Fic Post! Woo!

[secretshipper]

Title: Coventry Isn't Just A Geographical Location
Author: Elizabeth Winters
Pairing: Clameron
Rating: R
Synopsis: What did happen after Nick and David stopped the joint appearances? Probably nothing like this.
Author's note: This is high on my list of 'I can't believe I wrote that' so I'm going to hide in the corner now. Kthaxbai.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Didn't really happen and is unlikely to.



David had the distinct feeling that Nick was avoiding him and, what's more, he found the thought that it might be true a little hurtful, though he could not quite pin down why. It left him feeling oddly unsettled that Nick had apparently decided that the advice of him toning down public appearances with David had somehow extended to his not sitting in the House when David was speaking.

It wasn't as though Nick needed to be there, but David had grown steadily used to the presence of his Deputy at his back, or at his side when they spoke together, and there was a certain amount of discomfort now that it was lacking; a lingering feeling of something like anxiety - what if this continued for the next four years?

That was not what most troubled him though; whatever the PR gurus had said, this felt personal, somehow. As though Nick had been waiting for an excuse to disengage from their previously close relationship. David had thought they were friends, although maintaining that friendship was often difficult, given the circumstances, but David found it rewarding enough to put in some extra effort when it was needed, which it frequently was.

When he fired off a short text message asking Nick when he would be back in London and did not immediately receive a response, David began to worry in earnest; that was not usual - but perhaps Nick was too busy to reply at the moment. Not wanting to sit around waiting for Nick to get back to him - that would be a strange thing to do - David got to work on the stack of papers and policies on his desk.

It was some two hours later when Nick finally replied; a brief message about being busy and did David want something specific? With a frown marring his features, David wrote that he didn't, and added some friendly banter about not needing a reason to talk to his Deputy, he was Prime Minister after all. After about a minute, the reply pinged its way onto his phone.

OK, talk to you tomorrow.

No return banter. That was definitely unusual as Nick was prone to ramble in text messages, often sending David witty remarks and jokes; their back-and-forth digital conversations bordered ever so slightly on sarcastic jibes, but there was no true malice in it, at least, not on David's part. Perhaps there was on Nick's?

For God's sake, snap out of it man, he's just busy, David told himself, settling back to his work and trying not to be distracted at Nick's seemingly cold reaction to his messages. It took some effort, but David managed to push the thought to the back of his mind, though he did not manage to forget about it completely.

__________

During the course of the week, the feeling of paranoia only grew larger and more insistent. Nick continued to answer David's message with brief replies that screamed of courtesy more than any real desire to actually talk, and David was beginning to feel ever so slightly upset - had he done something to warrant this? He did not think he had, but perhaps he had said something to cause Nick to act in this way.

Prime Minister's Questions had not gone as well as he wanted, and it was mostly (entirely) due to his distraction at Nick not being there for the second week in a row. Of course, Nick did have to attend the Local Government Association conference, it could not be avoided, but the lack of the familiar presence at his side filled David with a sense of uneasiness. Miliband was on good form, and with David so occupied by the lack of his Deputy, the opposition leader managed to get the upper hand a few times.

It just was not on, David decided. PR aside, it was no good for the Prime Minister to be so disturbed that Labour made sense - not that they made sense to David, it was the voting public that concerned him - and damn it all to hell, why was he so bothered by Nick's distant manner? Evidently it was much more than a PR exercise, since that was meant to be public appearances not private relationship; unless Nick thought that the News of the World might get up to its old tricks? Was it possible to hack text messages?

David was startled at the prospect of their conversations being splashed across the front pages. To anyone who did not know them, it would seem as though they hated each other, since they had fallen into a habit of sometimes addressing each other as smug Tory git and soft Liberal twit, among other not-so-subtle insults. They had never been serious, more marks of their differences; monikers of friendship, and affection.

Affection?

What? No!

