FIC: The Shadow Cabinet and the Vodka Bottle

[zaubra]

Title: The Shadow Cabinet and the Vodka Bottle
Ship(s): Yvette Cooper/Ed Balls; Ed Miliband/Justine Thornton; other implied pairings
Word Count: 4,030
Rating: PG, for strong language
Warnings: none
Summary: “It better not land on Douglas,” Ed retorts. “He’s topless.”
Author's Note: For this prompt at the meme.
Disclaimer: All works posted on this journal are creative works 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 are one of the persons named in these stories, or if you know one of them personally, please bear in mind that stories such as these 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 playing on the Internet and go run the country.

The Shadow Cabinet and the Vodka Bottle

Ed is bored. Bored. He can think of at least a hundred ways he’d rather spend a rare free night, about half of which involve sex, another third of which involve football, and none of which involve sitting around Miliband’s house participating in one of his interminable Shadow Cabinet bonding exercises. Ed supposes he can see the point of trying to unite behind Miliband as Leader – although he’s still a bit sore that they’re not uniting behind him as Leader - but given that he currently wants to strangle Miliband out of pure boredom, he isn’t sure how effective this party is going to be towards that goal. When he saw David Miliband’s name on the guest list, he’d hoped for some good post-back-stabbing, brotherly-hate drama, but so far even that hasn’t been forthcoming. He’s fucking bored.

At least there’s beer. He takes a long draught and tries, mostly successfully, to suppress the belch that threatens to erupt. At home, he wouldn’t bother – Yvette would just roll her eyes – but he does try to behave a little in public, whatever anyone else says. While being “the most annoying person in modern politics” is useful at times, there’s a difference between being annoying (although Ed would call it “being a bulldog”) and being crass for no reason. He’s the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer, after all, and the role does demand a little gravitas, as Yvette keeps reminding him. The Tories think they have a winning card with your past record - do you really think it’s wise to look like an unapologetically aggressive, brash firebrand?

He looks around guiltily, hoping Yvette hasn’t heard the little sound that escaped. Though he does like it when she punishes him…but best not to think about that when surrounded by colleagues. Anyway, Yvette is across the room, seemingly engrossed by Jim Murphy. Only under Miliband’s leadership could a bonding exercise disguised as an Easter recess party turn into an impromptu Shadow Cabinet meeting. Do they really have to go around the room and talk about “their favourite parts of the job so far, and the coalition policies they’re most looking forward to challenging”? Boring.

Murphy’s going on and on about how he plans to walk the line between supporting the troops in Libya and keeping an eye open for weaknesses in the coalition’s plans. Ed rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his beer. He shares an eloquent glance with David Miliband, who is well on the way to pissed, if the state of the vodka bottle he’s appropriated is taken into evidence.

“Thank you, Jim,” the younger Miliband says, and Ed’s not surprised to notice that their Esteemed Leader is looking a trifle flushed as well. Miliband never could hold his liquor – it’d made him the target of jokes and pranks from the Brown crowd more than once.

Then Miliband’s turning to him, and Ed tries to look a little less bored. Not that he really gives a fuck if Miliband knows he’s bored, but Yvette does – she’s never really outgrown her friendship with him, and she doesn’t like it when Ed mocks him or talks about (maybe, possibly) undermining his leadership. Takes all the fun out of the game, playing strictly by the rules, Ed thinks.

Miliband’s saying something, and Ed tunes back in. “…your favourite part?”

Ed drinks, considers, feels Andy’s curious eyes on his back. “Gove being dragged back into the House to apologise for the BSF cock-up. Wanker had it coming.”

Yvette glares at him, but she’s overreacting. He calls Gove much filthier names in his head, after all.

***

Finally. The party’s drawing to a close, and people are starting to trickle out. Ed’s still stuck for the moment – Yvette’s deep in conversation with Harriet – but the end is in sight. If he plays his cards right, he might even manage to persuade Yvette to… He smiles wolfishly, taking another pull at his beer. The world is in that warm fuzzy stage where everything seems possible.

“I notice you didn’t ask me about my favourite part of Opposition,” David Miliband says, somewhere near him. Ed sets his beer down and looks over. He makes a point to be vigilant when David is nearby, a holdover from the years in which David was part of the Enemy in Residence (as opposed to the Enemy in Exile).

The two brothers are staring at each other, a ways apart from the rest of the party. “I wonder why that was?” David continues, his voice gentle. Ed must be only half drunk, however, because he can easily sense the bite beneath the façade. So can Miliband, if the way he flushes and shrinks in on himself is any indication.

