, Tony feels a tentacle.

He hasn’t the energy to say no again.

Gordon shudders when it snakes in, but says nothing.

The Princess throws her head back, shuddering with the force of her arousal.

~//~

The tentacle in his arse reaches places Tony didn’t know existed. It lights up his nervous system and explodes unnamed colours behind his eyes. Gordon’s cock is still there, enormous and insistent, fucking him even faster now, as Gordon snarls something, incomprehensible.

When Tony comes, his vision whites out, and the last thing he hears before he slips under is Gordon shouting something that sounds like “Granita”.

~//~

He’s drifting somewhere in a vast cloud of white, and somewhere in that cloud there is a lavender woman with bright red hair.

~//~

In his own world, Tony thinks at first that it was just a dream. There are no marks, and there was certainly a degree of unreality to it all. His subconscious could possibly be that disturbed, he supposes, although he likes to think it’s saner than purple aliens and Chancellor-sex.

But when Gordon refuses to meet his eye for a week, Tony knows better.

He remembers the feeling of Gordon’s hand hitting his arse, the helplessness of being at Gordon’s mercy. He remembers the never-ending list of Gordon’s complaints, both trivial and large. He remembers the thrill of Gordon’s cock inside him, Gordon’s hands on his hips, Gordon’s tongue saying his name.

They never speak of it.

And if Tony dreams, and wakes with the smell of the Princess’s musk in the air, and the sense-memory of four women touching him still lingering on his skin, and Gordon’s name on his lips –

Well, they don’t speak of that either.

~//~

Somewhere far above Earth, the Princess of Zock lounges in her chair, contented and sated, watching telly.

Somewhere on Earth, her next prey walks, unaware.

~//~