Not affection, not at all , David thought, realising suddenly that his palms were sweaty. Well, he had to admit that he found a certain Nick “30 women” Clegg attractive; had admitted it from the off, but that did not mean he wanted to... David gulped, mouth suddenly dry as an image of exactly what he did not want to do sprung to life in his head with far too much clarity for something that had never been considered before. Like a deer caught in headlights, David sat in stunned silence. Was it possible that he wanted to fuck his Deputy? His mind certainly seemed to think so, and was currently expounding the idea with considerable stretches of under-worked and over-confident imagination that set David's face to blushing. Other parts of his anatomy reacted in an entirely different way.

It was at that moment, just as David was considering the implications of opening his trousers, that a text message arrived.

You seemed off your game at PMQs today. Hope everything is all right?

It was unexpected, the cautious, worried tone of the message; surprising if only because for the past five days Nick had shown not a single sign that he cared about David - had been showing quite the opposite. How to reply? 'I was distracted because you weren't there, and I've just realised I'd quite like to shag you' was not something you should ever have to contemplate sending to your very male, very married colleague, even if said colleague had a mundane job instead of being Deputy Prime Minister.

Not my best day, I agree. Everything is fine though. How are you? was what David actually sent, feeling slightly calmer for the normality; the act of having to concentrate to type had thankfully stopped his mind descending to the gutter, or rather, it had stopped it remaining there.

Tories never did make good liars. What's up?

An unfortunate choice of words, given the current situation, but Nick was hardly to know that David was rock hard in his trousers at the present moment, or that the cause had been himself. I guess I was a little distracted, can't quite get used to you not being there. It was honest, even if it did not explain the new-found reason for his lack of focus; David was not sure anything could explain that.

This just in: Tories apparently have feelings. News at eleven! ;) I hope you're not going to drag out the marriage metaphors again, this isn't a lovers' tiff. And fair's fair, you are the one who keeps sending me overseas.

I'm sure I'd get a laugh in the commons if I professed that I miss having a certain 'ardent europhile' warming my sheets. David sent back quickly. Jesus, was he actually flirting?

You probably would, but the only way I'd ever warm your sheets would be for PR. If that would convince you. ;)

Sexual favours for policy? I'll remember that in future, you daft Liberal twit. David replied, attempting to return the conversation to a more mundane level, uncomfortable at Nick's apparent willingness to flirt back, shamelessly in David's opinion. Were their exchanged messages always this overtly sexual, or had that been a recent development?

In that case, I'll argue my case with my mouth and, just so we're clear, it won't be anywhere near your cock when I do.

The message did not have the intended effect, because David was left with the combination of 'mouth' and 'cock'. Fuck.

Thought you would have been used to coming last by now, it is your habitual position. That was needlessly cruel, but David suddenly wanted Nick to be angry with him and stop sending him messages; he was rapidly approaching a state of desperate arousal, and could not even begin to process the knowledge that it was over Nick Clegg, of all people.

Fucking low, Dave; I'm impressed. They give you lessons? Or are you just annoyed I won't get on my knees for you?

Of course he should have realised that the ploy would not work, Nick was more than capable of holding his own in their arguments - and must everything have some kind of double meaning now? The latter question was far too accurate for David's liking, and all the talk of warming sheets and Nick on his knees - or apparently not on his knees, perhaps David would... enough of that! - was getting to him more than he cared to admit. Glad to know I impress you. Don't you know that sarcasm comes with the territory?

Don't get used to it, it won't last long. And the sarcasm is not usually this bad, you must be having a blindingly crap day.

That was certainly ... true? David could not decide if his day was crap or not, on the one hand he had struggled through his questions, and on the other he was struggling with the knowledge that he fancied his coalition partner. The former had been annoying, but the latter, with the accompanying reactions of his sensitised body, was turning out to be more than a little enjoyable. It's not that bad, I just like winding you up.

As if. I'm practically yawning my way through your taunts; you'll have to try harder. You get an A for effort for the 'coming last' though, because I certainly would. I'd make a point of it. ;)

David dropped his phone.

When David retrieved the fallen blackberry his hands were shaking. He read the message again, and then a third time. There could be no mistaking the implication. Nick “30 women” Clegg had apparently decided that he wanted to add a man to the count, and David had the distinct impression that he would not be the first, not that he was seriously considering the idea, not at all. He decided to resort to sarcasm, since it was familiar, and might stop what was happening. Very funny Clegg, but not everyone jumps into bed at every opportunity. How many women was it again? David typed. He could practically see the smirk on Nick's face when the reply came.

