Yep, I'm going to the Special Porn Hell.
[Jesus fucking Christ, this is only about two days' NaNo output worth of wordcount (and probably of similar quality), so why did it take two fucking weeks to finish? Not beta'ed because a) the only person I actually know in this fandom is on the other side of the fucking planet and b) the older I get, the less I give a shit about the quality of fucking fanfic. But if any of you are intrepid enough to want to act as end-user beta-readers, knock yourselves out. Especially if you spot any glaring typos or have any suggestions about how to write better action (and/or "action") scenes.]
Theory of Tension
by
Dara Sue Vega
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. While certain real names and background details have been used for verisimilitude, all events portrayed herein are strictly a product of the author's imagination, for entertainment/satire purposes only, and not intended as a statement of actual facts about the persons involved. In other words, if you're a quasi-right-wing cable "news" host who's thinking about suing me, don't bother unless you want to be laughed out of court again.
Author's note: Takes place at some indeterminate time in the future, possibly at the RNC.
***
Modern technology, thought Keith as he stuck the Hyatt Regency keycard into the lock a second time. The LED remained an obstinate red. Come on, I'm not that drunk. He examined the card carefully to make sure he was inserting the correct end forward. Somewhere on the edge of his perception, he heard the elevator ding behind him. This is my room, right? He checked the numbers on the door as he slid the card into the slot and yanked it out again. This time he was finally rewarded with the green light.
He was turning the handle and pushing the door open when he heard a familiar voice seethe, "YOU!"
Keith paused and turned to look over his shoulder. The man standing in the elevator doorway was glaring at him with murder in his eyes. Keith grinned, raised his hand and waved cheerfully. "Oh, hi, Bill!"
His amusement was short-lived as the other man launched himself at him. Keith shoved the door open and ducked in time to miss the fist that was aimed at his face, but failed to evade the two hundred and fifty pounds of angry Fox News pundit that slammed into him half a second later. Keith heard a rip of fabric as his jacket caught on the door handle, and then they were crashing into the room.
They hit the wall with Bill's hands scrabbling for a grip on Keith's neck. Keith had always wondered how much of a handicap his lack of depth perception would be in a fight. The answer was, at this close of a range, not much. He whipped his head forward to crack the other man solidly in the forehead. When Bill grunted and his grip loosened, Keith took advantage of the moment to shove off the wall and send Bill stumbling backward.
"Fuck!" Bill swore as he fell against the closet door. There was a crunch of breaking glass, but Bill was either too drunk or too pissed off to pay it much mind. He swung at Keith again and this time Keith stepped into the attack, grabbing Bill's arm and spinning around to use Bill's own momentum against him. Bill cursed again as Keith slammed him into the opposite wall and pinned him against it with one hand around his wrist and the other forearm against his throat.
"Bill," panted Keith, "if you won't play nice, I'm gonna have to give you a spanking."
"You should be so lucky," Bill spat through clenched teeth, raising his free hand to clout Keith in the temple. He didn't have enough leverage to put much strength behind it, but it was enough to make Keith wince. Bill got his other hand free and shoved, hooking one foot behind Keith's ankle.
Keith fell backward, landed on the desk and sent a lamp flying. Bill came at him again and Keith rolled to the side, letting Bill knock a hole in the wall and then whipping his elbow back into Bill's ribs.
Bill grunted and grabbed a handful of Keith's jacket. "You fight like a girl, Olbermann." He shoved Keith back against the wall, raising his other arm for a punch.
"Fight a lot of girls, do you, Bill?" Keith drew his leg up and planted his foot in Bill's stomach, kicking back at the same time as he backhanded Bill across the face. There was more tearing of fabric as Keith pulled himself up off the desk, leaving a swatch of his jacket in Bill's hand. "I think that's the first time you've had the balls to say my name out loud. Did it hurt?"