“David…” Miliband says, his voice unhappy.

David’s eyes glitter. “Oh, wait, I know,” he says, and his voice is a little louder. “I don’t have a favourite moment, because you chased me out, like the loving little brother you are.”

“Can we not do this now?” Miliband says. “You’re drunk, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

David laughs, and there’s an insane note to the laugh that Ed recognises only too well from the times it’s edged his own. “You don’t care how I feel, Edward, or you wouldn’t have invited me to your precious little love-in tonight. It wasn’t enough for you to take my place, you have to rub my face in it.” His voice is definitely louder now. Around the room, conversations are beginning to falter.

Miliband wraps his arms around himself. “It’s a party, David,” he says, quietly. “An engagement party as well as a recess party. You’re my brother, I thought you might want to come.” He looks down. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss your engagement party for the world,” David says, and his voice cuts through the remaining noise in the room, loud and sharp. “Funny, how all it took for you to decide to make Justine an honest woman was for you to become a ruthless, conniving who…”

Ed finds himself in motion before he even decides to move. One moment, he’s sitting on the sofa, playing idly with the lip of his beer bottle, and the next, he’s pushing between the brothers, consciously pasting a rakish smile on his face. “Look, Ed,” he says, making his voice loud and a bit slurred, “you promised us an engagement party, and now that the squares are gone, I think we should get a proper one.”

Miliband looks at him for a moment, his eyes still shaded, before his mouth quirks wryly. “What would you suggest?”

Ed has no idea. He has no idea why he’s even interfering. His instincts must still be coded in “contain David Miliband’s shit” mode. Still, whatever that argument was, it certainly wasn’t boring, and part of him wishes he would have just sat back and watched the show. Yvette’s looking at him with an approving smile, though, so he must be doing something right.

He casts about, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Truth/dare. Good old-fashioned truth/dare.”

David laughs behind him, bitter and incredulous. “Are you twelve, Balls?”

Ed ignores him, holding Miliband’s eyes, willing him to understand. Truth/dare is a stupid game, but perhaps the very stupidity will help to defuse the situation.

Miliband hesitates, but then scrubs a hand across his face, shrugs. “Why not?” he says, sounding tired.

And that’s how Ed ends up organising a third of the Shadow Cabinet into a circle on the floor, commandeering David’s empty vodka bottle, and launching upon one of the strangest nights of his life.

***

“I dare you to say ‘fuck’ in the House.”

Douglas flushes. “That’s not fair!” he protests. “No dares past tonight!”

Caroline grins, showing her teeth, and looks to Ed. Apparently suggesting the game has also made him the arbiter of acceptable dares.

He considers, enjoying the weight of the circle’s gaze on him. There aren’t that many of them left now, but the core of the Brownites remains, along with some hangers-on. (And Public Enemy No. 1, of course.) “Douglas is right,” he says, reluctantly. “Dares have to be confined to something that can be done tonight. Otherwise we could end up in some outrageous territory.”

Judging by the nods around the circle, at least some of his fellow Brownites remember what happened the last time they played this game. Poor Alistair.

“You could have just said it under your breath,” Caroline tells Douglas, chidingly. “Nobody would have ever known. Or you could have made it an ‘accident’, like Herbert and that stray ‘cunt’.”

Andy giggles. Well, he probably thinks it’s a perfectly normal laugh, but Ed knows better. Definitely a giggle. “That was awesome.”

“Give me a different dare,” Douglas says, still pink.

Caroline eyes him speculatively. “I dare you to take your shirt off and keep it off for the rest of the night.”

“What?” Douglas says, and flushes right up to his hairline.

“Second the motion,” Yvette says, and raises her beer in salute to Ed when he darts a glance her way.

“Wait, are we allowed to dare the girls to take their tops off?” Angela asks Rosie.

“Tops yes, bras no,” Rosie says decisively.

It’s Douglas who looks to Ed this time. He grins. “You’re stuck, mate. That’s an acceptable dare.”

Douglas bites his lip - but then, still blushing furiously, unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off. There are wolf-whistles. Of course there are wolf-whistles. This night couldn’t get any stranger.

“At least I didn’t ask you to take your trousers off,” Caroline offers, reaching for the vodka bottle and giving it a good spin. Douglas doesn’t look particularly pacified.

The bottle lands on Harriet. “Truth or dare?” she asks.

