fickle_obsessed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fickle_obsessed) wrote2013-08-14 11:52 pm
fickle_obsessed) wrote2013-08-14 11:52 pm
(no subject)
Square Genderplay
Fandom The Thick of It
PairingRating R
Summary Grey doesn't do feminine, until she does.
Word Count 5236
They’d been together five years when he was first able to take her out in public, not only in public but to a political event, with people they knew and the very real possibility of photos getting out and it didn’t matter that he was no longer really involved in that quite so much, people still knew his name, still respected him, to his face at least, which was all he could expect considering everything he‘d done. Five years since she’d shown up on his doorstep, slightly drunk, a year since she’d moved into his house after his slightly forced resignation and their very public outing as a couple. They hadn’t been a good few months, too many flashes going off in their faces, but she’d been there holding his hand, defending their relationship, which had always made things more bearable.
Ollie had invited him, a peace offering perhaps or proof that he really couldn’t cope, that the last year had already started to destroy him and he was going to beg for help. Which would mean Malcolm quite probably shut in a room with a weeping Ollie, something he really didn’t like the idea of. Why he’d been invited didn’t matter too much though, what really mattered was that the invitation had read ‘Malcolm Tucker and Grace White’. Their first official invitation to anything more important than someone she worked with’s wedding (when he’d been nothing but a plus one and they hadn’t gone anyway, because there were more enjoyable things to do like drink whiskey, and have sex on the sofa half way through a boring film). Their mutual joy at the invite had been short lived though, when Grey had read the phrase ‘black tie/evening dress.’ Jesus, who were they? The fucking Tories? Obviously Miller had been getting ideas above his personality, trying to act like he was someone, when the party hadn’t had a decent ‘someone’ since before they’d lost the election.
“It says black tie,” Malcolm said, glancing at Grey hunched over her laptop, scouring websites for something suitable as she’d been doing for days now. “Just wear a fucking suit.” He supposed he should have been put off by the glare, but Malcolm had come to learn Grey was incredibly easy to get round, and even if she did snap and hurt him it tended to end up with them naked so it was difficult to worry too much. “What? You look great in a suit. Very…Dietrich. Might go down well, all that gender ambiguity, you know what Miller’s like all fucking diversity and alternative lifestyles and shit.”
“You think you’re in an alternative lifestyle?”
He scoffed at the suggestion. “Hardly darling. I think I’m in some weird fucking dream world where I’m shacked up with a slightly mental, but incredibly wonderful twenty eight year old. I’m just waiting for the fucking, rainbow shitting, unicorns to arrive.”
“I’m not wearing a suit,” she said. “Photos’ll get out and they’ll make a thing of it, because the media’s fucking bullshit. Christ I can already imagine the comments about my sexuality.”
“Aye well me being your beard would make a fuck of a lot of sense.”
That glare was on her face again, only this time she was moving closer, from her side of the sofa to his, placing herself in his lap, as she was prone to do.. “Because if I was gay I’d try and hide it?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow. “If I was gay I’d be fucking gay and I wouldn’t be quite so eager to fuck you.”
“I assumed you thought I was a really ugly lesbian or something.”
“I’m getting a dress, Malc, so get used to the idea. And less of the ugly, beautiful.”
“You know you in a dress might be even more dangerous than you in a suit, don’t you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you in dresses, mostly at the end of the night, when you’ve stumbled into the flat after a night out, but I remember them. All those zips and chains.” He smiled because he also remembered removing said dresses, with all those zips and chains, and a particularly interesting number that had involved a padlock and a lot of searching around in her purse for the key. It had been worth it though, Grey was never not worth it.
“Evening dress, Malc. Fuck’s sake I’m not that clueless, like I’m gonna show up in fucking PVC?” Just because she’d never done formal in her entire life didn’t mean she was incapable of it.
“I wouldn’t object,” he pointed out, already picturing it. The shock on Miller and Ollie’s faces while he just wouldn’t give a fuck, while the only thought on his mind would be her. They could show their faces for an hour then spend the rest of the night fucking in an abandoned room, that seemed fair and reasonably likely whatever she chose to wear. “Do you want me to pay?” he asked.
“Are we still talking about the dress?”
“Aye, we’re still talking about the dress. Would that make it easier though? I mean not to be unsympathetic but if I have to deal with you whining about fucking dresses much longer I might take my own life. I thought I was safe from this bollocks. I thought you were a fucking feminist, I thought you wore whatever the fuck you wanted.”
“Maybe I want to wear a dress,” she pointed out.
“If you’re doing this for me, darling…”
The look on her face stopped him from going any further. It wasn’t for him, of course it wasn’t, she didn’t do things for other people, because she thought she should, not even for him. If she’d wanted to wear a suit she’d have worn a fucking suit. She wanted to wear a dress, and he knew better than to carry on pressing matters. “I’ll pay, if that’s the issue, if cost’s making it more difficult to find something suitable.”
She leant in and kissed him for just a moment before returning to her computer. “I think my issue’s more that I fucking hate fashion, I don’t get it. None of these dresses look nice, or like something I’d be willing to be seen out in in public. They’re just not me.”
“Well no, you’re chains and rubber, we’ve been through this.”
“Not me if I was…respectable, if I could deal with the thought of being a fucking adult. There’s just…nothing. It‘s all fucking hideous prints, and skin tight fucking Lycra and things that look like they should be on top of a fucking toilet roll!”
“So we get something made, if that’s what it takes, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll keep looking,” she said, “But I’ll keep it in mind, in case of emergency. Thanks”
A week later and she’d found the dress, the dress she’d kept hidden from him in a way that worried him more than anything she’d ever done. There was always the chance with Grey that she might use certain occasions to make feminist statements, not that he’d have minded so much, he was out of it now, more or less, neither of them had to be as careful as they’d once had to be, plus he kind of loved her feminist statements, as far as he was concerned she couldn’t make them enough, it was only a shame she hadn’t used their press conference to highlight her interests.
“Y’know Ollie’s sending a fucking car,” Malcolm called through the bathroom door “it’ll be here in five minutes. What the fuck are you doing in there? You are still alive, aren’t you? You know you’re not allowed to die when we’re alone in the house together, don’t you? There’s no way I’ll not end up being questioned about it.”