"Fuck you." Bill grabbed Keith in a tackle, dragging them both down onto the coffee table. The veneered particle board was no match for their combined weight. A splintering crack and they fell through it onto the floor. Bill shoved Keith onto his back and straddled him, finally landing a punch to his right cheek with a meaty thud.
Keith squinted his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a groan. Bill sat back, breathing hard. "You need a minute to cry?"
Keith opened his eyes to narrow slits, and his voice was a low growl. "It takes worse than you to make me cry." In one swift, hard motion, he rammed his fist into Bill's solar plexus. When Bill doubled over coughing, Keith threw him off and slammed him to the floor face-down, twisting his arm behind his back, sending pieces of the coffee table in every direction. Standing up, he and Bill were nearly an even match, but in this position, Keith had the advantage of gravity as he pinned Bill's legs with his stronger thighs and leaned on Bill's back with his upper body.
"Now that we're comfortable," Keith said, as Bill continued to struggle underneath him, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
"You've got some fucking nerve, you know that?" The eye that glared over Bill's shoulder was blue-hot with rage.
"Me? I'm not the one taking swings at my colleagues in fancy hotels." He underscored his point by tightening his grip on Bill's wrist.
"Don't even flatter yourself that you're any colleague of mine, you third-rate hack," Bill spat.
"Oh, of course not. I actually know the meaning of the word 'standards.'"
"Oh yeah, smearing people who do better in the ratings than you, some fucking standards."
Keith shook his head and sighed. "Bill, forty years in the business, and you still don't know the difference between libeling somebody and quoting their own words. I'd be disappointed, if only I expected any better of you."
Bill made a valiant attempt to shake Keith off and was rewarded with Keith's free hand between his shoulder blades, shoving him back down to the floor.
"Bill, didn't I tell you to play nice?" Keith twisted Bill's arm a little harder.
Bill snorted roughly against the carpet. "Why don't you make me?"
A sly smile spread over Keith's face. He really is going to kill me if I let him up, he thought. I might as well have some fun with it.
"Hey - what - what the fuck are you doing?" Bill yelled as Keith's free hand slid between his stomach and the floor to work at his belt buckle.
"Something somebody should have done a long time ago," said Keith. He worked Bill's belt loose and got his button and zipper open.
"You sick bastard, I'll fucking kill you -" Bill was practically frothing by now.
Keith leaned down to whisper in his ear: "Shhhh. The more you complain, the worse it's going to be."
Bill gritted his teeth in silent fury as Keith yanked his pants and briefs down and his shirttails up, but a strangled yelp escaped his throat when Keith's open hand came down in a sharp slap.
"What did you think I was going to do?" Keith asked, barely restraining his laughter. "Fuck you?"
"You're gonna pay for this," Bill seethed. "So help me, when you least expect it -"
"Let's see," said Keith, raising his hand again, "that was for Malmedy. And this -" he gave Bill's ass another whack "- is for Andrea Mackris. And this -" smack! "- is for that stupid fucking lesbian gang story. And this -" smack! "- is for that godawful sex scene in Those Who Trespass. And this -" Keith paused, his hand in midair. "Bill, are you okay?"
The other man's face was flushed red, his eyes were shut tight, and he was breathing in ragged gasps. Oh, fuck me, Keith thought, he'd better not be having a stroke or a heart attack or something. How the hell am I going to explain a dead, pantsless Bill O'Reilly in my hotel room?
Keith let go of Bill's arm and climbed off of him to kneel by his side. "Hey..." He tentatively reached out and touched Bill's shoulder. His fears were allayed somewhat when Bill reached up to knock his hand away.
"Don't you touch me, you son of a bitch." Bill opened his eyes to glare at Keith as he reached down to hitch his pants back up.
"What's the matter, did you enjoy it?" Now that he wasn't worried about having accidentally killed Bill, Keith couldn't resist grinning.
"Fuck you." Bill pulled himself up into an awkward crouch and shrugged out of his jacket. He draped it over his arm, holding it strategically in front of him as he started to stand up.