“Truth,” Caroline says. At the collective groan, she adds, “I didn’t wear a bra tonight, sorry.”

Ed’s brain derails for a moment before coming back online. Hey, he’s a bloke. Although both Angela and Yvette look similarly fuzzy.

“Shag, marry, cliff,” Harriet is saying, with a laugh in her voice. “Cameron, Osborne, Gove.”

Caroline wrinkles her nose. “Eurgh. Cliff Osborne, I suppose, slimy bugger isn’t getting anywhere near me. Marry Cameron, if we’re going with the ‘no-married-sex’ interpretation of the game. Shag Gove, of course.”

Andy makes gagging sounds, and Caroline grins. “Bonus truth, boys, Gove’s got a strange sexual magnetism. Can’t you just imagine that voice doing dirty talk?”

“I’m going to go hurl now,” Andy says, shuddering and taking a fortifying drink. This night is getting boozier and boozier. It’s just like old times.

Harriet spins the bottle, and Hilary makes her do the Andrew Lansley rap. She’s unexpectedly good at it, and most of the circle descends into lubricated giggles. (Ed thinks that if he was more sober- soberer? - he might be less amused by the fact that Her Majesty’s Opposition is apparently a hotbed of giggling drunks.) Afterwards, Harriet confiscates Sadiq’s mobile, despite his protests that such comedic brilliance simply must be shared with the world.

Hilary gets Yvette, who doesn’t think long before requesting the “I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt” routine. She has to tutor him on the words – “a bit after my time,” he says mildly – but he’s surprisingly willing, despite blushes to rival Douglas’s. (Ed wouldn’t have been. It’s one thing to do the routine at home, when he has imminent rewards to embolden him, it’d be quite another to do it in public.) Hilary chickens out on the “I shake my little tush on the catwalk” part, but he does the entire song. Ed has a whole new respect for him.

They’re still laughing from that as Yvette reaches down for the bottle and gives it a lazy spin. Ed looks around in satisfaction – Andy and Rosie are holding each other up, weak from giggles, Douglas is grinning, having seemingly forgotten that he’s topless, and Sadiq and Mary have their heads together, apparently planning out some particularly epic dare. He, Ed, is a genius. The confrontation between the Miliband brothers seems to have completely faded from the collective memory.

Indeed, the bottle is landing on Miliband, and he doesn’t even look upset anymore. He grins at Yvette and waggles his eyebrows. “Yvette, my darling, my only.”

“If Ed doesn’t belt you, Justine might,” Yvette says. Justine, sitting next to her, giggles, and so does Andy. It’s really starting to get ridiculous. “And I choose dare,” Yvette adds. “Do your worst.”

Miliband considers, taking a pull on his beer. “Since we’re using a bottle, how about classic Spin-the-Bottle,” he decides. “Spin the bottle and kiss whoever it lands on.”

“That’s your worst?” Yvette asks, looking distinctly unimpressed. Well, of course she’s unimpressed, nobody in this circle can possibly live up to Ed’s own sexual magnetism. Having to kiss any of the others would be quite a come-down.

Miliband waggles his eyebrows again. Ed’s relieved to see that the confrontation with David seems to have worn off, but a bit worried that Labour is apparently being led by a thirteen-year-old.

Yvette shrugs, and spins the bottle.

“It better not land on you, Ed,” Harriet tells him. “That just wouldn’t be fair.”

“It better not land on Douglas,” Ed retorts. “He’s topless.” (Douglas looks like he’d rather not be reminded.)

It lands on neither Ed nor Douglas, however. It lands on Justine.

“Ooooh,” Sadiq says, diverted from his plotting.

Yvette rolls her eyes, but otherwise ignores both his comment and the sudden intense interest of the men of the circle. She reaches over, tangles her hand in Justine’s hair, and brings their mouths together.

It’s a pretty picture, and Ed watches shamelessly. Justine’s mouth is curved, laughing, against Yvette’s, and she has crinkly laugh-lines around her eyes. Yvette is more serious, kissing as if she means it, forehead slightly wrinkled with concentration. She darts the tip of her tongue out to taste Justine’s lips, and Ed swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry.

Then it’s over, and Caroline and Angela are clapping. Ed wants to clap, but he thinks it might earn him a glare from Yvette, so he refrains. He winks at her instead, and she grins at him.

Miliband reaches down for the bottle, saying, his voice a little high, “Well, then.” He’s always carried a little torch for Yvette, Ed’s pretty sure; that scenario must have been a wet dream for him. Ed feels a grudging kinship with him for a moment.

