If You Can't Beat 'em, Robert Walpole/George I
Title: If You Can't Beat 'em
Pairing: Robert Walpole/George I
Rating: PG
Word count: 857
Summary: Robert stumbles upon the anon meme.
Disclaimer: Never happened, don’t own.
A/N: Written for a prompt that asked for a non-RPF other/other pair discovering the anon meme.
The journey through the so called Time Sewers is always a chore. Impossibly dirty and incredibly foul smelling, hardly befitting the royalty that use them. Unfortunately, they're also entirely necessary if they are to arrive in the correct time period specified on their invite.
Robert gently tugs his King away from the heavy wooden door of the Viking era, "Maybe next time, Your Majesty."
"You always say that, Robert." George pouts.
Always a chore.
Once arriving at their destination, and after grudgingly letting George go to rehearsals, Robert aimlessly wanders around the backstage of the Royal Albert Hall until quite literally bumping into the HHTV news crew. Though clearly busy, the lovely Sam graciously lends him her laptop computer so he has something to occupy his time with.
He'd encountered this particular piece of 21st technology before, thanks to Mike Peabody on his last visit, and Robert had been eager to explore the wealth of knowledge it offers further.
Settling down on the surprisingly plush sofa back in his and George's dressing room, he decides to search for some information on the prom, interested to see if there's any hype surrounding it and who else is rumoured to be performing. He's annoyingly uninformed on the matter, if he's honest.
He clicks links sporadically, until a window pops up with the title 'HH Anon Meme' and a small picture of the young Dick Turpin in the corner. He scrolls down. A small slanted line seperates various names he's familar with, followed by what can only be described as utter slander. A gossip site, maybe. He reads on, intrigued. Wait, chair sex? His eyes widen. Erotica! About Charles and Sotherby, no less.
What on earth has he stumbled upon?
He goes back up to the top of the page and finds there are actually rules to coincide with this madness. From what he can understand, anyone can submit a 'prompt' asking for a particular situation and involving specific people, then someone else writes a short story in response. Usually pornographic in nature.
And to think, it's so easily accessible! How liberated this century is.
Not much further down the page, he sees his own name next to his King's. His fingers still. Now that's... unexpected. The likes of Dick Turpin, Alexander the Great, and Charles II he expects to see on such a thing, all are incredibly charismatic men who's lives lend them to such sensationalised fiction, but him?
His palms start to sweat in anticipation. The thought of people wanting to read about him and George excites him. More than he feels appropriate. More than he knows is appropriate.
He licks his lips and tentatively begins to read the prompt, his breeches already becoming tight, when his heart immediately drops. The anonymous comment is asking for a 'fic' centred around his apparent blasé attitude towards taking advantage of his King's limited English. He suddenly feels sick. Is that how people see him? Opportunistic? He'd never undermine George for personal pleasure.
"Robert?"
He slams the laptop shut and looks up towards the door.
"Sire," he squeaks in surprise, "I was just..." He flounders for an excuse as he watches George eyes dart to the laptop with a frown.
George wrinkles his nose in thought for a few seconds before breaking out into a huge grin. "You have found the stories about us!" He laughs in delight as he comes over to sit beside Robert.
Robert splutters, "You've seen them?"
"Ja. Charlie showed me," George responds with a flap of his hand.
Of course.
"How did you know that's what I had been looking at?" Robert mumbles.
"What else could get you so flustered, Robert?" George giggles behind his hand.
"Sire, I can only apologise." Robert can feel his face heat in embarrassment and anger, "I would rather face the hangman than betray you. If i've ever come across as too controlling, or have ever stepped out of line-"
"You did not read on," George interrupts with a sigh. "So typical of you."
"Your Majesty?" Robert questions as George takes the laptop from him and opens it.
"Silly Robert," George says fondly and shakes his head. He expands the comment with a simple click and points at the last chapter of the story. "Look."
Robert quickly skims the last few lines. Oh.
George then pulls up another page, a fill that has George bringing Robert back various presents from Germany. And another where the two of them are teenagers, living in this era, and clearly in love.
"We always end up together," George almost whispers. He leans over and places a sweet, lingering kiss against Robert's lips, laughing when Robert belatedly chases it as he pulls back.
"You care. I know this," George says as he slides the computer off his knees and onto to floor. "But maybe we should, how you say, give them something to talk about?"
He crawls onto Roberts lap and positions his knees either side of Robert's thighs, "Ja?"
Robert slides his hands up George's legs, letting them come to rest on his hips and flexing his fingers slightly in want, "Ja."