Keith didn't miss the implications of this gesture. "Oh my God. You did enjoy it, didn't you?" He doubled over, shaking with laughter.
"Shut up!" Bill yelled. "You shut the hell up!" He had gotten to his feet, but he leaned down again, pointing an angry finger in Keith's face.
Keith grabbed Bill's wrist, more gently this time. "Make me," he smirked, staring straight into Bill's narrowed, blazing blue eyes. He was still biting back giggles as Bill tore his hand out of Keith's grasp and shoved him back onto the floor.
Keith folded his arms behind his head and grinned up at Bill. "Say it," he said. "Say 'Keith Olbermann, I want you,' and I'll never call you the Worst Person in the World again."
Bill threw his jacket aside and flung himself on top of Keith, grinding his erection against him and snarling in his ear, "I hate you."
"I know." Still smiling, Keith unfolded one arm to reach up and stroke Bill's hair. "Come on, Bill. Five little words, and none of them are 'I'm sorry.' You can do it."
Bill flinched away from his touch. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You mean why am I not all a-quiver at your intimidating masculinity?" Keith chuckled. "Gee, Bill, maybe it's because, in case you hadn't noticed, you're not bigger than me. Or maybe I'm going to let you do whatever it is you want to do here, just so you'll have to live the rest of your life knowing you did it with me."
"You're out of your fucking mind. I don't want to do anything with you." Bill started to pull himself up, but Keith stopped him with one hand on his ass and the other one on his back.
"Really? That must be your Peabody Award digging into my hip, then. Oh, wait, you don't have one," Keith laughed as Bill fumed.
"Go to hell."
"Hmmm, I have a drunk, horny Bill O'Reilly lying on top of me. Some would say I'm already there." Keith punctuated his sentence with a light slap on Bill's ass.
"Fuck you, I know plenty of women who would kill to be where you are right now."
Keith snickered. "Yeah, I could say the same thing, except in my case it might actually be true."
Bill snorted. "Could you be any more full of yourself?"
"Maybe if I were beating you in the ratings... oh, wait, I am!" Keith giggled until he was silenced by Bill's mouth coming down hard on his. He parted his lips under the assault of Bill's tongue, then gasped as he tasted... spearmint? And nothing else except Bill? Oh my God, Keith thought, as Bill's hands clawed at the buttons Keith's shirt, he's not drunk. He's just crazy. He's finally gone over the edge. Should I be stopping him, or videotaping this?
Bill gave up on undoing Keith's shirt the civilized way and just ripped, sending buttons flying every which way. His fingertips raked up Keith's chest as he ground their hips together and attacked Keith's mouth with his own.
Keith found his own body responding to Bill's onslaught, but he reached up and forced their mouths apart with one hand firmly wrapped around the nape of Bill's neck. Bill let go with one last sucking bite on Keith's lower lip.
"Hey," said Keith, staring into Bill's dilated eyes, "are you sure you really want to do this?"
Bill looked down, his face flushed with anger and desire. "Typical quiche-eating liberal," he muttered, lowering his head to nip at Keith's earlobe. "Can't even get a hard-on without a consent form signed in triplicate."
I guess that's a yes, Keith thought, letting his hand relax on Bill's neck and his fingers play through the close-cropped hair there. And consent form or no, he was getting hard.
"You love this," Bill breathed against Keith's ear in what had to be the closest thing he ever got to a whisper. "You want my big cock... you've been dying for this since your first day on the air."
Keith had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Projecting much? He forced his laughter into a moan as he slid his hand under Bill's shirt to run his fingers up the other man's spine. "Oh, yes, Bill. Tell me more."
"You, Franken, those punks from Comedy Central... you all want a piece of this." He bit and sucked at Keith's neck hard enough to leave a mark.
This time Keith couldn't stifle the giggles, both at what Bill had said and at the utter surreality of being flat on his back in the wreckage of a luxury hotel room and inartfully dry-humped by his arch-nemesis.