“Yes I’m still alive,” she called back, sounding slightly irritated. “I’m just…getting ready.”
“Getting ready? You’ve been in there a whole fucking hour. You don’t take an hour to get ready. You take ten fucking minutes. Come on now, darling, you can tell me, you’ve been in there wanking over the thought of me in my suit, haven’t you?”
“You’ve got me, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, I’d’ve asked you to join me but I didn’t want to distract you. I know how you struggle tying your bow tie.”
“Are you nearly ready?” he asked, glancing down at the aforementioned tie checking it was straight.
“So nearly ready, I am in fact ready,” she said, the bathroom lock clicking unlocked causing him to step aside.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Malcolm breathed as she stepped out of the bathroom looking very much like a 1920s silent film star. The dress she wore was stunning, the material dark and shimmering as if it were made out of an oil slick, the fabric was tight against her body whilst showing off none of it, the neckline was high and straight, and the sleeves short, but it was most amazing sight he’d ever seen. It was odd though, she looked…not normal. Grey was physically incapable of that, but she didn’t look as unique as she normally did. He’d expected there to be something unusual - navy blue lipstick perhaps, something that was completely Grey, but she hadn’t. Her lips were dark red, her eyes lined in black. She looked like any number of stunningly beautiful women, but she looked less unique, less Grey than he was used it. It probably shouldn’t have done it for him as much as it did, but she was still, he could still see her underneath the normality.
“You’re staring.”
All he could manage was a nod. It was rare that Malcolm was speechless but when he was Grey tended to be involved.
She shifted a little uncomfortably in the intensity of his gaze. This had been a bad idea, he was right she should‘ve warn a suit. She’d have felt comfortable in a suit, but she‘d wanted to wear a dress. She‘d wanted to surprise him, to surprise everyone by looking properly feminine, because it wasn‘t her, and with a bit of luck ir would completely fuck with Ollie‘s head which was always a bonus. Right now though she just wanted to turn back into the bathroom, wipe all the make-up off and change into something infinitely more comfortable, like a pair of pyjamas. “Well you could fucking stop,” she muttered.
“You look…” he struggled to find the right words as almost his entire vocabulary fled in the face of the sight of her.
“You have two seconds to finish that fucking sentence or I swear to fucking god I’m taking this fucking thing off and you’re going on your own.”
“You really think I’m leaving the house without you while you’re dressed like that?”
“Finish the fucking sentence, Malc.”
Outside a car pulled up and beeped its horn. “Car’s here,” he said, hoping this would be enough to at least stall the conversation.
“Malcolm.”
“Amazing, stunning, glorious. I don’t…I can’t…You know we really don’t have to go to this fucking party, I can think of a hundred better ways we could spend tonight.”
“Do you want to know how much this dress cost you, sweetheart? How much stress it was finding the sodding thing?” she asked, “because trust me all this fucking effort is not being wasted on fucking you in a number of inventive ways.”
“You sure I can’t change your mind, darling?” he asked, sliding one hand over her leg, rucking up the fabric just a little.
“Positive. At least for an hour.” It was a start, it wasn’t giving in to Malcolm’s sex eyes for possibly the first time ever.
“An hour?”
“We should show our faces, Ollie’s sent a car.”
“An hour.”
“If you’re good.”
“Good?” he scoffed. “Your definition of good could get us into a lot of trouble.”
“The normal definition of the word, Malc. No touching me up, or taking over the party with your ranting or anything like that, okay?”
“You know you’re no fun anymore,” he said turning away, heading towards the stairs as she followed. “Is this how it is then? You stick on a pretty dress and suddenly you’re all classy?”
“Yep, that’s exactly how it is.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back when she got out of the car, as if he had to escort her inside, be the gentleman with her, even though nothing could ever have been further from the truth. It was obviously the dress, or perhaps a combination of that and his suit, and the fact they were outside Miller’s swanky house, but it was strange, they didn’t even hold hands normally, not in public, not even now they didn’t have to hide the relationship. It just wasn’t really them. They didn’t generally do any kind of public displays of affection, they were both just too used to having to pretend they didn’t even know each other. It was a welcome gesture though. Grey wasn’t exactly feeling relaxed about this party, about seeing all the people she’d worked below years ago and all the people Malcolm came home screaming about. The dress was seeming like an increasingly bad idea. She felt confident in her own clothes, right now she felt like she was pretending to be someone else, someone she didn’t really know how to be.
“You’re not gonna go wandering off and leave me to talk to these fuckwits on my own, are you?” she asked, hoping it sounded like a perfectly reasonable question, and not as if she was genuinely worried.
“You don’t want to catch up with Ollie?” he asked, with an evil glint in his eye. “I thought you’d be raring to see him again. Or you could tell Miller where he’s been going wrong with the party. I don’t know about you, but I could see how that’d be fun.”
“Malc.”
“You only said I had to be good, which just means you have take over the ranty, incredibly intelligent role.”
“We should really try to be civil. You’re not involved anymore.”
“Not professionally, no, but we can be concerned voters, can’t we?”
“We’re never getting invited to anything again,” she said shaking her head.
“I’m perfectly okay with this idea, aren’t you? You hate these people.”
“I hate all people.”
He paused just in front of Dan’s front door and kissed her gently, slightly worried about smudging her lipstick, not a worry he’d ever had before tonight. “Aye, and that’s why I’m with you.”
Grey’s eyes scanned the room for any familiar face, as she clutched her champagne. While she knew Malcolm didn’t want to talk to any of these people any more than she did she was fairly sure he wanted to have a word with Ollie. She missed Glenn, she found. She kept forgetting he wasn’t with the party anymore, that he wasn’t with any of the parties anymore. She tried not to think about that, it was the only thing she’d ever had a fight with Malcolm about. There was no Sam either, she’d left when Malcolm had. The only faces she recognised were Ollie, Dan and Ben Swain. Ben Swain?! How the hell had Ben Swain managed to keep his job? It was as if they wanted to lose the next election.