Well, they do need to catch up to Charles and Sotherby.
Pairing: Robert Walpole/George I
Rating: PG
Word count: 857
Summary: Robert stumbles upon the anon meme.
Disclaimer: Never happened, don’t own.
A/N: Written for a prompt that asked for a non-RPF other/other pair discovering the anon meme.
The journey through the so called Time Sewers is always a chore. Impossibly dirty and incredibly foul smelling, hardly befitting the royalty that use them. Unfortunately, they're also entirely necessary if they are to arrive in the correct time period specified on their invite.
Robert gently tugs his King away from the heavy wooden door of the Viking era, "Maybe next time, Your Majesty."
"You always say that, Robert." George pouts.
Always a chore.
Once arriving at their destination, and after grudgingly letting George go to rehearsals, Robert aimlessly wanders around the backstage of the Royal Albert Hall until quite literally bumping into the HHTV news crew. Though clearly busy, the lovely Sam graciously lends him her laptop computer so he has something to occupy his time with.
He'd encountered this particular piece of 21st technology before, thanks to Mike Peabody on his last visit, and Robert had been eager to explore the wealth of knowledge it offers further.
Settling down on the surprisingly plush sofa back in his and George's dressing room, he decides to search for some information on the prom, interested to see if there's any hype surrounding it and who else is rumoured to be performing. He's annoyingly uninformed on the matter, if he's honest.
He clicks links sporadically, until a window pops up with the title 'HH Anon Meme' and a small picture of the young Dick Turpin in the corner. He scrolls down. A small slanted line seperates various names he's familar with, followed by what can only be described as utter slander. A gossip site, maybe. He reads on, intrigued. Wait, chair sex? His eyes widen. Erotica! About Charles and Sotherby, no less.
What on earth has he stumbled upon?
He goes back up to the top of the page and finds there are actually rules to coincide with this madness. From what he can understand, anyone can submit a 'prompt' asking for a particular situation and involving specific people, then someone else writes a short story in response. Usually pornographic in nature.
And to think, it's so easily accessible! How liberated this century is.
Not much further down the page, he sees his own name next to his King's. His fingers still. Now that's... unexpected. The likes of Dick Turpin, Alexander the Great, and Charles II he expects to see on such a thing, all are incredibly charismatic men who's lives lend them to such sensationalised fiction, but him?
His palms start to sweat in anticipation. The thought of people wanting to read about him and George excites him. More than he feels appropriate. More than he knows is appropriate.
He licks his lips and tentatively begins to read the prompt, his breeches already becoming tight, when his heart immediately drops. The anonymous comment is asking for a 'fic' centred around his apparent blasé attitude towards taking advantage of his King's limited English. He suddenly feels sick. Is that how people see him? Opportunistic? He'd never undermine George for personal pleasure.
"Robert?"
He slams the laptop shut and looks up towards the door.
"Sire," he squeaks in surprise, "I was just..." He flounders for an excuse as he watches George eyes dart to the laptop with a frown.
George wrinkles his nose in thought for a few seconds before breaking out into a huge grin. "You have found the stories about us!" He laughs in delight as he comes over to sit beside Robert.
Robert splutters, "You've seen them?"
"Ja. Charlie showed me," George responds with a flap of his hand.
Of course.
"How did you know that's what I had been looking at?" Robert mumbles.
"What else could get you so flustered, Robert?" George giggles behind his hand.
"Sire, I can only apologise." Robert can feel his face heat in embarrassment and anger, "I would rather face the hangman than betray you. If i've ever come across as too controlling, or have ever stepped out of line-"
"You did not read on," George interrupts with a sigh. "So typical of you."
"Your Majesty?" Robert questions as George takes the laptop from him and opens it.
"Silly Robert," George says fondly and shakes his head. He expands the comment with a simple click and points at the last chapter of the story. "Look."
Robert quickly skims the last few lines. Oh.
George then pulls up another page, a fill that has George bringing Robert back various presents from Germany. And another where the two of them are teenagers, living in this era, and clearly in love.
"We always end up together," George almost whispers. He leans over and places a sweet, lingering kiss against Robert's lips, laughing when Robert belatedly chases it as he pulls back.
"You care. I know this," George says as he slides the computer off his knees and onto to floor. "But maybe we should, how you say, give them something to talk about?"
He crawls onto Roberts lap and positions his knees either side of Robert's thighs, "Ja?"
Robert slides his hands up George's legs, letting them come to rest on his hips and flexing his fingers slightly in want, "Ja."
Well, they do need to catch up to Charles and Sotherby.