![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
FIC: Keep Calm and Carry On
Title: Keep Calm and Carry On
Ship(s): Ed Miliband/surprise
Word Count: 748
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Warnings: Dub-con. Also, it will scar your brain.
Summary: Ed goes back in time and gives someone a blowjob.
Author's Note: Suppose I should 'fess up to this. I am evil. Sorry.
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.
Keep Calm and Carry On
The man at the desk looks up from his briefing papers, and Ed’s knees go weak. It’s really true, then. It’s not one of David’s ridiculous pranks, which David thinks are so incredibly funny, but which always end with Ed drunk and disgraced, with embarrassing pictures circulating through the office like wildfire.
“What’s your name, then?” the man asks, gruffly, and the voice. Oh, the voice.
“I’m Ed, sir,” Ed says. “I’m the Labour Leader.”
The man shrugs, dismissing the information as irrelevant. “Bob has told you why your services are required?”
“He said, sir, that my participation was necessary for the successful prosecution of the war effort,” Ed parrots, trying to keep his nervousness under control.
The man gives him a shrewd look. “You are aware of what those services are?”
Ed nods, gulping. “I’m to…to give you…” God, he can’t get the words out, not in front of this man. Not that the man is his particular hero, of course, but he’s an icon, a British national saint, almost. He clears his throat. “I’m to give you a blowjob. Sir.”
The man harrumphs. “I am not familiar with that particular phrase, but it sounds accurate.”
“Why, sir?” Ed asks, desperately, before he loses his courage. “Why abduct people from the future to give you blowjobs?” Why scar us for life, his brain wails.
“It would hardly be acceptable for me to shanghai someone from my own time,” the man says, with an impatient glower. “The scandal would be incalculable.”
“But surely…”
“I am the one who is winning – winning, I say! – this war against the unbounded evil that is Nazi Germany,” the man tells him, giving him the look, steely and ineffable, the look which is in billions of textbooks, and Christ, he’s really here. “Alone, I support the morale of the British people in this dark hour. A few, ahem, services from leaders of future generations is not a high price to ask, to maintain me in the highest peak of health and vigour.”
Ed made his last attempt. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will tell, that someone will destroy your legacy?”
“Are you going to tell anyone about this?” the man says irritably, chewing on his cigar. “Don’t be daft. Even if you did attempt to share your experiences, your own contemporaries would believe nary a word. It would be Bedlam for you, sir.”
Ed tries to imagine it, tries to imagine telling anyone about this, and fails. Oh God, David. David must never know.
The man gives him that look again. “Well, then, get to it, lad.”
He turns back to his briefing papers.
Ed bites back hysteria, realises that he’s not getting out of this without doing what the man wants. Slowly, very slowly, he crosses the room, goes to his knees in front of the man.
The man grunts as Ed reaches up, tentatively, to start pulling the zipper down, down the long line of the one-piece suit. It comes down easily, worn by much wear.
And then Ed’s looking at the man’s cock, and he has to swallow back hysteria again. He – he, Ed Miliband – is looking at this man’s cock, and in a moment he’s going to have to put it in his mouth.
The man makes a warning noise, and Ed gulps and “gets to it”.
He’s clumsy, he knows, but then he’s never done this before, however drunk he got during David’s pranks. (David has, he knows, and that’s something he would have preferred not to know, but he’s not the only Miliband who can’t hold his liquor well. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been Tony.)
He’s clumsy, and it’s an awkward position, and the man keeps reading his briefing and chewing his cigar. However little the man reacts, though, his cock reacts well enough. Ed’s jaw is sore, trying to make this work, his knees are aching, and his brain is shutting down to avoid thinking about it all, but somehow he seems to be doing a decent job.
He swallows when the man comes – he can’t do anything else, he can’t spit on this man’s carpet – but some of it dribbles out the side of his mouth.
The man sighs, turns a page in his briefing. “Bob will clean you up and send you back,” he says.
Ed zips him back up, hands jittery, then backs out of the room, legs shaky and weak.
The things he does for his country.
-----------------
A/N: Feedback is much loved! <3 If you'd rather leave comments at the meme, here is the thread.
