Random Drabbles
Title: Drabbles of a Rahm Persuasion
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairings: Rahm/His Adoring Public, Rahm/Barack. Rahm/Howard Dean, Rahm/Michelle/Barack
AN: Various drabbles I've written. Clearly, the devil on my shoulder is a nine and a half fingered Chicago Jew.
Prompt: Mistletoe
Pairing: Rahm Emanuel/Howard Dean
It all started innocently enough.
Or as close to innocent as one could get when it came to Rahm Emanuel.
He’d asked his Chief of Staff to be nicer to Howard Dean. To put their stupid feud aside. “Who cares whose strategy worked best? We’re all on the same side, Rahm. Don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet? And not in the back of each others head.”
Maybe he’d pushed the man too far.
Rahm was marching across the room towards Howard with the intense focus of a heat seeking missile.
The President shoved his glass of punch towards Michelle and prepared to act as referee-or worse case scenario, field medic.
“So Howie, I though in the spirit of the season you and I could kiss and make up. Seems like the perfect place, don’t it?” Rahm pointed up at the patch of mistletoe hanging over their heads.
And then Rahm grabbed Howard Dean-former head of the DNC, sworn nemesis, Surgeon General Designate---Howard Dean and laid a huge smacking kiss on him, the likes of which no one had seen since the good ol’ days of Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.
Joe cursed.
Michelle laughed.
Hillary began choking on a Christmas cookie and had to be hit on the back by Bill.
Then things got impossibly stranger.
Because the kiss kept going, and going, and going.
Nancy, God Bless her, seemed to be the only one not frozen in shock. She quickly hustled Sasha and Malia out of the room as everyone stared at the car wreck unfolding before their eyes. Perhaps years of close proximity had made her immune to all of Rahm’s antics?
Just in time it turned out.
Howard moaned.
Rahm’s hands slipped underneath the other man’s suit jacket. Rahm’s hands were grabbing Howard Dean’s ass.
Joe cursed again. Louder and much more colorfully.
Michelle wasn’t laughing anymore.
Hillary was having trouble breathing again.
The President was a little light headed himself. This was not what he meant when he told Rahm to play nice.
The sound of a belt buckle being undone filled the suddenly too silent room. Quickly followed by the whir of camera phones coming from the press corps.
******
Mistletoe Prompt #2
Pairing: Rahm/Barack/Michelle
He really shouldn’t have been surprised.
Look at the obsession over the dog. Look at the frenzy over a simple fist tap. The press, and he used that term loosely in this case, would say anything just to hear themselves talk.
But this was still taking things a bit far.
Barack tossed the tabloid down and shook his head.
‘White House Interracial Wife Swap’
“I’m just kissing Jill on the cheek for God’s sake!”
Michelle pulled him into a backwards hug.
“I know, baby.”
“Mistletoe! Has Fox News never heard of mistletoe? And you and Joe-you-he’s wearing a Santa hat for fuck’s sake! The press was right there in the room! Who thinks we’re all crazy swingers with a full press corps in the room?”
Soothing hands rubbing the base of his neck.
“People see what they want to see, honey.”
“And thank the fuck for that. Now, do I have to shiv a fucking reindeer to get my dick sucked or what?”
Rahm lay sprawled out on the huge (it could fit all three of them quite comfortably, Michelle had been most adamant about that) bed looking for all the world like Santa’s grumpiest elf. His impatient glare was sexier than any come hither stare Barack had ever seen.
Barack dropped the newspaper, electing to stop obsessing over gossip rags and instead get into the holiday spirit.
A flurry of clothes being removed-
“Dreidel covered boxer, shorts? Nice, Rahm. Very festive.”
“A gift from your wife, fuck you very much. That and a bottle of flavored lube that sure as fuck ain’t gonna last eight days.”
--hands, and mouths, tangle of limbs, breathless laughter, moans, guttural curses (guess from who) and holiday ties put to very interesting uses (sturdy headboard. Another requirement of Michelle’s. He loved the way her mind worked.)
Hours later found Barack once again staring at the pictures in the tabloid.
But now his gaze was more speculative.
“She’s pretty fucking hot if you ask me.”
Barack smiled softly to himself. Trust Rahm to cut right to the chase.
“And Joe? Any opinion on him?”
“Good Catholic boy like that? Total freak in the sack. Bet on it.”
His Chief of staff draped himself across his back, mouth at the point where shoulder met collarbone. A pose similar to earlier, but also entirely different. Not meant to calm, not meant to comfort. This one had teeth to it.
“Give me by New Year’s at the absolute latest…I can be very, very persuasive.”
Oh, didn’t he just know it?
"We're going to need a bigger bed, ya know."
Barack laughed and let himself be yanked backwards.
Tis the season and all that.
*****
Prompt: Unbotton Rahm's shirt in any way you want.
