Fic: Inexpressibility - vague Clameron - 1/1
Title: Inexpressibility
Rating: PG-13 for implied naughtiness
Summary: Something Nick lets slip makes David see him in a new light.
Author's Notes: Still dumping meme fics. This one was written for a one-word Clameron fest I think amyrisa organised ages ago. The document is dated March 2011 so presumably that's when I wrote it. Its, um, short is all I can say. :)
They were working late; or rather Nick was making them work late, no doubt to put the lie to all the nonsense spewed forth by his many enemies in the media. It was a shame Nick had no friends in the media, thought David, who could at least rely on the occasional spark of tribal loyalty even from the Daily Mail. David wondered how Nick put up with it all; he was not, whatever he might be doggedly telling people now, “thick-skinned” by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he was rather tetchy and apt to take offense where none was meant, which often made things awkward. But like David himself -- like all of them, he supposed -- Nick had an apparently inexhaustible supply of self-belief to tide him over when the going got rough.
They got on well together, he thought, observing Nick’s even features against the backdrop of David’s Downing Street study. Nick was rabbiting on about something and David was only half listening because it was late and he was pretty sure this was a policy proposal he could bury with hard facts in the morning. Nick waved his hand to make a point; his sleeve slid back and David noticed something on his colleague’s hairy Dutch forearm. It looked like a light burn, wrapped around his wrist.
“You’re, you know, David, I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“Sorry, it’s getting quite late and my attention is wandering,” said David frankly. “But I’m all yours now.”
He put on his attentive face; the frowning, serious expression he adopted to gaze intently at Nick when he was waffling on about something and cameras were present.
“Right.” Cut off in mid-ramble, Nick seemed to have lost the thread of what he was saying. He rubbed the mark on his wrist absentmindedly as he tried to regain his train of thought.
“What happened to your wrist?” Maybe that was a bit rude, but David knew he wasn’t going to get an answer by just sitting there and staring at it.
Nick’s expression changed, switching from a scowl to a bashful smile in one instant. “I-I-I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, with that irritating habit of getting stuck at the beginning of any sentence that started with the first person pronoun.
That was an odd response to say the least. Paradoxically for a man now notorious for lying, it was David’s experience that Nick Clegg usually just said whatever came off the top of his head when faced with a direct question. He wouldn’t have survived five minutes as a leader in the Conservative party. But then that was probably a good thing from David’s point of view; wouldn’t do to be outshone by his deputy.
“You could just say that you were playing with the kids,” said David.
“Oh yeah. So I could,” agreed Nick, before adding in a mock serious tone, “I was playing with the kids.”
He pretended to look down at his papers, but David could see a smile tugging at his lips. “Actually, I was playing with my wife. It was a good night.”
David blinked. His mind was suddenly assaulted with the very vivid image of Nick Clegg having sex with his quite frankly stunning wife. Kinky sex at that.
“I wasn’t the one, um…” Nick gestured vaguely as if wrapping something around his wrist. “In fact, I was actually…” He held his hands one in front of the other as if pulling a rope. “But it slipped and um, it left a mark.” Perhaps realising he was coming dangerously close to burdening his boss with too much information, he stopped gesturing. “Um, anyway, about the, um, budget...”
David wasn’t listening again. His mind was thrashing about trying to imagine what situation, even of a sexual nature, would involve Nick, his wife and a rope pulled tight enough to leave burn marks. He wondered if Miriam often let her husband tie her up, if that was Nick’s opportunity to regain some control over a personal life which from David’s point of view at least seemed as powerless as his public one. He wondered what Nick was like when she let him do that, how his gravelly voice sounded when he gave orders, what he made her do for him, what his lips would feel like on sensitised skin…
“Sorry. I’ve, I think I’ve freaked you out,” said Nick contritely.
“Yes,” agreed David. “I mean no. Best to call it a night.”