“They all look about ten,” Malcolm said quietly leaning closer to her, as he looked around the room. He was the oldest person here by a good ten years he was sure of it. “It’s like being at a kid’s fucking birthday party. Still least there’s booze,” he said, grabbing two more glasses from a passing waiter. “And here comes the fucking clown,” he said nodding in Ollie’s direction as he made his way over to them.
He already looked tired. Grey could remember watching Malcolm change over the years, how thin and grey he’d become so quickly. Ollie probably couldn’t get any thinner but the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept properly for weeks. He was smiling though, possibly because he was under the impression Malcolm would be a font of knowledge and advice for him, though Grey very much doubted that was about it happen.
He stopped a few feet away, his smile transforming into a look of utter confusion as he noticed Grey properly for the first time. He looked between Grey and Malcolm as if trying to make sense of the situation.
“You looking at my girl?” Malcolm asked with a smirk, his accent more Glaswegian than normal.
“Grey?” he said, as if he wasn’t entirely sure it was her. She looked like an adult, a proper, together, sophisticated woman, as opposed to the vague mess he often had to throw paper at to get her attention. “Malcolm force you to see a stylist? Now you‘re a proper, official couple?”
“It was Sam actually,” Grey admitted. “And it was my own choice.”
Malcolm made a mental note to call Sam tomorrow, thank her because while he only occasionally questioned Grey’s taste, he was fairly sure going dress shopping with her wasn’t a relaxing experience. “Anyway did you want something or did you just come to check out Grey’s dress, Gok Wan?”
“Just thought I’d come and say hello. See how you were doing. You’re looking well, the step back’s obviously agreed with you.”
“Aye, amazing what a full night’s sleep and not having to worry about the whole fucking country does for you. You look like a skeleton wearing an Ollie suit,” he smiled slightly. “Enjoying my job?”
“It’s not so bad,” Ollie lied.
“Wait til you’re in power.” Malcolm laughed and looked across at Dan. “What am I saying? You’ll never have to worry about that with that smarmy bastard as your leader.”
“He’s better that Nicola sodding Murray!” Ollie hissed.
“My left bollock’s better than Nicola Murray, and that’s not even the good one, is it, darling?” he asked glancing at Grey for support.
“Hangs a bit low,” she confirmed, taking a sip of champagne.
“You don’t fancy coming back do you?” Ollie asked, the words coming out suddenly, “As a special adviser. Less stress, better hours.”
Malcolm considered the offer for a moment than shook his head and slipped his arm around Grey’s waist. “No thanks. I’m enjoying my early retirement - no stress, amazing sex with Grey here. “ He twisted his head to kiss her temple. “We’ve waited long enough for this. You want my advice, Ollie? Find a better leader, get him all lined up to take over from Mister Forgettable and hope the public don’t make the mistake of voting Lib Dem next time.”
“Malcolm!” Ollie said, his voice close to pleading.
“Or you just get out,” he suggested. “You’re not tough enough for this job. You need someone that strikes fear into ministers’ hearts. I bet you couldn’t even scare a fucking five year old.”
They both watched as Ollie walked away, back in the throng of the party, to the shadow cabinet and the back benchers,
“Bit harsh?” Grey suggested.
Malcolm shrugged. “Boy needs to be told. Anyway It’s been an hour,” he said quietly into her ear, checking his watch for possibly the hundredth time.
Grey smirked and took another long drink of her champagne. She didn’t even like champagne, but it seemed to be all Miller had to offer and alcohol was alcohol, something she desperately needed in these surroundings, still at least she didn’t feel like she stood out too much, which was something. “Think there’s a spare room somewhere around here?” she asked.
Malcolm didn’t answer, instead he reached for her hand and pulled her out of the room, and up the stairs not even caring if anyone saw them. Opening the first door he got to he found a bedroom and pulled Grey inside with him. “This do you, darling?”
“I was just asking,” she said, placing her glass down on top of the wardrobe by the door.
“Bollocks you were,” he replied, shutting the door behind them and pulling her against him, hands moving quick and rough over the material of her dress.
“Think this is Miller’s bedroom?” she asked with a barely contained shudder at the very thought.
“If it is I reckon this is the most action it’s seen in a while.”
“What. just this?”
“I bet this room hasn’t seen sex in years, I’m not even convinced it’s seen a woman and I’d bet my fucking life it’s never seen a woman like you. So…what‘s going on under here?” he asked, his hand creeping across to the slit at the back of her skirt, fingers brushing against her bare leg.
“Find out.”
“Here?” His hand moved to the zip at the back of her neckline, taking hold of it delicately with two fingers.
“Why not? I don’t give a fuck about any of these people and it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’re never going back to this. Fuck it.” She couldn’t help but smile. They’d asked him to come back and he’d still said no. He’d chosen this new life, the one with her in it.
“I love you,” he murmured, as he pulled down the zip, fingers trailing after it as he watched her face very carefully. The moment he’d undone it enough he pushed it over her shoulders, as she took over, removing her arms from the sleeves with an endearing awkwardness that never failed to make him smile. With her arms free he pushed the dress down her body, revealing a dark green and black satin and lace bra. He swallowed thickly. Grey didn’t wear underwear like that, it was black cotton bras and boxer shorts, that was how it was and he didn’t care. It was strangely fitting, and what she wore couldn’t have mattered less, she always looked amazing and it was what was underneath that counted, and what was underneath was really quite something. Pressing his lips against her bare shoulder he closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure and continued to push the fabric down her body, crouching down in front of her to pull it down over her legs as it pooled at the floor around them. He shuffled back just a little to get a better look at her in nothing but her boots and underwear. He’d never seen her like this before, not in five years. The knickers were nothing skimpy, no thongs or anything like that. They were shorts, but they were tight against her skin, and they matched the bra and against her pale skin they just worked. She looked beyond perfect, like something out of a particularly upmarket lingerie catalogue.
“You’re not gonna have a stroke. are you?” she asked, looking down at him.
Malcolm couldn’t speak. Apparently that was the theme of the night. It was the surprise, the sight of her so completely different from how she normally was. It was almost like being with someone else, only it was still her - his Grey which was always good - he didn’t have to pretend to be something else with her, didn’t have to watch himself.
“You’re freaking me out now. You paid for this stuff by the way. I can‘t fucking believe how much sexy underwear costs, I mean what‘s the fucking point? Are men that fucking shallow?”