Inspired by this photo:
*****
Pairing: Rahm/His Adoring Public
The meeting had started at 11:00 a.m.
Rahm arrived at 11:37 a.m. This was not all that unusual as Rahm's view of time was somewhat elastic--in that 'If it's important enough, they'll fucking wait for me to get there and if I'm invited it must be fucking important' sense of the word.
What was unusual was his apearance.
Shirttails hanging out and with at least three buttons missing. Hair mussed. Flushed and slightly sweaty.
He looked absolutely wrecked.
He looked debauched.
Or as the Vice-President so elegantly put it "What the hell, Rahm! You look like you were attacked by a mob of sailors on shore leave."
Rahm elegantly collapsed into a chair, his raised eyebrow promising that comparison would be mercilessly mocked later.
"Not sailors. Fangirls."
He gave a whattya gonna do shrug as if being chased around the West Wing like the second coming of the Beatles was not in the least unusual, began leafing through the (slightly battered) briefing folder he'd luckily been able to wrestle back from an amorous Congressional aide and waited for the meeting to start.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Really, this was rigoddamndiculous.
"Hey, fucktards. Don't we have an economy we're supposed to be rescuing from the shitter?"
Secretary Richardson pointed to his collar, his voice slightly tinged with awe.
"Is that...is that lipstick?"
"Forget about the lipstick." said the President. "Rahm, is that a pair of panties in your front pocket?"
****
Pairing: Rahm Barack
Vice President-Elect Biden wasn't eavesdropping.
That would be undignified.
He'd been walking by and by pure happenstance overheard an argument between the President-Elect and that smirking, smug little pain in the ass of a Chief of Staff and had made the decision to stay and observe how it all played out. That was not the same as eavesdropping, correct?
And even if he were, the President-Elect and the Chief of Staff were brawling like schoolyard punks. That was far more undignified than eavesdropping.
"God fucking dammit, Rahm! Do you ever fucking listen to me? Why do I put up with your fucking bullshit, huh?"
"My rugged good looks and natural charms, I suppose."
At Barack's inarticulate howl of frustration, a wave of anxiety almost knocked Joe over. What had Emanuel done now? Left a bag of flaming dog shit on McCain's doorstep? Put out a hit on Lieberman? Signed off on the carpet bombing of a small nation?
Joe would never understand it. Rahm Emanuel was the only person on the planet who could make the President-Elect loose his cool. Emanuel made Barack curse like a drunken Irish sailor with Tourette's Syndrome. At a Red Sox game. With the Sox losing. Why in God's name would anyone with sense give the little shit more power? Voluntarily agree to spend almost every day with him?
The President-Elect growled (that was the only way to describe it. Joe didn't even know the man could growl. It's a slightly disconcerting revelation.)
He flinched at the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the wall.
"I am going to fucking rip you apart, Rahm. You're going to be begging me for mercy."
Emanuel being Emanuel, and by definition completely insane only laughed.
"Whathefuckever, Barry. You gonna get on with it, or do you just want to talk me to death?"
More scuffling, muffled curses, fabric rustling, a wet smacking noise.
--Ah, Christ. They're punching each other. Just fucking great. How will we explain a shiner to the media?--
"Asshole! You ripped my fucking shirt!"
Thump. Bang. Groan. A huff of air leaving the lungs.
Another laugh from Emanuel. Lower pitched rumbling laughter that could only be termed as 'evil.'
It's the final straw. He's let this go on too long. Joe rushes inside, not caring how awkward it will be explaining himself, determined to stop this before they kill each other.
They don't notice him at all as he assess the scene.
Despite the five inches Barack has on Emanuel, the little bastard has somehow managed to reverse their positions and now it's the President-Elect who is pinned to the wall.
Jeez, reflexes like that almost make Joe believe the rumors about secret Mossad training.
"I loved this shirt."
Emanuel leans forward and bites the President-Elect's throat.
"Just for that, I'm not going to use any lube."
The President-Elect's laugh makes Emanuel sound as sweet and innocent as a Sunday school teacher.
"Promises, promises. You gonna get on with it, or are do you just want to talk me to death?"
Joe's eyes widen in shock and he stumbles out backwards into the hallway, still unnoticed. He leans against the wall desperately trying to make sense of what he's just learned.
The President-Elect and his Chief of Staff are fucking.
The President-Elect is about to get fucked by his Chief of Staff.
Fucked dry.
And he'd looked as if Christmas and his birthday had just come early at the prospect.
Well, now he knows why Barack keeps Emanuel around.
Holy...
No, wrong word choice. There's now way to finish that thought as there is nothing holy about what he's just seen.
Joe let out a half hysterical laugh.
Really, this was not what he'd meant when he'd called Emanuel a pain in the ass.
Vice President Elect Joe Biden was never going to eavesdrop again.