"What's so fucking funny?" Bill glared, his hands finding their way between his body and Keith's to fumble with their respective flies.
"You are," said Keith, sliding his own hand down to help.
"Yeah, well, if it weren't for me, your show would only be five minutes long." Zippers, belt buckles and buttons gave way, and trousers and boxers and briefs were hastily pushed down to leave hot, hard flesh against flesh.
"Hey, Bill?" Keith breathed, gripping Bill's ass as the other man moved against him.
"What?"
"Shut up." Keith gave Bill something better to do with his mouth, capturing it for another kiss. This time Keith was the aggressor, thrusting his tongue between Bill's lips, one hand clutching what was left of Bill's hair while the other scratched savage lines down his back.
Bill moaned and thrust harder against Keith, his own fingers digging into Keith's biceps even through the heavy fabric of Keith's jacket and shirt.
Keith broke away from the kiss to whisper in Bill's ear, "You like it rough, don't you?"
"Yeah," Bill gasped, too aroused to lie.
"Well, then..." Keith let go of Bill for long enough to roll the two of them over so that Bill was underneath him. He pinned Bill's arms over his head and kissed him again, sucking and biting at his lips, holding his wrists with one hand as he steadied Bill's hips with the other, forcing him to move with Keith's rhythm instead of against it.
Bill's breathing grew rougher and he moaned deep in his throat, flexing his arms in Keith's grasp. Keith gripped Bill's wrists harder, plunging his tongue into the other man's mouth and letting the friction between them build to a white-hot intensity. When he felt Bill start to shudder beneath him, he pulled away from Bill's lips but thrust harder and faster against him, watching Bill's face as the other man groaned his climax behind tightly closed eyes and clenched teeth. Keith closed his own eyes and lowered his head as he reached between them to finish himself off, muffling his scream of release against Bill's shoulder.
Keith rolled off of Bill and lay panting on the floor next to him. After a minute of catching his breath, he turned to look at him. The other man's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, and there was still a heavy, hitching quality to his breathing.
"Hey," Keith said, brushing his knuckle against the back of Bill's hand where it rested next to his on the carpet, "you okay?"
Bill turned his head toward him, eyes as sharp, focused and hostile as ever. "Why? Do you want to cuddle or something?" He jerked his hand away and busied it yanking his pants up.
Keith shook his head, then realized Bill probably had the right idea for once in his life, and pulled his own boxers up. His shoes and pants he kicked off, then slipped out of his ruined jacket and used it to wipe off his stomach, making a mental note to find the hotel's incinerator at the earliest opportunity. He tossed the jacket into the nearest trash can, swept a fragment of coffee table out of the way and sat back against the front of the couch, watching Bill pull himself together. "Just so you know," he said, waving his arm to indicate the demolished room, "I'm not paying for this."
"I'll write you a check," Bill said, tucking his shirt in. "I wouldn't want to break MSNBC's budget."
"Make it out to Olbermann Broadcasting Empire." Keith started to grin, then winced. Now that the adrenaline rush was dissipating, his cheek was starting to throb where Bill had hit him.
Bill snorted. "You are some piece of work, you know that?"
"And you love it."
Bill didn't rise to the bait. "You should probably get that looked at," he said, gesturing toward Keith's bruised face.
"Yeah," Keith said, rolling his eyes, "maybe I'll call Page Six myself and tell them how it happened, too." Of course, by the time it went to print, they'd probably be blaming Chris Matthews. Or maybe David Gregory.
Bill got to his feet and stood with his arms crossed. "So..."
Despite the pain, Keith had to smile at Bill's awkwardness. "You can spend the night, if it'll make you feel more respectable."
"Drop dead." Bill turned and started to stalk toward the door.
Keith jumped up and grabbed Bill's arm, spinning him back around and into Keith's embrace. "Be nice," he murmured against Bill's lips before giving him one last long, deep kiss.