“Stop talking,” he said, standing up, his eyes still drifting over her body, at her standing there in what was indeed very sexy underwear. He didn’t care what it had cost him. What ever it was it felt more than reasonable. But she was dangerously close to spoiling it. He wasn’t that shallow, but he didn’t want to hear her diatribe about the cost of women’s underwear right now, he just wanted to appreciate it, to be able to touch her. He didn’t want her angry and ranting, not right now.
“’Scuse me?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s only money. I don’t need money. This, this I need,” he said, his fingers skimming over her bra.
Grey took a step backwards, suddenly offended. Five years they’d been together but this was what he needed? Her all dolled up? All girly, playing a role? This wasn’t who she was, not really and he knew that surely?
Malcolm winced, aware of how badly that had come out. “I just meant…” he trailed off, no idea how to put it. “You, semi naked, close. I don’t care what you’re wearing, you know that, don’t you?”
“I did.” Once again she regretted her choices for the evening. It would have been so much more simple if she’d gone with the suit, fuck everyone else. Because if she cared little enough to be willing to fuck Malcolm in what was possibly Dan Miller’s bedroom with a party full of Labour’s leading lights why the fuck should she care about having their relationship dissected if photos of her got out? It didn’t matter, it really didn’t.
“Grey,” he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. “You, are perfect, always. I just…I’d want you just as much in boxers. It’s novelty, that’s all. Something new and I’m sorry, but my god you look incredible, and the underwear…” he felt slightly ashamed of himself for being so turned on by it, but it was only because it was her. “You decided to buy these, to put them on. You didn’t have to. I didn’t ask you to. I didn‘t even want you to, darling.”
“I know,” she said. And she’d wanted this reaction, him speechless and unable to take his eyes off her and he was right she’d made all these choices to wear these clothes, to be more feminine than she’d been in her whole life.
“So why did you?” he asked quietly.
“I wanted to know what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?”
She moved away, stepping out of the dress at her feet, back to the other side of the room, to her champagne. She wished she’d never said anything, she wished he’d never said anything. If he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut they’d have been fucking against the wall of this bedroom by now, but here she was, on the other side of the room to him, in nothing but her eye wateringly expensive underwear.
“Fucks sake, Grey,” he grumbled, stalking across the room over to her. “You can tell me, whatever the fuck it is.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, yeah?”
“You’re gonna think I’m a cunt.”
“I already think you’re a cunt, darling, doesn’t stop me being in love with you,” he said with a shrug. The feeling was mutual, and she couldn’t deny that.
“Yeah okay fair point but-”
“Don’t fucking start with the buts, come on, just spit it out.”
“I wanted to know what it was like to feel pretty!” she spat at him.
“Pretty?” Malcolm repeated, a particularly confused look on his face. Pretty was such a small word. Not one that fitted her at all. “Why the fuck would you want to downgrade, darling?”
“Malcolm,” she replied, a tiny smile across her lips when she finally looked up at him.
“What?”
“Don’t be lovely, it confuses me.”
“Oi!,” he hissed pointing his finger at her, “watch who you call lovely, darling or I’ll show you who’s fucking lovely!”
That was better, that was so much better, she couldn’t quite remember why she’d been so nervous now. “Yeah? And what are you going to do?”
“What am I gonna do? I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go down stairs, back to that fucking dull as shite party and suggest they all follow me upstairs to see the full fucking glory of you in your fucking fancy fucking knickers.”
Oh fuck. It was like being back at DoSAC, when him coming in to bollock Hugh was the highlight of her week. It had always done something to her, even when it was turned on her in the bedroom because somehow he just knew. The thing was she loved him - Malcolm Tucker, every part of him, and it was rare he was like this nowadays, because everything had settled and he no longer came home vibrating with rage. And she’d missed it. Really, really missed it. And here, now, with her all…feminine and him all alpha male it just seemed all too perfect.
His arms closed round her the moment she moved forward, as if he’d been expecting this reaction, which he probably had. Their lips met automatically as they kissed bruisingly hard, all teeth and tongue and lips, and hands exploring each other’s bodies desperately, Grey’s hands clutching at the fabric of his dinner jacket. He had too many clothes on, it was completely unfair really. She wanted the heat of his skin, the feel of it beneath her fingers.
“There’s something seriously fucking wrong with you,” he said as he pulled away breathlessly, hands trailing down to pull off her knickers roughly, casting them aside as he turned his attention to his flies, releasing himself, as he pushed her up against the nearest wall before angling himself against her and thrusting upwards without any kind of foreplay, unless you counted his threata, which he kind of did. He knew her well enough though, he knew from her touches and the way she’d kissed him that she was ready and he wasn’t disappointed. Moving one hand into her hair he fucked her rough and hard, as she slipped one leg around his waist, opening herself up for him.
“I should shout them now,” he said, leaning in to bite her neck. “Let Ollie see how a real man fucks.”
Grey moaned, the muscles between her legs tightening around him at the idea.
“Would you like that, darling?” he continued though his words were strained, “someone watching us? Someone learning from us?”
“Malc,” was all she could say. She knew he wouldn’t. She knew she didn’t want that, not really but the idea, the thought…
“Aye, just what I thought.” He laughed close to her ear, “such a fucking exhibitionist. Oh yeah you can look as sophisticated as you like, darling, but we both know what you’re like, don’t we? Fucking gagging for it.” He tugged at her hair, his fingers pressing harshly against her flesh as he came with a grunt, leaning against her to hold himself up. He kissed her again, crushingly hard as he pulled out and stepped away, looking at her as he caught his breath.
“Put your knickers back on, darling,” he said, crouching to pick them up. “Don’t want you leaving a trail when we go back down.”
“Go back down?” she repeated, slipping into her knickers then moving over to where her dress was and wriggling back into it, still feeling a little shaky.
“What did you think was happening now?”
“I thought we were going home.”
Malcolm grinned at her, reaching over to straighten her hair. “Nah, I thought we’d go back down, I’m not nearly as distracted as I was, funny that, isn’t it?”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No, that’s what we just did, darling. Might want to fix your make-up though, you‘re looking decidedly smudged.”
“I didn’t even…you didn’t make me come!”