Miliband’s hand falters a little on the bottle, and it spins weakly, coming to rest on Yvette.

“Ed, my darling, my only,” she says, wicked smile lighting up her face, echoing his phrasing from earlier.

Miliband looks suitably intimidated. Ed doesn’t envy him.

“Truth,” Miliband says, uncertainly. Yvette’s eyebrows shoot up, and she grins. “Wait, dare,” he says quickly.

“You sure?” Yvette asks. “Because I’ve always wondered what happened that one time with...”

“Dare,” Miliband interrupts, sounding much more certain of himself. He’s turned an odd shade of off-white.

Yvette laughs. “All right, then, fair’s fair. Spin the bottle and kiss the person it lands on.”

Miliband visibly gulps. His eyes dart sideways at Ed, and Ed smirks at him.

“Oh, come on, Edward, it’s just a kiss,” Yvette says. “I did it, so can you.”

Miliband closes his eyes as if to steel himself, then reaches down, fumbling, and clumsily spins the bottle. He keeps his eyes tightly shut as the bottle spins, the entire circle watching it with glee.

It lingers on Sadiq for a moment – Sadiq chokes on his Perrier, which makes Ed rumble a laugh (not giggle, Ed does not giggle) – but at the last moment slides past.

“Bugger,” Andy says in the sudden silence. “That’s torn it.”

Miliband cracks an eye open. The bottle is pointing straight at David.

The two brothers look at each other for a long moment, staring each other down across a hushed circle. David’s face is sharply ironic, wounded bear cornered and turned at bay, ready to sell its life dear. Miliband’s is still, giving little away, his eyes no doubt telling volumes if Ed cared about shit like that.

“Oh, that’s not part of the game,” Yvette says, her voice nervously stilted beneath the surface cheer. “When we used to play it at the Treasury, we always said no significant others. Brothers isn’t fair, either, is it, Ed?”

Ed opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t remember that rule – in fact, he remembers snogging Yvette so long and ferociously that the rest of the circle was throwing things at them to get them to stop - but bites back the words before they can emerge. Even half-drunk, he is whippet-smart. “Nope, not fair. It’s a double-down situation.”

“Double-down?” Miliband asks, looking away from David, blush faintly staining his cheeks. He surely knows that the Cooper-Balls household is pulling a flimflam, but Ed’s relieved to see that he seems prepared to go along. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll make it a habit. Cooper-Balls ideas are always good ones.

Ed makes it up on the spot, enjoying himself immensely. “You have to spin again, and you have to properly snog whoever you get. Not just a peck. Tongue.”

Miliband gives him a filthy look, but reaches down for the bottle, flicking it vengefully into a spin. Only after it’s going does Ed realise that it might possibly land on him, and he doesn’t particularly want to snog Miliband. Still, what’s life without some risks?

David’s watching the bottle with a scowl on his face, dark brows drawn together. He still isn’t used to being marginalised in decision-making processes, Ed thinks. Well, he better get used to it.

Thankfully for all concerned, the bottle doesn’t dare to land on David again. Instead, it spins past Ed, Mary, Harriet – and lands on Hilary.

Douglas cheers, and Yvette claps. Miliband looks for a moment as if he’s going to bottle it, but swallows hard and crawls across the circle to Hilary. Good for him. Ed almost likes him for a moment.

Miliband sits back on his heels, looming awkwardly over Hilary. “I haven’t...” he begins, but cuts himself off, reaching out to gently remove Hilary’s glasses.

Ed can’t quite believe this is happening. It’s one thing to get drunk with your fellow SpAds, or even with your fellow trench-soldiers, and play a few racy games. Hell, he’d been starkers, or nearly so, in some of those games (it’s not his fault he’s bad at poker, he hasn’t the face for it).

It’s quite another thing, however, when the Leader of your fucking party is leaning forward and kissing the son of Tony fucking Benn.

It’s chaste for a long moment, the circle hushed, as if everyone is thinking along the same lines as Ed.

Then Sadiq says, “Come on, Edward, snog him properly,” giggling at his own audacity, and Harriet swats him, and Yvette glares at him, whether for being cheeky to the Leader or for disrupting the moment, Ed isn’t quite sure. Probably a little of both.

Hilary breaks the kiss and opens his eyes to direct a pointed stare at Sadiq. Without his glasses, however, it loses something in potency – not that Hilary’s glares are ever that potent anyway, there’s too much good-naturedness about him – and Sadiq just grins and shrugs.