"Or what?" Bill asked, a challenge in his eyes, when Keith let him go.
"Or next time I won't tie you up." He gave Bill's ass one more slap for the road.
Bill started to open his mouth, then snapped it shut again and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Keith watched him go, then switched the lights off and sprawled on the bed, smiling to himself in the dark.
Theory of Tension
by
Dara Sue Vega
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. While certain real names and background details have been used for verisimilitude, all events portrayed herein are strictly a product of the author's imagination, for entertainment/satire purposes only, and not intended as a statement of actual facts about the persons involved. In other words, if you're a quasi-right-wing cable "news" host who's thinking about suing me, don't bother unless you want to be laughed out of court again.
Author's note: Takes place at some indeterminate time in the future, possibly at the RNC.
***
Modern technology, thought Keith as he stuck the Hyatt Regency keycard into the lock a second time. The LED remained an obstinate red. Come on, I'm not that drunk. He examined the card carefully to make sure he was inserting the correct end forward. Somewhere on the edge of his perception, he heard the elevator ding behind him. This is my room, right? He checked the numbers on the door as he slid the card into the slot and yanked it out again. This time he was finally rewarded with the green light.
He was turning the handle and pushing the door open when he heard a familiar voice seethe, "YOU!"
Keith paused and turned to look over his shoulder. The man standing in the elevator doorway was glaring at him with murder in his eyes. Keith grinned, raised his hand and waved cheerfully. "Oh, hi, Bill!"
His amusement was short-lived as the other man launched himself at him. Keith shoved the door open and ducked in time to miss the fist that was aimed at his face, but failed to evade the two hundred and fifty pounds of angry Fox News pundit that slammed into him half a second later. Keith heard a rip of fabric as his jacket caught on the door handle, and then they were crashing into the room.
They hit the wall with Bill's hands scrabbling for a grip on Keith's neck. Keith had always wondered how much of a handicap his lack of depth perception would be in a fight. The answer was, at this close of a range, not much. He whipped his head forward to crack the other man solidly in the forehead. When Bill grunted and his grip loosened, Keith took advantage of the moment to shove off the wall and send Bill stumbling backward.
"Fuck!" Bill swore as he fell against the closet door. There was a crunch of breaking glass, but Bill was either too drunk or too pissed off to pay it much mind. He swung at Keith again and this time Keith stepped into the attack, grabbing Bill's arm and spinning around to use Bill's own momentum against him. Bill cursed again as Keith slammed him into the opposite wall and pinned him against it with one hand around his wrist and the other forearm against his throat.
"Bill," panted Keith, "if you won't play nice, I'm gonna have to give you a spanking."
"You should be so lucky," Bill spat through clenched teeth, raising his free hand to clout Keith in the temple. He didn't have enough leverage to put much strength behind it, but it was enough to make Keith wince. Bill got his other hand free and shoved, hooking one foot behind Keith's ankle.
Keith fell backward, landed on the desk and sent a lamp flying. Bill came at him again and Keith rolled to the side, letting Bill knock a hole in the wall and then whipping his elbow back into Bill's ribs.
Bill grunted and grabbed a handful of Keith's jacket. "You fight like a girl, Olbermann." He shoved Keith back against the wall, raising his other arm for a punch.
"Fight a lot of girls, do you, Bill?" Keith drew his leg up and planted his foot in Bill's stomach, kicking back at the same time as he backhanded Bill across the face. There was more tearing of fabric as Keith pulled himself up off the desk, leaving a swatch of his jacket in Bill's hand. "I think that's the first time you've had the balls to say my name out loud. Did it hurt?"
"Fuck you." Bill grabbed Keith in a tackle, dragging them both down onto the coffee table. The veneered particle board was no match for their combined weight. A splintering crack and they fell through it onto the floor. Bill shoved Keith onto his back and straddled him, finally landing a punch to his right cheek with a meaty thud.
Keith squinted his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a groan. Bill sat back, breathing hard. "You need a minute to cry?"
