Revolutionaries wait For my head on a silver plate Just a puppet on a lonely string Oh who would ever want to be king?

[Alastair Gordon]

Why was it that he was at these damned things?

Oh, yes. 'Work'. Alastair had to act like he actually cared, when in fact, he didn't. He had to dress up in a suit, he had to look presentable, he had to show up and smile and act like he didn't want to pull all of these smug bastards out of their places by force. But because he was a politician, he was quite good at the smiling and the socializing. He had to do it.

His lucky bitch of a wife wasn't here. Catriona pleaded some indisposition (probably because she didn't want to come face to face with the royal family), and so Alastair forced himself to go alone. He had no one to talk to, no one to berate, no one to complain at. Because the damned Sulgraves and their posse, the members of the House of Lords, these people in some elevated station just because of the family they were born into, he hadn't worn a bow-tie, he hadn't shaved, and he had been tempted to not even comb his hair. Looking presentable was the last thing on his mind. Looking presentable showed you gave a damn. He didn't and he didn't care much about that, either. A few days' growth of stubble and a blatant disregard for the white tie dress code wouldn't kill anyone. Well, maybe it would. One of those prissy bitches. Good riddance.

The Grosvenor House Hotel in Mayfair was one of those iconic locations for events like these. A children's charity, supposedly raising money for children with cancer or something along those lines. Quite frankly, he didn't care. Caring about others was such a foreign concept to him. Let the kids die. He disliked children. He didn't even like his own very much. Alastair was only here because of the way it would make him look, the sort of thing that got people talking. 'Look, our MP really cares! He goes to events! He donates money!' It couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Being around so many people who he wanted to verbally eviscerate or simply wish away drew Alastair to the bar. You knew you were an alcoholic when you couldn't stop. You knew you were a recovering alcoholic when you stayed away from it, even when it didn't become much of a battle anymore. Tonight, fifteen years of sobriety went down the drain as he got himself a stiff shot of whisky, then another, and another. The only thing he felt he would be doing was standing in the corner drinking himself half to death before he'd stumble to the car and go home, perhaps passing out on the couch in his suit.

As he downed his fourth shot, feeling that old familiar burn down his throat, Alastair caught a glimpse of someone approaching him. Someone he knew. Ah, that lass Genevieve. Catriona had introduced them, saying she was 'a friend'. He didn't know nor care. He suspected she was involved in those ridiculous revolutionary movements that he knew Catriona still spent time on and that was how they met. Why she had to introduce this girl to her traitorous husband was anyone's guess. "What the hell are you doing here?" was his way of greeting her as he loosened the grip his black tie had around his neck. She was pretty, his type of woman: assertive. He never said he wasn't a womanizer, the sort of man who evaluated appearance before anything else. Appearance and intelligence, the two things that mattered. "I wouldn't believe this was your scene."

[Genevieve Hoyt]

Outfit

Gen didn’t know what she was doing at this blasted event. She hated being here. The people were wankers, and she doubted she would be able to find a single person to converse with, that didn’t make her want to blow her brains out. If it had been up to her, she wouldn’t be here. But then again, coming to these events was never Gen’s idea. No, it was her father’s, yet again. You would have thought that he wouldn’t make her come to these sorts of things, being balls deep in her PhD and all, but he said that if she had time for that ‘stupid revolt group’, then she had time to come support her mother’s charities. And that was the only reason that she ever bothered coming. It certainly wasn’t for her father. No, this was yet another charity that her mother had been involved in, before her untimely death, and so Gen would show her support. For her mother.

Speaking of her father, Gen could see him mingling rather close by. Too close by. Close enough that he may actually happen upon her if he turned the wrong way, and then they would be forced into having some awkward conversation to appease the masses. She had no idea why people thought that Lord Hoyt had a good relationship with his daughter. He was only fifty seven, and he had been a Supreme Court Justice since it’s creation. He hadn’t had time to foster a relationship with his only child. Of course, Gen rather thought that it was his unwillingness to spend time with his daughter that made him throw himself into his work, and become such a success.

