Cloud no. 9
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real prompt, and commenting on that with your fill.)
3) Try not to get too srs business. ( Read more... )
Peter leaned out of the open window and breathed fresh, cool night air. He could see a huddle of about a dozen figures on the tiny mown lawn outside - Tony in that horrible red jumper was peeling apart a box of fireworks while Cherie stood by, holding the kids away from the explosives. Jonathan was standing by calmly, checking his watch. It was Peter’s first New Year’s Eve at Chequers, and the snow had thawed, leaving behind miserable lumps of ice where the kids’ snowmen hadn’t quite melted.
“What are you doing in here?” Peter spun around to see Charlie Whelan standing in the doorway.
“Charlie! Who invited you?”
“I invited myself.” The door swung shut behind him and he crossed the room, peering out of the window casually. “Whatcha looking at? The fireworks aren’t starting ‘til midnight.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and patted all his pockets, searching for a lighter.
“Shouldn’t you be spending this time with Gordon?” He wrinkled his nose as Charlie lit his cigarette. Charlie chuckled and exhaled smoke in Peter’s face.
“Gordon’s with Sarah.” He grinned knowingly, “His girlfriend.”
“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”
“Yeah. He does. Disappointed?” Peter pulled away from the window and glared at the bookshelves, fingers skimming the titles. He remembered leafing through the never-ending supply of books at the Bodleian and for a second considered making an elitist jibe at the expense of Charlie’s less traditional education, and decided against it. It just wasn’t in the spirit of their Party.
“Why would I be?”
“You thought he was gay.” He tapped his cigarette against the windowsill, leaving a pile of ash on the wood. “Leaked some story to the media back in the day, yeah? Nearly cost him the backing of the Unions. Pathetic.” Peter closed his eyes, frustrated. How had the conversation turned so quickly to this?
“His sexuality is none of my concern.”
“Yeah. It is though. Because you’re gay,” Charlie sneered, sounded like a thirteen year old public schoolboy, sauntered back across the room, “you wanted Gordon. You still do. You want him to love you. But he doesn’t. And do you know why? It’s because you’re a backstabbing. Blair-loving. Cunt.” With that last harsh word, a blob of foaming spittle flew from Charlie’s mouth and landed on the bookshelf. Peter raised a curved eyebrow.
“I think it’s time for me to leave. The fireworks are about to begin.” Before he could make his escape, Charlie sidestepped him, blocking his way, and quickly landed a punch to the side of his head. Peter crumpled, shocked at the strength of the blow, and a second later, he was being dragged to his knees by the collar.
“You b-bastard, Charlie, let me go!” With a violent shake, Charlie knocked Peter’s narrow shoulders to the floor and pinned him down securely.
“Did you ever lure Gordon into fucking you?” Peter jerked desperately against the unexpectedly strong hold as a hand slipped into his silk underwear; cool against the heat of his skin.
“No, he didn’t do that! Stop it!”
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