iskytheisk (iskytheisk) wrote in __sebastian,
iskytheisk
iskytheisk
__sebastian

Another tentative effort

Me again, howdy! I would apologise for taking over the wall of this comm, but since I seem to be one of only three people still interested, it's perhaps not THAT big a faux-pas. Sort of like my own fiction forum, lol! Join me, please join me, I'm writing Sebastian/Michael out of a desperate need to fill the void, but it's no fun reading your OWN stories, you already know what's going to happen! ;)

Anyhoo, here's a start of that angsty plot bunny I was talking about a few posts ago, first chapter of maybe three of four, depending on how it works out.  It's not what I would call 'polished' and there are things about it I'm not happy with too sure about, but please read and comment, feedback is what gets me out of bed in the morning and tucks me in at night!

Title: Conference (1 of ?)
Pairing: Sebastian/Michael
Rating: PG-13 
Coda to the Party Conference Speech-writing, hotel-room scene.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody, this is a work of fiction!

“Be gentle with me, Prime Minister.”

Sebastian.  Was in his bed.  Naked. And patting.  The interminably dull speech writing session; the prospect of standing in front of the most important people in his party; the awkward questions he knew he would get from the press on certain tricky policies; remembering his rusty Japanese at two a.m.; these Michael could handle. 

This, he could not.

 

He was tired, and nervous, and irritable and very slightly drunk. And he did not have time or energy for Sebastian’s stupid – pranks.

Crush

a little voice echoed inside his pounding head,

love

another, even more subdued, added.  Michael ignored them.  His raised eyebrows descended.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The PM used his best commons voice, calm, stern, commanding, demanding of an answer.  Not too angry, or too shocked, for either would show more emotion than the opposition should be granted.  And right now, Sebastian was opposition.

 

His answer was an innocent raising of his aide’s eyebrows, “Doing?”

“In my bed?”

Okay, perhaps a little of his surprised anger was seeping through, but surely that was to be expected.

“Going to bed, prime minister.  Are you coming?”

Oh God, innuendo at bedtime. 

 

Michael was equal to this.  He had faced down hostile Middle Eastern leaders, hell, he had gone head to head with a gun-happy President of the United States.  He could handle this.

“Not with you in it!”

Well that wasn’t quite how he had intended that to come out.  And why would he eyes not stop drifting along the dark line of hair clinging to Sebastian’s chest and stomach and leading…down, to an area thankfully hidden by covers and shadows.

 

“Oh, well,” and why, exactly was the younger man not put off by his superior’s obvious displeasure? Why was a cheeky,

sexy

smirk playing around his generous lips?

Oh.

 

Because apparently he was taking the PM at his word, and getting out of the bed.  Naked. 

So now, instead of a semi-naked aide in his bed, Michael had a fully nude one standing beside it.  And Sebastian was…big.  Not that, the area Michael was getting a crick in his neck to avoid looking at, being, as he was, on eye level with Sebastian’s

groi- cro- thi-

upper legs.  No, Sebastian was just big.  Tall, broad, large.  He had always filled his suits out well but,

oh Christ and where did that come from?!

Michael had never registered how much room the man took up.  How much of a presence he had. 

 

Perhaps it was because Michael was now at a level

still not looking

below Sebastian, or perhaps it had something to do with the way the other man stood so gracefully, so casually, beside Michael’s bed.  As though being naked did not make him vulnerable, but proud, strong, beautiful.

 

“Is this better?” 

In a suit, at work, Sebastian was, to be honest, somewhat of a joke.  With his constant attempts to touch the Prime Minister, his desperate need for regard, in both Michael’s eyes and his estimation.  

Out of it, he was powerful and much, much stronger than Michael. 

 

So when his “Not really,” come out a little hoarse, a little strained, the Prime Minister was not too surprised.

Sebastian, apparently, was. 

His eyes widened at the PM’s tone, and the area that Michael was still studiously avoiding glancing at…stirred.

 

“How about this?” Sebastian asked in a soft, enticing voice, and began to walk slowly toward the armchair.  The closer he got, the more difficult it became, perspective being what it was, not to look.  So when he was still a few feet away, Michael turned around and stared forward, his back to Sebastian who may or may not have still been approaching, the sound of his bare feet engulfed in the expensive carpet.

 

“Seb–” Michael started to say, but was silenced by a hand gripping his shoulder from behind, and a warm shadow cast across him in the dim room.

“Shhhh,” Sebastian’s voice was almost inaudible, “don’t cheapen this.”

Oh for fucks sake!

 

Michael rose quickly to his feet, steeled himself and turned on the spot to face Sebastian, whipping off his glasses in the process.  Aware that he still had to look up to see the other man’s face, Michael let himself finally say what he had wanted to for a long, long time.

 

“Sebastian, I repeat, what the hell do you think you’re doing?  You are my aide, not my lover, not my boyfriend and not my husband.  I tolerate your constant pawing, your pathetic attempts to touch me or get me naked, your needy demands for attention, for approval.  Your dislike of Sarah, or of any other person who I seem to show a modicum of interest in, your mincing around the place, your interruptions of my state-of-the-nation meetings, your…bloody…hair.  I tolerate all this because you are good at your job, or you used to be, and I actually like you.  But there are lines, Sebastian.   I am the Prime Minister of England, appointed by the people and Her Majesty the Queen, and you are my Aide.  And you have just crossed one of those lines.  Now I need you to leave.  Now.”

 

That.  Might have been a touch too much, Michael. 

 

And Sebastian was no a longer tall and confident sexual being, he was now only a naked man trying very hard not to cry.  He didn’t even say anything, just turned away, retrieved and clumsily slid his way back into his robe which he drew together so tightly that the belt dug into his flesh and gave him an incongruous hourglass figure, and turned for the door.

Leaving Michael feeling like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe.

“S – Sebastian –” he tried, unsure whether he wanted his aide to stop or to simply ignore him.

 

Sebastian stopped and turned back a little.  Tears in his eyes – just like election night, and Michael found himself just as hopeless a bastard as he had been on that occasion.

“I’m sorry Prime Minister,” his voice once more high and loud, not the intimate whisper of a second earlier, “I’ve kept you up late the night before your important speech.  I’ll just go and let you get some rest.”

Pretending nothing had happened was one response Michael had never expected from his flamboyant, extreme but never apologetic aide.  A response he hardly knew how to deal with any better than he had dealt with any of this.  In the end, he followed Sebastian’s lead.

 

“No no, that’s fine, Sebastian.  Uh – you get some sleep too.”

 

And then Sebastian left, quietly, leaving Michael with a sore head, a cooling bed and a neat pile of clothes on the bathroom floor.


 
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