She needed a drink. Or five. Whichever worked. She wasn’t the type of girl that got drunk. Sure, she’d had her teenage rebellion, and drank, and smoked, and took all sorts of drugs. But that had been a very long time ago, before her control freak tendencies had kicked in. These days, the very thought of drinking enough to get out of control was unthinkable, even when surrounded by the very worst society money could buy. No, Gen needed to find someone that would keep her entertained, instead of suicidal. She scanned the crowd, rather unhopeful that she would find someone that fit her requirements. Tonight, however, she was pleasantly surprised.

Alastair Gordon. Now there was a man would was...well, a man. None of these nancy boys that she’d grown up with, who were enough to make a girl turn gay. No, Alastair was absolutely gorgeous, and he clearly knew it. She was making her way over to him before she even realised she was doing it. Technically speaking, she was friends with his wife, and had no business just going up to him, especially when his wife seemed to have not attended. Gen wasn’t one for formalities. Cat had introduced them, and therefore, she was quite happy to trot on up and have a quick chat. If she was lucky, he would be more than happy to spend the night bagging out everyone else with her. He sure didn’t look like he was pleased to be here.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Those certainly weren’t the first words that Gen expected to come out of his mouth, but they were. At least that answered her question of whether he remembered her or not. She had to say that she was quite impressed. As a politician, he would have had to meet a ton of people. It would have been understandable if he hadn’t remembered her. But he had. Not that she was going to point out that she was impressed by that. She really didn’t think a man like him needed any more compliments.

Gen shrugged in reply, trying to formulate a reply. He continued talking before she’d even had a chance to reply. “It’s not,” she told him, with a wry smirk. “My mother was a patron before she passed away, and I like supporting her causes, I guess.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I would say the same about you, but of course, you’re not here by choice either. Don’t you ever get bored coming to events that you don’t give a shit about? After all, I really don’t see you as being a fan of children.” Gen knew that he had children, but really, Alastair didn’t strike her as the type of guy who did well with children.

[Alastair Gordon]

Living with a woman who eschewed dresses for jeans and rarely got herself dolled up, Alastair found it a strange turn on to see women--confident sort of women, like his wife, like Genevieve--dressed up like this. He wasn't going to let her know it, not blatantly, but his lazy gaze scanned her in her dress and he had to admit he was impressed by the way she looked. If she caught on to the way he was admiring her, well, that would surely improve this evening tenfold. Her mere presence improved it, because he knew he had someone to bitch at. Or with. Probably more the latter, considering the people she spent her time with.

Growing up a poor kid outside Glasgow, Alastair wasn't the type who was comfortable in a suit. It was part of his job, but he still hated choking himself with a tie every day, having to look sharp. He cared about his outward appearance to the people he worked with, but it that was all. He cared about how he acted; not how he looked. A politician had to look the part, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Thanks to his upbringing, he always felt out of place at these sorts of things, surrounded by people who had more money than God and would have laughed at the humble house he grew up in and at the hard-working piety of his parents. It disgusted him, the attitudes of these people. They were better than him, he knew they thought it, and he hated them for it. He pulled himself up from nothing. They were born and bred and bought into everything they had, while he fucking earned it.

"I am never here at these things by any choice," he said easily, almost companionably, to Genevieve, with a snort of derision that matched the scowl on his lips. "Look at them. Pompous fuckers, waltzing about like they own the world." He wasn't looking at her anymore, he was looking at the people he was deriding with heavy venom in his voice. "I'd be happy to see them all put in their place where they deserve." He could speak to her this way, without censoring himself, without caring for the words that tumbled from his lips, because he knew she agreed. This sort of thing would have made his wife smile wryly, if she were here. Instead, he had Genevieve. Didn't matter. A woman's company was a woman's company.