Glancing around the quiet circle, Hilary snorts a little laugh through his nose, before turning his attention back to Miliband. Miliband looks lost, eyes fixed on Hilary’s lips, seemingly oblivious to Sadiq or anyone else. Michael Gove could start nattering in the background, and Miliband would probably not even notice.

Hilary smiles at Miliband, short-sighted eyes gone soft, brings a hand up to his cheek to tilt his face. “I’m getting too old for this,” he observes to no one in particular. Miliband’s eyes flutter shut.

Then Hilary’s leaning in, and holy shite, there’s a proper snog. Sadiq can’t complain about this one.

There’s a small sound behind Ed, and he looks back, startled. David is staring at Hilary and Miliband, his face dark and closed, his eyes glittering with what looks like anger. Or bitterness, or something like that. His hand, resting on his knee, is curled into a tight fist, and as Ed watches, he bites his lip in fury and disgust.

Ed gives him his best scathing glare. He has no time for people who think men kissing men is disgusting and perverted. He may have treated Mandelson badly at times, but that was because the tosser was Tony’s little shitmonkey, not because of who he slept with.

The sound of clapping jerks his attention away from David’s scowling face. Miliband and Hilary have broken apart, and Hilary is putting his glasses back on, his face as mild as ever.

Miliband, meanwhile, is truly Red Ed. “Your turn again, Yvette,” he says, pushing the bottle toward her as he scrambles back to his place in the circle.

***

On the whole, Ed thinks, that went well. Boring as hell to begin with – and this from someone who sits in Parliament – but interesting enough later on. Plus, he rather likes being the hero of the hour. He’s single-handedly rescued the evening from descending into a Miliband-Miliband brawl, which might have been interesting in its own way, but would have been shit to sort out tomorrow.

He has a minute’s beautiful fantasy of an alternate universe in which the Milibands get into an actual brawl, someone blabs to the papers, Miliband has to resign, and he, Ed, ends up as Leader of the Party.

“Shut your mouth, you’re dribbling,” Yvette says, poking him.

Ed snaps his mouth shut obediently. “Are you ready to go?”

“Ready,” she says, grinning up at him. She’s gone all warm and fuzzy at the edges, and he leans into her.

“You’re my favourite,” he tells her, resting his head against hers. Her hair is so soft. It smells nice.

Yvette laughs, soft and low. “Come on, Edward. I’m driving.”

Ed leans on her as she says goodbye to Justine, leans on her as they start to make their way out. He doesn’t need the balance, he just likes leaning on her. Because she’s her, and close is good.

Right before they make it out the door, Harriet runs up to say something to Yvette. Attention wandering, Ed looks back into the room. Douglas has his shirt in his hands and is pissing and moaning – it looks like someone spilt beer on it in all the excitement. Sadiq and Mary are commiserating over their dare being ruled out of court (no role-playing of Tories allowed, had been the consensus, even if it was only to act out them getting a much-needed bollocking). Hilary and Justine are picking up the rubbish, laughing together as they do so.

A glint in a far corner catches his eye. Out of sight of the others in the room, except for those in the doorway like Ed, the two Milibands are facing off.

A moment’s rush of excitement – perhaps he can have his brawl after all! – yields to mature common sense. He sighs. Being a responsible adult is no fun. “Yvette,” he starts.

“Just a minute, Ed, we’ll go in just a minute,” Yvette says, distractedly, and goes back to her conversation with Harriet.

Ed glances back to the brothers. Now that he looks more closely, they don’t seem about to start punching each other. As he watches, Miliband looks up from the ground, up to David’s face, which still looks a bit like a thundercloud, and says something to him.

David’s face doesn’t clear, but it twists, somehow. Miliband brings a hand up, looks as if he’s going to touch David’s face, but at the last second drops his hand onto David’s shoulder instead.

Ed sighs. He really is drunk, then. He’d been hoping to be sober enough to get up to some mischief with Yvette, but if he’s drunk enough to think that the Miliband brothers are about to start kissing, that’s not going to happen.

He looks away from the enigma that is the strange Miliband family, and nuzzles Yvette’s ear.

She laughs, and takes him home.

***

A/N: So, this is finally finished! I’ve been working on it for forever now – well, for ten days, at any rate. But it’s done now, and I hope you enjoy it!

Comments are very much loved (and anon commenting is on), but never required. <33