Keith opened his eyes to narrow slits, and his voice was a low growl. "It takes worse than you to make me cry." In one swift, hard motion, he rammed his fist into Bill's solar plexus. When Bill doubled over coughing, Keith threw him off and slammed him to the floor face-down, twisting his arm behind his back, sending pieces of the coffee table in every direction. Standing up, he and Bill were nearly an even match, but in this position, Keith had the advantage of gravity as he pinned Bill's legs with his stronger thighs and leaned on Bill's back with his upper body.
"Now that we're comfortable," Keith said, as Bill continued to struggle underneath him, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
"You've got some fucking nerve, you know that?" The eye that glared over Bill's shoulder was blue-hot with rage.
"Me? I'm not the one taking swings at my colleagues in fancy hotels." He underscored his point by tightening his grip on Bill's wrist.
"Don't even flatter yourself that you're any colleague of mine, you third-rate hack," Bill spat.
"Oh, of course not. I actually know the meaning of the word 'standards.'"
"Oh yeah, smearing people who do better in the ratings than you, some fucking standards."
Keith shook his head and sighed. "Bill, forty years in the business, and you still don't know the difference between libeling somebody and quoting their own words. I'd be disappointed, if only I expected any better of you."
Bill made a valiant attempt to shake Keith off and was rewarded with Keith's free hand between his shoulder blades, shoving him back down to the floor.
"Bill, didn't I tell you to play nice?" Keith twisted Bill's arm a little harder.
Bill snorted roughly against the carpet. "Why don't you make me?"
A sly smile spread over Keith's face. He really is going to kill me if I let him up, he thought. I might as well have some fun with it.
"Hey - what - what the fuck are you doing?" Bill yelled as Keith's free hand slid between his stomach and the floor to work at his belt buckle.
"Something somebody should have done a long time ago," said Keith. He worked Bill's belt loose and got his button and zipper open.
"You sick bastard, I'll fucking kill you -" Bill was practically frothing by now.
Keith leaned down to whisper in his ear: "Shhhh. The more you complain, the worse it's going to be."
Bill gritted his teeth in silent fury as Keith yanked his pants and briefs down and his shirttails up, but a strangled yelp escaped his throat when Keith's open hand came down in a sharp slap.
"What did you think I was going to do?" Keith asked, barely restraining his laughter. "Fuck you?"
"You're gonna pay for this," Bill seethed. "So help me, when you least expect it -"
"Let's see," said Keith, raising his hand again, "that was for Malmedy. And this -" he gave Bill's ass another whack "- is for Andrea Mackris. And this -" smack! "- is for that stupid fucking lesbian gang story. And this -" smack! "- is for that godawful sex scene in Those Who Trespass. And this -" Keith paused, his hand in midair. "Bill, are you okay?"
The other man's face was flushed red, his eyes were shut tight, and he was breathing in ragged gasps. Oh, fuck me, Keith thought, he'd better not be having a stroke or a heart attack or something. How the hell am I going to explain a dead, pantsless Bill O'Reilly in my hotel room?
Keith let go of Bill's arm and climbed off of him to kneel by his side. "Hey..." He tentatively reached out and touched Bill's shoulder. His fears were allayed somewhat when Bill reached up to knock his hand away.
"Don't you touch me, you son of a bitch." Bill opened his eyes to glare at Keith as he reached down to hitch his pants back up.
"What's the matter, did you enjoy it?" Now that he wasn't worried about having accidentally killed Bill, Keith couldn't resist grinning.
"Fuck you." Bill pulled himself up into an awkward crouch and shrugged out of his jacket. He draped it over his arm, holding it strategically in front of him as he started to stand up.
Keith didn't miss the implications of this gesture. "Oh my God. You did enjoy it, didn't you?" He doubled over, shaking with laughter.
"Shut up!" Bill yelled. "You shut the hell up!" He had gotten to his feet, but he leaned down again, pointing an angry finger in Keith's face.