Alastair turned away from the conversation to slide the shot glass he procured from the bartender for something else. He had almost completely forgotten how much he enjoyed drinking. There was a familiarity to it, like meeting up with an old friend you hadn't seen in years and couldn't pry yourself away from if you tried. This wasn't enough to make him drunk, not by any means, but enough to make the situation palatable. Another glass of whisky in his hand, his attention was once again on Genevieve. "I'm surprised your reasons for being here are actually genuine." Instead of knocking back the drink like he had, he just took a sip, the anger on his face gone in favor of his usual arrogant smugness. "And no, to answer your question. I am not a fan of children. There is one reason I have my darling children by my darling wife," he continued, sardonic as always, "and it is because I had no say in the matter."

[Genevieve Hoyt]

Gen loved it when men checked her out. Most women hated it, but Gen was not one of those women. She knew that she looked hot, but she quite enjoyed having a man unconsciously confirm that for her. Just like most women made the fatal error of acknowledging the man checking them out. She never did. In her opinion, it was tantamount to admitting defeat right there and then. Once a man knew you were interested, it was game over. Gen rather enjoyed having them squirm, not knowing whether she was interested or not, until she was on top of them. Yes, because Gen was the type of girl that loved being on top. But that wasn’t the point. Not yet, at least. For now, she was just enjoying knowing that Alastair was subtly checking her out. He was clearly as good at this game as she was.

“They only think it because no one has taught them any better,” she replied, casting an eye over the crowd with a slight scowl. It pained her to admit that she was one of them. With her father’s position, came the title as well. Technically speaking, she was the Honourable Genevieve Hoyt. Not that she would ever use that ridiculous title. The whole idea of the nobility ranks bored Gen to tears. Sure, at least her father had earned his title rather than having it handed down from generation to generation, but really, had he actually earned it? What made the Justices of the Supreme Court so fantastic that they should be given titles just for doing their job?

Gen took a slow sip of her champagne. She’d almost forgotten that she had it in her hand. “It’s rather refreshing to hear a politician bagging out the silver spooned masses instead of kissing their arses though. Think the everyday man can win you the election?” Gen liked the Prime Minister. He looked like a rather amiable sort of bloke. Gen wasn’t sure the world was ready for a Prime Minister as good looking as Alastair. Or as smooth talking. He obviously didn’t talk this candidly to everyone. Gen was rather amused that he considered her worthy to speak frankly to. She figured he saw her as an ally amongst this ridiculous crowd.

“Really? Why? What reason did you think I would have for wasting so much time on looking this good?” She raised her eyebrows. At least she was surprising him. She suspected that it was hard to do that to a man like Alastair Gordon. Gen snorted, almost spitting out her champagne as he confirmed her suspicions on his dislike of children. He should have just said that his wife refused to have abortions. “Can you please warn me before you say anything else that....hilarious? I really don’t think my spitting out one hundred pound champagne would go over well. And I would hate to get you wet,” she said, a small smirk creeping across her face.

[Alastair Gordon]

He wanted nothing to do with the people milling around them. They filled the ballroom with their nonsensical talk, bullshit trying to feel so philanthropic when they were all what was wrong with the world. Alastair would happily say that the people around them were the source of all the ills on the planet, from poverty to the current political situation where men like him who were elected by the people sat on their hands and obeyed a man born into his place just like almost every other bastard here in their finery. Admittedly, a small part of his subconscious hated himself for giving in, dressing like that, but he told his subconscious to fuck off and die. It had to be done and so it would. At least it meant he could look at a beautiful woman, but he was drawn to women like the one before him anyway, evening gown or not. The situation they were in, the look she had as if she fit in with all these assholes, all of it heightened the attractiveness to him.

As the conversation shifted to the politics of the day, the upcoming election looming in everyone's mind, Alastair took another swig of his whisky. No, he just downed it, like an anxious man. No matter what he said, that one gesture encapsulated everything about his opinions on it. And obviously, what he said did not match what he did. "Think I'd be supportive of this shit?" His intense gray-eyed gaze met hers. "I kiss their arses if I have to, when I have to. Unless they're complete fucking idiots, which I believe most of them are, they know it's all an act." If he said this to Catriona, she would have denied it up one side and down the other: he was a sell out, a traitor, a man who as the Leader of the Opposition appeared on television once a week to rail at and then acquiesce to the Conservatives or even worse the King. "Better if they trust me," he confided, knowing she would agree, with a wicked smirk, "so when I need to fuck them over, I can." The proud, aggressive always-right politician: that was him all over. Everything he did had a purpose towards enacting his long-range vision. However it happened, he didn't care. He just knew it would.