He needed to be alone to mull over the inexpressible thoughts that had suddenly taken over his mind.
Rating: PG-13 for implied naughtiness
Summary: Something Nick lets slip makes David see him in a new light.
Author's Notes: Still dumping meme fics. This one was written for a one-word Clameron fest I think amyrisa organised ages ago. The document is dated March 2011 so presumably that's when I wrote it. Its, um, short is all I can say. :)
They were working late; or rather Nick was making them work late, no doubt to put the lie to all the nonsense spewed forth by his many enemies in the media. It was a shame Nick had no friends in the media, thought David, who could at least rely on the occasional spark of tribal loyalty even from the Daily Mail. David wondered how Nick put up with it all; he was not, whatever he might be doggedly telling people now, “thick-skinned” by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he was rather tetchy and apt to take offense where none was meant, which often made things awkward. But like David himself -- like all of them, he supposed -- Nick had an apparently inexhaustible supply of self-belief to tide him over when the going got rough.
They got on well together, he thought, observing Nick’s even features against the backdrop of David’s Downing Street study. Nick was rabbiting on about something and David was only half listening because it was late and he was pretty sure this was a policy proposal he could bury with hard facts in the morning. Nick waved his hand to make a point; his sleeve slid back and David noticed something on his colleague’s hairy Dutch forearm. It looked like a light burn, wrapped around his wrist.
“You’re, you know, David, I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“Sorry, it’s getting quite late and my attention is wandering,” said David frankly. “But I’m all yours now.”
He put on his attentive face; the frowning, serious expression he adopted to gaze intently at Nick when he was waffling on about something and cameras were present.
“Right.” Cut off in mid-ramble, Nick seemed to have lost the thread of what he was saying. He rubbed the mark on his wrist absentmindedly as he tried to regain his train of thought.
“What happened to your wrist?” Maybe that was a bit rude, but David knew he wasn’t going to get an answer by just sitting there and staring at it.
Nick’s expression changed, switching from a scowl to a bashful smile in one instant. “I-I-I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, with that irritating habit of getting stuck at the beginning of any sentence that started with the first person pronoun.
That was an odd response to say the least. Paradoxically for a man now notorious for lying, it was David’s experience that Nick Clegg usually just said whatever came off the top of his head when faced with a direct question. He wouldn’t have survived five minutes as a leader in the Conservative party. But then that was probably a good thing from David’s point of view; wouldn’t do to be outshone by his deputy.
“You could just say that you were playing with the kids,” said David.
“Oh yeah. So I could,” agreed Nick, before adding in a mock serious tone, “I was playing with the kids.”
He pretended to look down at his papers, but David could see a smile tugging at his lips. “Actually, I was playing with my wife. It was a good night.”
David blinked. His mind was suddenly assaulted with the very vivid image of Nick Clegg having sex with his quite frankly stunning wife. Kinky sex at that.
“I wasn’t the one, um…” Nick gestured vaguely as if wrapping something around his wrist. “In fact, I was actually…” He held his hands one in front of the other as if pulling a rope. “But it slipped and um, it left a mark.” Perhaps realising he was coming dangerously close to burdening his boss with too much information, he stopped gesturing. “Um, anyway, about the, um, budget...”
David wasn’t listening again. His mind was thrashing about trying to imagine what situation, even of a sexual nature, would involve Nick, his wife and a rope pulled tight enough to leave burn marks. He wondered if Miriam often let her husband tie her up, if that was Nick’s opportunity to regain some control over a personal life which from David’s point of view at least seemed as powerless as his public one. He wondered what Nick was like when she let him do that, how his gravelly voice sounded when he gave orders, what he made her do for him, what his lips would feel like on sensitised skin…
“Sorry. I’ve, I think I’ve freaked you out,” said Nick contritely.
“Yes,” agreed David. “I mean no. Best to call it a night.”
He needed to be alone to mull over the inexpressible thoughts that had suddenly taken over his mind.