Envious of my conquests, or just jealous you aren't one of them?

Christ, was there nothing Nick could not find an answer for? David was struggling for the upper hand and could not quite reach it. He was relieved when a second message arrived a mere thirty seconds after the first. Have to go do some actual work now. We'll talk about this later?

Later. David agreed. The question seemed to indicate some hesitation on Nick's part, which was reassuring to David, after the startling events of both his own realisation and the heavily flirty text messages. Although on reading some of their past conversations, David saw that they had always held a degree of teasing that bordered on sexual, just not to this extent. Had he been unconsciously making advances all these months?

More importantly, now that he knew, and Nick apparently felt the same, what was he going to do about it?

__________

Except 'later' never came, and the next time David saw Nick it was all smiles, short handshakes, and breezy professionalism. That they had shared a conversation that verged on pornographic earlier in the week was never mentioned and the hour they spent together disappeared amid policy and political talk. But now David felt uncomfortable; he was aware of every move Nick made, every lilt of his voice and casual touch of his hands. They had all been there before but David had never paid attention, now he could not do otherwise. David found himself wondering why he had never noticed, because the gestures were not entirely on Nick's side, he was responding with casual touches of his own; had been since the beginning.

No wonder the press was acting as though they were married - they never stopped touching each other! And it wasn't playing up their friendship for the cameras - although they did that sometimes - here, alone, in David's office, there were no cameras to play up to, so David was at a loss to explain why he found his hand resting on Nick's arm for the fourth time since he had entered the room, or why the handshake when the meeting finished lingered just a fraction too long.

It was an hour later when the first text arrived, and somehow David knew it would be from Nick before he picked up his phone. When are you leaving for Afghanistan?

Sunday night, I think. Why?

We should probably talk before you go. came the reply, and David felt frustrated.

They had spent an hour with each other and Nick had not once mentioned it, why was he doing so now? Maybe broaching the subject by text message made it easier to deal with? David had to admit that the thought of talking about it face-to-face filled him with nervousness. Why don't we talk about it now?

I can't, I have a meeting.

David put his head in his hands, exasperated; he rubbed his eyes and then typed: Why did you even mention it if you knew you were busy?

Gee, someone's eager. ;)

Eager? That's rich coming from you, Clegg. I'm not the one who started this. David fiddled idly with the silk of his tie while he waited.

Actually, Cameron, yes it was you. At least I've never fucking embarrassed you in the commons by suggesting we are sleeping with each other.

It was a joke. David shot back quickly, startled by Nick's admission that the comment during the Queen's Speech debate at the beginning of the coalition had been embarrassing; nothing had been said at the time. This seemed to be devolving into a rather bizarre argument by text.

It does not help, not at all, and it's worse that we actually want to.

Who said I did? David sent, panicking slightly.

Come on David, don't be obtuse. You've been flinging yourself at me from day one. You must have noticed; everyone else has. Why do you think PR pulled the plug on joint appearances?

That threw him, because he honestly had not noticed until a few days ago, although it was becoming clear to him that he had been giving the impression of wanting to sleep with Nick since they had agreed to the coalition. He did not know what to say.

Look, I don't want to press you, David, and I have my meeting in five, but we really do need to talk. Maybe on Wednesday after PMQs?

Fine, come to my office. We'll talk then.

Except that never happened either; David was kept in the house making a statement on Afghanistan and Nick was too busy by the time David was finished. Thinking he would text Nick to rearrange their meeting, David pulled out his phone.

__________

David had no idea what had just happened. That was not strictly true of course, he knew full well what had happened, he just could not figure out how his text to Nick asking if he had some time tomorrow to talk had ended up as twenty minutes of messages and the need for a clean pair of trousers. They had arranged to meet in the morning, but then out of nowhere, four words had abruptly shifted the conversation.

So, are you alone?

He would have to delete those messages. If he ever lost his phone there would be no way to even attempt to explain them as something other than blatantly pornographic. Damn, Nick was not very subtle - was not subtle at all - although in all fairness, David had been a little blunt himself, once he had got over his nervousness.