Keith grabbed Bill's wrist, more gently this time. "Make me," he smirked, staring straight into Bill's narrowed, blazing blue eyes. He was still biting back giggles as Bill tore his hand out of Keith's grasp and shoved him back onto the floor.
Keith folded his arms behind his head and grinned up at Bill. "Say it," he said. "Say 'Keith Olbermann, I want you,' and I'll never call you the Worst Person in the World again."
Bill threw his jacket aside and flung himself on top of Keith, grinding his erection against him and snarling in his ear, "I hate you."
"I know." Still smiling, Keith unfolded one arm to reach up and stroke Bill's hair. "Come on, Bill. Five little words, and none of them are 'I'm sorry.' You can do it."
Bill flinched away from his touch. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You mean why am I not all a-quiver at your intimidating masculinity?" Keith chuckled. "Gee, Bill, maybe it's because, in case you hadn't noticed, you're not bigger than me. Or maybe I'm going to let you do whatever it is you want to do here, just so you'll have to live the rest of your life knowing you did it with me."
"You're out of your fucking mind. I don't want to do anything with you." Bill started to pull himself up, but Keith stopped him with one hand on his ass and the other one on his back.
"Really? That must be your Peabody Award digging into my hip, then. Oh, wait, you don't have one," Keith laughed as Bill fumed.
"Go to hell."
"Hmmm, I have a drunk, horny Bill O'Reilly lying on top of me. Some would say I'm already there." Keith punctuated his sentence with a light slap on Bill's ass.
"Fuck you, I know plenty of women who would kill to be where you are right now."
Keith snickered. "Yeah, I could say the same thing, except in my case it might actually be true."
Bill snorted. "Could you be any more full of yourself?"
"Maybe if I were beating you in the ratings... oh, wait, I am!" Keith giggled until he was silenced by Bill's mouth coming down hard on his. He parted his lips under the assault of Bill's tongue, then gasped as he tasted... spearmint? And nothing else except Bill? Oh my God, Keith thought, as Bill's hands clawed at the buttons Keith's shirt, he's not drunk. He's just crazy. He's finally gone over the edge. Should I be stopping him, or videotaping this?
Bill gave up on undoing Keith's shirt the civilized way and just ripped, sending buttons flying every which way. His fingertips raked up Keith's chest as he ground their hips together and attacked Keith's mouth with his own.
Keith found his own body responding to Bill's onslaught, but he reached up and forced their mouths apart with one hand firmly wrapped around the nape of Bill's neck. Bill let go with one last sucking bite on Keith's lower lip.
"Hey," said Keith, staring into Bill's dilated eyes, "are you sure you really want to do this?"
Bill looked down, his face flushed with anger and desire. "Typical quiche-eating liberal," he muttered, lowering his head to nip at Keith's earlobe. "Can't even get a hard-on without a consent form signed in triplicate."
I guess that's a yes, Keith thought, letting his hand relax on Bill's neck and his fingers play through the close-cropped hair there. And consent form or no, he was getting hard.
"You love this," Bill breathed against Keith's ear in what had to be the closest thing he ever got to a whisper. "You want my big cock... you've been dying for this since your first day on the air."
Keith had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Projecting much? He forced his laughter into a moan as he slid his hand under Bill's shirt to run his fingers up the other man's spine. "Oh, yes, Bill. Tell me more."
"You, Franken, those punks from Comedy Central... you all want a piece of this." He bit and sucked at Keith's neck hard enough to leave a mark.
This time Keith couldn't stifle the giggles, both at what Bill had said and at the utter surreality of being flat on his back in the wreckage of a luxury hotel room and inartfully dry-humped by his arch-nemesis.
"What's so fucking funny?" Bill glared, his hands finding their way between his body and Keith's to fumble with their respective flies.
"You are," said Keith, sliding his own hand down to help.