“Aye well there’s time for that later, come on, lets see if I can made Ollie cry.”
Fandom The Thick of It
PairingRating R
Summary Grey doesn't do feminine, until she does.
Word Count 5236
They’d been together five years when he was first able to take her out in public, not only in public but to a political event, with people they knew and the very real possibility of photos getting out and it didn’t matter that he was no longer really involved in that quite so much, people still knew his name, still respected him, to his face at least, which was all he could expect considering everything he‘d done. Five years since she’d shown up on his doorstep, slightly drunk, a year since she’d moved into his house after his slightly forced resignation and their very public outing as a couple. They hadn’t been a good few months, too many flashes going off in their faces, but she’d been there holding his hand, defending their relationship, which had always made things more bearable.
Ollie had invited him, a peace offering perhaps or proof that he really couldn’t cope, that the last year had already started to destroy him and he was going to beg for help. Which would mean Malcolm quite probably shut in a room with a weeping Ollie, something he really didn’t like the idea of. Why he’d been invited didn’t matter too much though, what really mattered was that the invitation had read ‘Malcolm Tucker and Grace White’. Their first official invitation to anything more important than someone she worked with’s wedding (when he’d been nothing but a plus one and they hadn’t gone anyway, because there were more enjoyable things to do like drink whiskey, and have sex on the sofa half way through a boring film). Their mutual joy at the invite had been short lived though, when Grey had read the phrase ‘black tie/evening dress.’ Jesus, who were they? The fucking Tories? Obviously Miller had been getting ideas above his personality, trying to act like he was someone, when the party hadn’t had a decent ‘someone’ since before they’d lost the election.
“It says black tie,” Malcolm said, glancing at Grey hunched over her laptop, scouring websites for something suitable as she’d been doing for days now. “Just wear a fucking suit.” He supposed he should have been put off by the glare, but Malcolm had come to learn Grey was incredibly easy to get round, and even if she did snap and hurt him it tended to end up with them naked so it was difficult to worry too much. “What? You look great in a suit. Very…Dietrich. Might go down well, all that gender ambiguity, you know what Miller’s like all fucking diversity and alternative lifestyles and shit.”
“You think you’re in an alternative lifestyle?”
He scoffed at the suggestion. “Hardly darling. I think I’m in some weird fucking dream world where I’m shacked up with a slightly mental, but incredibly wonderful twenty eight year old. I’m just waiting for the fucking, rainbow shitting, unicorns to arrive.”
“I’m not wearing a suit,” she said. “Photos’ll get out and they’ll make a thing of it, because the media’s fucking bullshit. Christ I can already imagine the comments about my sexuality.”
“Aye well me being your beard would make a fuck of a lot of sense.”
That glare was on her face again, only this time she was moving closer, from her side of the sofa to his, placing herself in his lap, as she was prone to do.. “Because if I was gay I’d try and hide it?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow. “If I was gay I’d be fucking gay and I wouldn’t be quite so eager to fuck you.”
“I assumed you thought I was a really ugly lesbian or something.”
“I’m getting a dress, Malc, so get used to the idea. And less of the ugly, beautiful.”
“You know you in a dress might be even more dangerous than you in a suit, don’t you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you in dresses, mostly at the end of the night, when you’ve stumbled into the flat after a night out, but I remember them. All those zips and chains.” He smiled because he also remembered removing said dresses, with all those zips and chains, and a particularly interesting number that had involved a padlock and a lot of searching around in her purse for the key. It had been worth it though, Grey was never not worth it.
“Evening dress, Malc. Fuck’s sake I’m not that clueless, like I’m gonna show up in fucking PVC?” Just because she’d never done formal in her entire life didn’t mean she was incapable of it.
“I wouldn’t object,” he pointed out, already picturing it. The shock on Miller and Ollie’s faces while he just wouldn’t give a fuck, while the only thought on his mind would be her. They could show their faces for an hour then spend the rest of the night fucking in an abandoned room, that seemed fair and reasonably likely whatever she chose to wear. “Do you want me to pay?” he asked.
“Are we still talking about the dress?”
“Aye, we’re still talking about the dress. Would that make it easier though? I mean not to be unsympathetic but if I have to deal with you whining about fucking dresses much longer I might take my own life. I thought I was safe from this bollocks. I thought you were a fucking feminist, I thought you wore whatever the fuck you wanted.”
“Maybe I want to wear a dress,” she pointed out.
“If you’re doing this for me, darling…”
The look on her face stopped him from going any further. It wasn’t for him, of course it wasn’t, she didn’t do things for other people, because she thought she should, not even for him. If she’d wanted to wear a suit she’d have worn a fucking suit. She wanted to wear a dress, and he knew better than to carry on pressing matters. “I’ll pay, if that’s the issue, if cost’s making it more difficult to find something suitable.”
She leant in and kissed him for just a moment before returning to her computer. “I think my issue’s more that I fucking hate fashion, I don’t get it. None of these dresses look nice, or like something I’d be willing to be seen out in in public. They’re just not me.”
“Well no, you’re chains and rubber, we’ve been through this.”
“Not me if I was…respectable, if I could deal with the thought of being a fucking adult. There’s just…nothing. It‘s all fucking hideous prints, and skin tight fucking Lycra and things that look like they should be on top of a fucking toilet roll!”
“So we get something made, if that’s what it takes, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll keep looking,” she said, “But I’ll keep it in mind, in case of emergency. Thanks”
A week later and she’d found the dress, the dress she’d kept hidden from him in a way that worried him more than anything she’d ever done. There was always the chance with Grey that she might use certain occasions to make feminist statements, not that he’d have minded so much, he was out of it now, more or less, neither of them had to be as careful as they’d once had to be, plus he kind of loved her feminist statements, as far as he was concerned she couldn’t make them enough, it was only a shame she hadn’t used their press conference to highlight her interests.
“Y’know Ollie’s sending a fucking car,” Malcolm called through the bathroom door “it’ll be here in five minutes. What the fuck are you doing in there? You are still alive, aren’t you? You know you’re not allowed to die when we’re alone in the house together, don’t you? There’s no way I’ll not end up being questioned about it.”