Are you imagining it's my hand?

Yes, he had been, and he had told Nick as much; more if the truth be known. In all the scenarios David had in his mind of how Nick and he would go about dealing with this attraction between them, David had never considered being seduced by text message a likely thing. What a strange way to deal with the problem, surely this would only make things more awkward when they finally did talk about it in the morning, or would there be less tension since they had already got some of it out of their systems?

That would be the case if it were true, because far from getting it out of his system, the previous twenty minutes had somehow worked it further in, gave it that much tighter a hold over him. Not only was he suddenly in over his head, he also wanted more than just a text message, he wanted the real thing.

__________

Their early morning meeting was interrupted by other people and taken up by the furore surrounding the News of the World scandal. Then Nick had to catch the Eurostar to Paris. He had cast David an apologetic glance before leaving, gesturing with his hands; a visual, sorry, it can't be helped.

David's day was taken up with statements, and on the other side of the channel, Nick was doing the same, stating his position on the whole business with his usual strong language and hand gestures. Watching the short statement later on the BBC website, David could think of nothing but how he wanted those hands on his body, touching and teasing, and he had to calm himself before he went to his next meeting.

Finding a moment alone in his office, David checked his phone for messages; none from Nick, but he was bound to be busy, his trip to Paris would only last eight hours. David felt suddenly nervous, if they did not talk about things tomorrow, there would be no opportunity to do so until Monday, and he did not think that he could stand a whole weekend worrying about how the conversation would go. What were they going to do, after all? It was ludicrous to even entertain the suggestion that they would actually act on the attraction, even though they already had in a way, during their text messages yesterday afternoon.

Anxiously, David typed a message to Nick. Will I see you tomorrow? Fuck, that sounded needy, so David quickly added: We need to talk.

I can meet you this evening when I get back, if you're free?

Six o'clock okay? David sent back quickly, already mentally re-arranging meetings so he would be free.

Eight o'clock would be better.

David thought for a moment before sending: Okay. I'll see you then. The late hour was troublesome, but did not need him to shift meetings in order to make it, and on reflection it was probably better that he had nothing to do afterwards, as he could not imagine the discussion being an easy one; not that any of their talks were ever that easy, but this would be much more difficult than most. The differences in policy were par for the course, this was far, far beyond anything they had ever fought about, and David thought that it would be the most difficult thing he would ever have to say to Nick.

What was he going to say anyway? Vague ideas floated around his head, circling words and phrases like 'can never happen' and 'would be a mistake', but some part of David was aware that those words, if he actually spoke them, would not be what he truly wanted. It would be terribly difficult to work with Nick and ignore the desire to reach out his hand and...

Enough, David thought. There was no point dwelling on things, and whatever was going to come of it, even if it was nothing, he would know by nightfall.

__________

David jumped at the knock on his door, even though he had been expecting it. Nick was nothing if not punctual, and a cursory glance at the wall clock showed it to be seven fifty-nine.

“Come in,” David said in a loud voice, settling his roaring thoughts as Nick opened the door and stepped into the room, he looked about as nervous as David felt, biting absently on his lower lip. At first, neither of them said anything. Nick crossed the room and sat down carefully in one of the more comfortable chairs. Silence reigned.

When they did speak, they both began at the same moment.

“How was your-”

“Was Paris-”

David laughed nervously, and Nick smiled at him a little awkwardly, biting his lip again.

“You first,” David said.

“I just wondered how your press conference went?” Nick asked, glancing around the room, seemingly avoiding meeting David's eyes.

“It went fine,” David answered, frowning. They were not supposed to be talking shop, but maybe this was an ice-breaker of some kind. “How was Paris?”

“Busy,” Nicks said, then fell silent again.

Feeling positively awkward, David glanced down at his desk. How were they going to talk about it when Nick wouldn't even look at him? He fidgeted in his chair and stared down at his desk with an unfocussed gaze.

The silence stretched.

When he looked up, Nick was glancing at him through lowered lashes, face a mixture of hesitance and yearning. David could tell that Nick did want to talk, but could not find the courage to say the words; neither of them could. Breaking the eye contact, as Nick lowered his head again, David picked up his phone. If they could not talk about it out loud, perhaps they could like this...