"Yeah, well, if it weren't for me, your show would only be five minutes long." Zippers, belt buckles and buttons gave way, and trousers and boxers and briefs were hastily pushed down to leave hot, hard flesh against flesh.
"Hey, Bill?" Keith breathed, gripping Bill's ass as the other man moved against him.
"What?"
"Shut up." Keith gave Bill something better to do with his mouth, capturing it for another kiss. This time Keith was the aggressor, thrusting his tongue between Bill's lips, one hand clutching what was left of Bill's hair while the other scratched savage lines down his back.
Bill moaned and thrust harder against Keith, his own fingers digging into Keith's biceps even through the heavy fabric of Keith's jacket and shirt.
Keith broke away from the kiss to whisper in Bill's ear, "You like it rough, don't you?"
"Yeah," Bill gasped, too aroused to lie.
"Well, then..." Keith let go of Bill for long enough to roll the two of them over so that Bill was underneath him. He pinned Bill's arms over his head and kissed him again, sucking and biting at his lips, holding his wrists with one hand as he steadied Bill's hips with the other, forcing him to move with Keith's rhythm instead of against it.
Bill's breathing grew rougher and he moaned deep in his throat, flexing his arms in Keith's grasp. Keith gripped Bill's wrists harder, plunging his tongue into the other man's mouth and letting the friction between them build to a white-hot intensity. When he felt Bill start to shudder beneath him, he pulled away from Bill's lips but thrust harder and faster against him, watching Bill's face as the other man groaned his climax behind tightly closed eyes and clenched teeth. Keith closed his own eyes and lowered his head as he reached between them to finish himself off, muffling his scream of release against Bill's shoulder.
Keith rolled off of Bill and lay panting on the floor next to him. After a minute of catching his breath, he turned to look at him. The other man's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, and there was still a heavy, hitching quality to his breathing.
"Hey," Keith said, brushing his knuckle against the back of Bill's hand where it rested next to his on the carpet, "you okay?"
Bill turned his head toward him, eyes as sharp, focused and hostile as ever. "Why? Do you want to cuddle or something?" He jerked his hand away and busied it yanking his pants up.
Keith shook his head, then realized Bill probably had the right idea for once in his life, and pulled his own boxers up. His shoes and pants he kicked off, then slipped out of his ruined jacket and used it to wipe off his stomach, making a mental note to find the hotel's incinerator at the earliest opportunity. He tossed the jacket into the nearest trash can, swept a fragment of coffee table out of the way and sat back against the front of the couch, watching Bill pull himself together. "Just so you know," he said, waving his arm to indicate the demolished room, "I'm not paying for this."
"I'll write you a check," Bill said, tucking his shirt in. "I wouldn't want to break MSNBC's budget."
"Make it out to Olbermann Broadcasting Empire." Keith started to grin, then winced. Now that the adrenaline rush was dissipating, his cheek was starting to throb where Bill had hit him.
Bill snorted. "You are some piece of work, you know that?"
"And you love it."
Bill didn't rise to the bait. "You should probably get that looked at," he said, gesturing toward Keith's bruised face.
"Yeah," Keith said, rolling his eyes, "maybe I'll call Page Six myself and tell them how it happened, too." Of course, by the time it went to print, they'd probably be blaming Chris Matthews. Or maybe David Gregory.
Bill got to his feet and stood with his arms crossed. "So..."
Despite the pain, Keith had to smile at Bill's awkwardness. "You can spend the night, if it'll make you feel more respectable."
"Drop dead." Bill turned and started to stalk toward the door.
Keith jumped up and grabbed Bill's arm, spinning him back around and into Keith's embrace. "Be nice," he murmured against Bill's lips before giving him one last long, deep kiss.
"Or what?" Bill asked, a challenge in his eyes, when Keith let him go.
"Or next time I won't tie you up." He gave Bill's ass one more slap for the road.
Bill started to open his mouth, then snapped it shut again and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Keith watched him go, then switched the lights off and sprawled on the bed, smiling to himself in the dark.