“Yes I’m still alive,” she called back, sounding slightly irritated. “I’m just…getting ready.”
“Getting ready? You’ve been in there a whole fucking hour. You don’t take an hour to get ready. You take ten fucking minutes. Come on now, darling, you can tell me, you’ve been in there wanking over the thought of me in my suit, haven’t you?”
“You’ve got me, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, I’d’ve asked you to join me but I didn’t want to distract you. I know how you struggle tying your bow tie.”
“Are you nearly ready?” he asked, glancing down at the aforementioned tie checking it was straight.
“So nearly ready, I am in fact ready,” she said, the bathroom lock clicking unlocked causing him to step aside.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Malcolm breathed as she stepped out of the bathroom looking very much like a 1920s silent film star. The dress she wore was stunning, the material dark and shimmering as if it were made out of an oil slick, the fabric was tight against her body whilst showing off none of it, the neckline was high and straight, and the sleeves short, but it was most amazing sight he’d ever seen. It was odd though, she looked…not normal. Grey was physically incapable of that, but she didn’t look as unique as she normally did. He’d expected there to be something unusual - navy blue lipstick perhaps, something that was completely Grey, but she hadn’t. Her lips were dark red, her eyes lined in black. She looked like any number of stunningly beautiful women, but she looked less unique, less Grey than he was used it. It probably shouldn’t have done it for him as much as it did, but she was still, he could still see her underneath the normality.
“You’re staring.”
All he could manage was a nod. It was rare that Malcolm was speechless but when he was Grey tended to be involved.
She shifted a little uncomfortably in the intensity of his gaze. This had been a bad idea, he was right she should‘ve warn a suit. She’d have felt comfortable in a suit, but she‘d wanted to wear a dress. She‘d wanted to surprise him, to surprise everyone by looking properly feminine, because it wasn‘t her, and with a bit of luck ir would completely fuck with Ollie‘s head which was always a bonus. Right now though she just wanted to turn back into the bathroom, wipe all the make-up off and change into something infinitely more comfortable, like a pair of pyjamas. “Well you could fucking stop,” she muttered.
“You look…” he struggled to find the right words as almost his entire vocabulary fled in the face of the sight of her.
“You have two seconds to finish that fucking sentence or I swear to fucking god I’m taking this fucking thing off and you’re going on your own.”
“You really think I’m leaving the house without you while you’re dressed like that?”
“Finish the fucking sentence, Malc.”
Outside a car pulled up and beeped its horn. “Car’s here,” he said, hoping this would be enough to at least stall the conversation.
“Malcolm.”
“Amazing, stunning, glorious. I don’t…I can’t…You know we really don’t have to go to this fucking party, I can think of a hundred better ways we could spend tonight.”
“Do you want to know how much this dress cost you, sweetheart? How much stress it was finding the sodding thing?” she asked, “because trust me all this fucking effort is not being wasted on fucking you in a number of inventive ways.”
“You sure I can’t change your mind, darling?” he asked, sliding one hand over her leg, rucking up the fabric just a little.
“Positive. At least for an hour.” It was a start, it wasn’t giving in to Malcolm’s sex eyes for possibly the first time ever.
“An hour?”
“We should show our faces, Ollie’s sent a car.”
“An hour.”
“If you’re good.”
“Good?” he scoffed. “Your definition of good could get us into a lot of trouble.”
“The normal definition of the word, Malc. No touching me up, or taking over the party with your ranting or anything like that, okay?”
“You know you’re no fun anymore,” he said turning away, heading towards the stairs as she followed. “Is this how it is then? You stick on a pretty dress and suddenly you’re all classy?”
“Yep, that’s exactly how it is.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back when she got out of the car, as if he had to escort her inside, be the gentleman with her, even though nothing could ever have been further from the truth. It was obviously the dress, or perhaps a combination of that and his suit, and the fact they were outside Miller’s swanky house, but it was strange, they didn’t even hold hands normally, not in public, not even now they didn’t have to hide the relationship. It just wasn’t really them. They didn’t generally do any kind of public displays of affection, they were both just too used to having to pretend they didn’t even know each other. It was a welcome gesture though. Grey wasn’t exactly feeling relaxed about this party, about seeing all the people she’d worked below years ago and all the people Malcolm came home screaming about. The dress was seeming like an increasingly bad idea. She felt confident in her own clothes, right now she felt like she was pretending to be someone else, someone she didn’t really know how to be.
“You’re not gonna go wandering off and leave me to talk to these fuckwits on my own, are you?” she asked, hoping it sounded like a perfectly reasonable question, and not as if she was genuinely worried.
“You don’t want to catch up with Ollie?” he asked, with an evil glint in his eye. “I thought you’d be raring to see him again. Or you could tell Miller where he’s been going wrong with the party. I don’t know about you, but I could see how that’d be fun.”
“Malc.”
“You only said I had to be good, which just means you have take over the ranty, incredibly intelligent role.”
“We should really try to be civil. You’re not involved anymore.”
“Not professionally, no, but we can be concerned voters, can’t we?”
“We’re never getting invited to anything again,” she said shaking her head.
“I’m perfectly okay with this idea, aren’t you? You hate these people.”
“I hate all people.”
He paused just in front of Dan’s front door and kissed her gently, slightly worried about smudging her lipstick, not a worry he’d ever had before tonight. “Aye, and that’s why I’m with you.”
Grey’s eyes scanned the room for any familiar face, as she clutched her champagne. While she knew Malcolm didn’t want to talk to any of these people any more than she did she was fairly sure he wanted to have a word with Ollie. She missed Glenn, she found. She kept forgetting he wasn’t with the party anymore, that he wasn’t with any of the parties anymore. She tried not to think about that, it was the only thing she’d ever had a fight with Malcolm about. There was no Sam either, she’d left when Malcolm had. The only faces she recognised were Ollie, Dan and Ben Swain. Ben Swain?! How the hell had Ben Swain managed to keep his job? It was as if they wanted to lose the next election.
“They all look about ten,” Malcolm said quietly leaning closer to her, as he looked around the room. He was the oldest person here by a good ten years he was sure of it. “It’s like being at a kid’s fucking birthday party. Still least there’s booze,” he said, grabbing two more glasses from a passing waiter. “And here comes the fucking clown,” he said nodding in Ollie’s direction as he made his way over to them.