But suddenly David did not know what to say, he did not want to have the serious discussion he knew had to follow with Nick sitting silently in the same room, and he was at a loss to untangle the jumble of thoughts and feelings that were spinning around in his mind. This was hopeless. He could not deny his feelings, and something had to be done so they would be able to speak to each other again without the awful, uncomfortable silence that currently surrounded them. Falling back on habit, David settled for sarcasm, and allowed his fingers to type what his mouth could not say.

Cat got your tongue, Clegg? Or are you incapable of seducing me in person? David watched as Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket. Reading the message, Nick's gaze flicked up to David for a second, and the tremor of something close to a smile appeared on his face.

Challenge accepted.

Smirking, Nick typed into his phone, and a few seconds later the reply popped up on David's screen. Oh is that what I've been doing? And here I thought I was just making conversation.

David sat down at his desk, a full three feet away from Nick. Conversation... do you speak to everyone like that? Casting a furtive glance at his Deputy, David could see Nick was grinning; fingers already working.

Not everyone, just a certain uptight Tory who sends me dirty text messages and wants me to warm his sheets.

Burying a snigger with his hand, David wrote: Why so coy today? Don't you want to admit you would get on your knees for me?

I'll concede the point if you admit that you want me to fuck you over your desk.

A muffled laugh sounded in response to David's groan. Bastard, David thought, you're not going to win this one. His fingers flew over the keys. So what the fuck are you waiting for? A gold plated invitation?

Awfully close to begging, Dave, but not quite close enough. Tell me what you want. In detail. David was about to respond when another message arrived. Not there. Take your phone and lie face down on the settee.

The way Nick was looking at him when he raised his head was enough to have David on his feet in seconds, he crossed the room and slid down onto the settee, stretching himself out, propped up on his elbows so he could still use his phone. What now?

Now tell me.

David was suddenly breathing hard. The last time they'd had a conversation like this, Nick had not been in the same room, and the way David was positioned he could not see Nick, but he could hear Nick's breath matching his own in pace. The air seemed to crackle around them with terrific tension; an ocean of space between them, for all that they were only a few feet apart. Trembling with anticipation, David began. I want you to touch me, strip me of my tie and press your body against my back. I can feel you against me, already hard, and I push up beneath you.

Behind him, Nick shifted in his chair; the soft swish of material brushing against his seat. You feel good. I want to run my hands down your back, take off your shirt.

I've wanted this so long. Kiss the back of my neck, the top of my spine? David's fingers were starting to tremble and it took a great deal of effort to make sure the message was not garbled nonsense. The reply was instant.

Your shoulders, your back. Anywhere you want, David.

David groaned and let his head fall onto the cushions. Yes, he wanted that, he wanted all of that and more. He could barely focus on his phone as he replied. Everywhere. Put your hands on me. Nick, I'm so hard.

I know. I'm watching you. Keep going.

Oh fuck! David thought, somehow it had not occurred to him that Nick might have turned around, might be looking at him as he squirmed with desire. He wanted Nick to do more than look. I can't. I need you to touch me. Please?

I am. You're crushed underneath me; I'm going to fuck you, David.

Burying an embarrassingly long moan in the material of the cushion cover, David shivered. Yes! Please, I want you to. he typed, swallowing hard, his throat dry.

Say my name, David; scream it. Beg for me.

Please Nick, fuck me. The reply sent, David waited what seemed an eternity for the Nick's response, and when it came, it was not what he had expected, but everything he wanted.

Say it out loud, David. I want to hear you.

Letting the phone fall from his grasp, David clenched his hands and thrust his face into the cushion for a second. Then, lifting his head, he moaned, “N-Nii-”

The rest of the word was swallowed by Nick's mouth.

__________

When David blinked his eyes open sleepily, he found himself on the settee covered in a soft, fleece blanket. Though it was tempting to curl down and return to sleep, David resisted, puzzled about where the blanket had come from and where Nick had gone to. He glanced around his office and spied Nick in one of the chairs, quietly working on something, shirt on but not properly fastened. “Thanks for the blanket,” David yawned.