Ship(s): Ed Miliband/surprise
Word Count: 748
Rating: R, for sexual situations
Warnings: Dub-con. Also, it will scar your brain.
Summary: Ed goes back in time and gives someone a blowjob.
Author's Note: Suppose I should 'fess up to this. I am evil. Sorry.
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.
Keep Calm and Carry On
The man at the desk looks up from his briefing papers, and Ed’s knees go weak. It’s really true, then. It’s not one of David’s ridiculous pranks, which David thinks are so incredibly funny, but which always end with Ed drunk and disgraced, with embarrassing pictures circulating through the office like wildfire.
“What’s your name, then?” the man asks, gruffly, and the voice. Oh, the voice.
“I’m Ed, sir,” Ed says. “I’m the Labour Leader.”
The man shrugs, dismissing the information as irrelevant. “Bob has told you why your services are required?”
“He said, sir, that my participation was necessary for the successful prosecution of the war effort,” Ed parrots, trying to keep his nervousness under control.
The man gives him a shrewd look. “You are aware of what those services are?”
Ed nods, gulping. “I’m to…to give you…” God, he can’t get the words out, not in front of this man. Not that the man is his particular hero, of course, but he’s an icon, a British national saint, almost. He clears his throat. “I’m to give you a blowjob. Sir.”
The man harrumphs. “I am not familiar with that particular phrase, but it sounds accurate.”
“Why, sir?” Ed asks, desperately, before he loses his courage. “Why abduct people from the future to give you blowjobs?” Why scar us for life, his brain wails.
“It would hardly be acceptable for me to shanghai someone from my own time,” the man says, with an impatient glower. “The scandal would be incalculable.”
“But surely…”
“I am the one who is winning – winning, I say! – this war against the unbounded evil that is Nazi Germany,” the man tells him, giving him the look, steely and ineffable, the look which is in billions of textbooks, and Christ, he’s really here. “Alone, I support the morale of the British people in this dark hour. A few, ahem, services from leaders of future generations is not a high price to ask, to maintain me in the highest peak of health and vigour.”
Ed made his last attempt. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will tell, that someone will destroy your legacy?”
“Are you going to tell anyone about this?” the man says irritably, chewing on his cigar. “Don’t be daft. Even if you did attempt to share your experiences, your own contemporaries would believe nary a word. It would be Bedlam for you, sir.”
Ed tries to imagine it, tries to imagine telling anyone about this, and fails. Oh God, David. David must never know.
The man gives him that look again. “Well, then, get to it, lad.”
He turns back to his briefing papers.
Ed bites back hysteria, realises that he’s not getting out of this without doing what the man wants. Slowly, very slowly, he crosses the room, goes to his knees in front of the man.
The man grunts as Ed reaches up, tentatively, to start pulling the zipper down, down the long line of the one-piece suit. It comes down easily, worn by much wear.
And then Ed’s looking at the man’s cock, and he has to swallow back hysteria again. He – he, Ed Miliband – is looking at this man’s cock, and in a moment he’s going to have to put it in his mouth.
The man makes a warning noise, and Ed gulps and “gets to it”.
He’s clumsy, he knows, but then he’s never done this before, however drunk he got during David’s pranks. (David has, he knows, and that’s something he would have preferred not to know, but he’s not the only Miliband who can’t hold his liquor well. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been Tony.)
He’s clumsy, and it’s an awkward position, and the man keeps reading his briefing and chewing his cigar. However little the man reacts, though, his cock reacts well enough. Ed’s jaw is sore, trying to make this work, his knees are aching, and his brain is shutting down to avoid thinking about it all, but somehow he seems to be doing a decent job.
He swallows when the man comes – he can’t do anything else, he can’t spit on this man’s carpet – but some of it dribbles out the side of his mouth.
The man sighs, turns a page in his briefing. “Bob will clean you up and send you back,” he says.
Ed zips him back up, hands jittery, then backs out of the room, legs shaky and weak.
The things he does for his country.
-----------------
A/N: Feedback is much loved! <3 If you'd rather leave comments at the meme, here is the thread.