He already looked tired. Grey could remember watching Malcolm change over the years, how thin and grey he’d become so quickly. Ollie probably couldn’t get any thinner but the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept properly for weeks. He was smiling though, possibly because he was under the impression Malcolm would be a font of knowledge and advice for him, though Grey very much doubted that was about it happen.
He stopped a few feet away, his smile transforming into a look of utter confusion as he noticed Grey properly for the first time. He looked between Grey and Malcolm as if trying to make sense of the situation.
“You looking at my girl?” Malcolm asked with a smirk, his accent more Glaswegian than normal.
“Grey?” he said, as if he wasn’t entirely sure it was her. She looked like an adult, a proper, together, sophisticated woman, as opposed to the vague mess he often had to throw paper at to get her attention. “Malcolm force you to see a stylist? Now you‘re a proper, official couple?”
“It was Sam actually,” Grey admitted. “And it was my own choice.”
Malcolm made a mental note to call Sam tomorrow, thank her because while he only occasionally questioned Grey’s taste, he was fairly sure going dress shopping with her wasn’t a relaxing experience. “Anyway did you want something or did you just come to check out Grey’s dress, Gok Wan?”
“Just thought I’d come and say hello. See how you were doing. You’re looking well, the step back’s obviously agreed with you.”
“Aye, amazing what a full night’s sleep and not having to worry about the whole fucking country does for you. You look like a skeleton wearing an Ollie suit,” he smiled slightly. “Enjoying my job?”
“It’s not so bad,” Ollie lied.
“Wait til you’re in power.” Malcolm laughed and looked across at Dan. “What am I saying? You’ll never have to worry about that with that smarmy bastard as your leader.”
“He’s better that Nicola sodding Murray!” Ollie hissed.
“My left bollock’s better than Nicola Murray, and that’s not even the good one, is it, darling?” he asked glancing at Grey for support.
“Hangs a bit low,” she confirmed, taking a sip of champagne.
“You don’t fancy coming back do you?” Ollie asked, the words coming out suddenly, “As a special adviser. Less stress, better hours.”
Malcolm considered the offer for a moment than shook his head and slipped his arm around Grey’s waist. “No thanks. I’m enjoying my early retirement - no stress, amazing sex with Grey here. “ He twisted his head to kiss her temple. “We’ve waited long enough for this. You want my advice, Ollie? Find a better leader, get him all lined up to take over from Mister Forgettable and hope the public don’t make the mistake of voting Lib Dem next time.”
“Malcolm!” Ollie said, his voice close to pleading.
“Or you just get out,” he suggested. “You’re not tough enough for this job. You need someone that strikes fear into ministers’ hearts. I bet you couldn’t even scare a fucking five year old.”
They both watched as Ollie walked away, back in the throng of the party, to the shadow cabinet and the back benchers,
“Bit harsh?” Grey suggested.
Malcolm shrugged. “Boy needs to be told. Anyway It’s been an hour,” he said quietly into her ear, checking his watch for possibly the hundredth time.
Grey smirked and took another long drink of her champagne. She didn’t even like champagne, but it seemed to be all Miller had to offer and alcohol was alcohol, something she desperately needed in these surroundings, still at least she didn’t feel like she stood out too much, which was something. “Think there’s a spare room somewhere around here?” she asked.
Malcolm didn’t answer, instead he reached for her hand and pulled her out of the room, and up the stairs not even caring if anyone saw them. Opening the first door he got to he found a bedroom and pulled Grey inside with him. “This do you, darling?”
“I was just asking,” she said, placing her glass down on top of the wardrobe by the door.
“Bollocks you were,” he replied, shutting the door behind them and pulling her against him, hands moving quick and rough over the material of her dress.
“Think this is Miller’s bedroom?” she asked with a barely contained shudder at the very thought.
“If it is I reckon this is the most action it’s seen in a while.”
“What. just this?”
“I bet this room hasn’t seen sex in years, I’m not even convinced it’s seen a woman and I’d bet my fucking life it’s never seen a woman like you. So…what‘s going on under here?” he asked, his hand creeping across to the slit at the back of her skirt, fingers brushing against her bare leg.
“Find out.”
“Here?” His hand moved to the zip at the back of her neckline, taking hold of it delicately with two fingers.
“Why not? I don’t give a fuck about any of these people and it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’re never going back to this. Fuck it.” She couldn’t help but smile. They’d asked him to come back and he’d still said no. He’d chosen this new life, the one with her in it.
“I love you,” he murmured, as he pulled down the zip, fingers trailing after it as he watched her face very carefully. The moment he’d undone it enough he pushed it over her shoulders, as she took over, removing her arms from the sleeves with an endearing awkwardness that never failed to make him smile. With her arms free he pushed the dress down her body, revealing a dark green and black satin and lace bra. He swallowed thickly. Grey didn’t wear underwear like that, it was black cotton bras and boxer shorts, that was how it was and he didn’t care. It was strangely fitting, and what she wore couldn’t have mattered less, she always looked amazing and it was what was underneath that counted, and what was underneath was really quite something. Pressing his lips against her bare shoulder he closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure and continued to push the fabric down her body, crouching down in front of her to pull it down over her legs as it pooled at the floor around them. He shuffled back just a little to get a better look at her in nothing but her boots and underwear. He’d never seen her like this before, not in five years. The knickers were nothing skimpy, no thongs or anything like that. They were shorts, but they were tight against her skin, and they matched the bra and against her pale skin they just worked. She looked beyond perfect, like something out of a particularly upmarket lingerie catalogue.
“You’re not gonna have a stroke. are you?” she asked, looking down at him.
Malcolm couldn’t speak. Apparently that was the theme of the night. It was the surprise, the sight of her so completely different from how she normally was. It was almost like being with someone else, only it was still her - his Grey which was always good - he didn’t have to pretend to be something else with her, didn’t have to watch himself.
“You’re freaking me out now. You paid for this stuff by the way. I can‘t fucking believe how much sexy underwear costs, I mean what‘s the fucking point? Are men that fucking shallow?”