“You're welcome,” Nick replied, looking up from his work and smiling. “Couldn't leave you lying there naked, would have been very distracting.”

“Hm, well you could have woken me. Where did you get this anyway?” David asked, gesturing to the blanket that covered his body.

“My office.” David did not ask why Nick had a blanket in his office, though the revelation was oddly troubling; did Nick sleep there? How often? and why?

“I should be grateful it's green and not yellow then,” David remarked, stretching his limbs and turning on his side for comfort.

“If I'd thought of it, it would have been. The look on your face would have been priceless,” Nick chuckled. He tossed his papers onto the table and walked over, settling himself next to David. “I would have taken pictures.”

“Bloody Liberals,” David muttered.

“Charming, and here's me being all nice to you, fetching you blankets. Ungrateful Tory twit,” Nick retorted, still smiling.

“Hmm,” David clucked, “well you didn't have the decency to fuck me senseless in my office, in spite of a certain text saying you would.”

Nick raised his eyebrows in mock offence. “If you,” he said, poking David playfully in the ribs, “had the decency to stay awake, I might have. Do all Tories tire so easily?”

“Yes, well-” David shook his head and gave up. There was no way he would ever best Nick in this kind of contest, so he settled for pulling Nick forward and kissing him, vaguely wondering if he could somehow make a kiss sarcastic and feeling laughter bubbling within him at the thought. Oh yes, if the feat could be achieved, he would definitely give Nick many, many sarcastic kisses, although he had a feeling Nick would probably up the ante and return them with passionate scorn.

“Oh, it's funny now is it?” Nick asked, pulling away from the kiss; scowling as David laughed silently. “Hmm, since you find it so amusing, perhaps I should get back to work.”

Freeing a hand from beneath the blanket and grabbing hold of Nick, David sobered himself. “Don't you bloody well dare,” he muttered gruffly, crushing his lips back against Nick's and hauling him closer, feeling the long line of Nick's body through the gentle nap of fleece.

Deciding that Nick was wearing altogether too many items of clothing, David set his fingers to the task of unfastening buttons, managing to undo nearly all of them before Nick stopped him, placing his hand on top of David's and breathing quietly, “We should probably stop before we get carried away. Again.”

“Oh,” David said, feeling confused until Nick added:

“It's nearly ten o'clock.”

Oh, David thought, not saying it out loud this time. It was late. David contemplated inviting Nick to spend the night, but thought better of it; they were still political rivals, after all, and Nick staying the night would only add more damaging headlines to the papers, which were bad enough already.

“Besides,” Nick said in a low voice, “I'd prefer to actually warm your sheets, the first time at least. This sofa is not very comfortable.”

David nodded, smiling back at Nick then. Yes, he would prefer that, too. If they were going to do this at all - and it appeared that they were - then it should be something better than a quick half-hour in the office.

“Get off me and let me get dressed then,” David said, trying to sound gruff but not quite managing. Nick kissed him one more time and then clambered to his feet.

“I'll-” Nick chuckled quite unexpectedly after the word, “I'll text you in the morning.”

__________

You're late.

David glanced at his phone in irritation, not at the message, or the sender of the message, but at the traffic that he had become unexpectedly caught in on his way to Chequers. Taking advantage of recess so they could get away had been Nick's idea, one that David had agreed to without hesitation. Huffing with frustration as his progress was once again halted by the car in front, David picked up his phone and typed: Stuck in traffic. I'm coming.

It took only seconds for the reply to arrive. Not yet, but when you get here maybe. ;)

You had better be naked in bed when I get there. David wrote, clicking send and chucking his phone back to the passenger seat; putting the car into gear again.

Already am. You're missing all the fun.

David chuckled and typed a swift reply. I'll be there in twenty, don't get too carried away. He felt pleased as the cars ahead of him started to move at a steadier speed, and could only glance down at his phone when Nick replied:

Good job I got rid of the staff an hour ago then. See you soon.

As he steered the car down the turning toward Ellesborough, David thought to himself, This weekend is going to be fucking great. Then he settled the car into fourth and sped up the road.