“Stop talking,” he said, standing up, his eyes still drifting over her body, at her standing there in what was indeed very sexy underwear. He didn’t care what it had cost him. What ever it was it felt more than reasonable. But she was dangerously close to spoiling it. He wasn’t that shallow, but he didn’t want to hear her diatribe about the cost of women’s underwear right now, he just wanted to appreciate it, to be able to touch her. He didn’t want her angry and ranting, not right now.
“’Scuse me?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s only money. I don’t need money. This, this I need,” he said, his fingers skimming over her bra.
Grey took a step backwards, suddenly offended. Five years they’d been together but this was what he needed? Her all dolled up? All girly, playing a role? This wasn’t who she was, not really and he knew that surely?
Malcolm winced, aware of how badly that had come out. “I just meant…” he trailed off, no idea how to put it. “You, semi naked, close. I don’t care what you’re wearing, you know that, don’t you?”
“I did.” Once again she regretted her choices for the evening. It would have been so much more simple if she’d gone with the suit, fuck everyone else. Because if she cared little enough to be willing to fuck Malcolm in what was possibly Dan Miller’s bedroom with a party full of Labour’s leading lights why the fuck should she care about having their relationship dissected if photos of her got out? It didn’t matter, it really didn’t.
“Grey,” he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. “You, are perfect, always. I just…I’d want you just as much in boxers. It’s novelty, that’s all. Something new and I’m sorry, but my god you look incredible, and the underwear…” he felt slightly ashamed of himself for being so turned on by it, but it was only because it was her. “You decided to buy these, to put them on. You didn’t have to. I didn’t ask you to. I didn‘t even want you to, darling.”
“I know,” she said. And she’d wanted this reaction, him speechless and unable to take his eyes off her and he was right she’d made all these choices to wear these clothes, to be more feminine than she’d been in her whole life.
“So why did you?” he asked quietly.
“I wanted to know what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?”
She moved away, stepping out of the dress at her feet, back to the other side of the room, to her champagne. She wished she’d never said anything, she wished he’d never said anything. If he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut they’d have been fucking against the wall of this bedroom by now, but here she was, on the other side of the room to him, in nothing but her eye wateringly expensive underwear.
“Fucks sake, Grey,” he grumbled, stalking across the room over to her. “You can tell me, whatever the fuck it is.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, yeah?”
“You’re gonna think I’m a cunt.”
“I already think you’re a cunt, darling, doesn’t stop me being in love with you,” he said with a shrug. The feeling was mutual, and she couldn’t deny that.
“Yeah okay fair point but-”
“Don’t fucking start with the buts, come on, just spit it out.”
“I wanted to know what it was like to feel pretty!” she spat at him.
“Pretty?” Malcolm repeated, a particularly confused look on his face. Pretty was such a small word. Not one that fitted her at all. “Why the fuck would you want to downgrade, darling?”
“Malcolm,” she replied, a tiny smile across her lips when she finally looked up at him.
“What?”
“Don’t be lovely, it confuses me.”
“Oi!,” he hissed pointing his finger at her, “watch who you call lovely, darling or I’ll show you who’s fucking lovely!”
That was better, that was so much better, she couldn’t quite remember why she’d been so nervous now. “Yeah? And what are you going to do?”
“What am I gonna do? I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go down stairs, back to that fucking dull as shite party and suggest they all follow me upstairs to see the full fucking glory of you in your fucking fancy fucking knickers.”
Oh fuck. It was like being back at DoSAC, when him coming in to bollock Hugh was the highlight of her week. It had always done something to her, even when it was turned on her in the bedroom because somehow he just knew. The thing was she loved him - Malcolm Tucker, every part of him, and it was rare he was like this nowadays, because everything had settled and he no longer came home vibrating with rage. And she’d missed it. Really, really missed it. And here, now, with her all…feminine and him all alpha male it just seemed all too perfect.
His arms closed round her the moment she moved forward, as if he’d been expecting this reaction, which he probably had. Their lips met automatically as they kissed bruisingly hard, all teeth and tongue and lips, and hands exploring each other’s bodies desperately, Grey’s hands clutching at the fabric of his dinner jacket. He had too many clothes on, it was completely unfair really. She wanted the heat of his skin, the feel of it beneath her fingers.
“There’s something seriously fucking wrong with you,” he said as he pulled away breathlessly, hands trailing down to pull off her knickers roughly, casting them aside as he turned his attention to his flies, releasing himself, as he pushed her up against the nearest wall before angling himself against her and thrusting upwards without any kind of foreplay, unless you counted his threata, which he kind of did. He knew her well enough though, he knew from her touches and the way she’d kissed him that she was ready and he wasn’t disappointed. Moving one hand into her hair he fucked her rough and hard, as she slipped one leg around his waist, opening herself up for him.
“I should shout them now,” he said, leaning in to bite her neck. “Let Ollie see how a real man fucks.”
Grey moaned, the muscles between her legs tightening around him at the idea.
“Would you like that, darling?” he continued though his words were strained, “someone watching us? Someone learning from us?”
“Malc,” was all she could say. She knew he wouldn’t. She knew she didn’t want that, not really but the idea, the thought…
“Aye, just what I thought.” He laughed close to her ear, “such a fucking exhibitionist. Oh yeah you can look as sophisticated as you like, darling, but we both know what you’re like, don’t we? Fucking gagging for it.” He tugged at her hair, his fingers pressing harshly against her flesh as he came with a grunt, leaning against her to hold himself up. He kissed her again, crushingly hard as he pulled out and stepped away, looking at her as he caught his breath.
“Put your knickers back on, darling,” he said, crouching to pick them up. “Don’t want you leaving a trail when we go back down.”
“Go back down?” she repeated, slipping into her knickers then moving over to where her dress was and wriggling back into it, still feeling a little shaky.
“What did you think was happening now?”
“I thought we were going home.”
Malcolm grinned at her, reaching over to straighten her hair. “Nah, I thought we’d go back down, I’m not nearly as distracted as I was, funny that, isn’t it?”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No, that’s what we just did, darling. Might want to fix your make-up though, you‘re looking decidedly smudged.”
“I didn’t even…you didn’t make me come!”
“Aye well there’s time for that later, come on, lets see if I can made Ollie cry.”