"Oh?" The look Alastair gave Genevieve was far from innocent. It was the look so many women succumbed to when he sent it their way. It was why a few of the girls in his office had intimate knowledge of him, it was why his wife kept coming back to him. "You'd hate it, hm?" The smirk she gave him was echoed on his own face as he leaned in towards her. A subtle move, but still enough to convey to her that perhaps he was interested. "I think you'd enjoy it." There was so much behind the words he spoke that could be construed as innocent or teasing, but thanks to the look in his eyes, there was no way she would think of it any other way except as an invitation. He hoped she would, anyway, because it was--but she was a smart little thing, he could tell. Smart as she was sexy.

The man turned his head away from her, as if he hadn't said much of consequence, his body language all but indicating this was nothing more than small talk. Alastair had become a pro at it anyway, no matter how much he hated it, being a man who spoke when he had something to say--and it was then he felt powerful and strong. When he spoke because he was spoken to, he felt belittled, like a fool, speaking of stupid shit that had nothing to do with...well...anything. When his eyes flickered to gaze at Genevieve sidelong, still turned towards the majority of the people who were mingling about in the center of the ballroom, he continued his flirting with her. "I know I'd enjoy it, were the tables turned." He knew he could have said something else, but that would be far too obvious for someone who thought he was more suave than Casanova and had notches on the bedpost to prove it. Saying this without even looking at her, the right corner of his lips twitched up into a twisted smile, still not giving her the time of day, wanting to see what she would do with this.

[Genevieve Hoyt]

“Not really,” Gen replied, with a wide grin. She didn’t know anyone that truly supported stupid causes like this...except for maybe her mother, but Gen couldn’t really comment on that. She’d never met the woman, after all. “Of course they’re idiots. Intelligent people don’t let others tell them what is acceptable. Even if they agree.” Gen couldn’t help it as her eyes glazed over briefly at the mention of him fucking over people. She couldn’t help that her mind wandered off to a place where he was fucking her over. Literally, not figuratively. She imagined that people might quite enjoy him getting the upper hand. She was beginning to think that she might. She was very used to having control in every situation, but it might be nice to not be in control for once. Especially with him. “They would have to be very stupid to trust you. So, you should be fine,” she observed, letting out a short laugh. Gen wouldn’t trust Alastair as far as she could throw him. But who trusted politicians in the first place?

She knew as soon as she’d let the word ‘wet’ slip out of her mouth, that their conversation was going to take a very interesting turn into innuendo-laced comments being shot back and forth. Perhaps that was why she had said it in the first place. She certainly agreed with him. She would enjoy it. Even at their very first meeting, while his wife had been introducing them, Gen had been thinking how she might like to take him for a test drive. She had a sixth sense for spotting men that didn’t mind getting a little something on the side. Well, it was more of a sixth sense for spotting men that actually had morals, and wouldn’t cheat on their wives, even when confronted by a woman like Gen would pursue him relentlessly until he gave in. Some men just didn’t give in. It was strange, but she had learnt not to take it personally. Some men were just too good.

“You think?” she replied. She fought to keep the smirk off her face. She knew she’d been right about him. He was going to be fun. And to think that she almost hadn’t come tonight. Oh god, she was definitely going to have to remember that little gem for a bit later on. That had tons of potential. He turned away after that little comment. She wondered how often he did this. That look he’d given her seemed like it was practically patented. It was as though he was expecting her to drop her knickers right there and then. But that wasn’t the way that Gen operated. She wasn’t going to deny that it certainly had an effect on her, but she wasn’t going to give in yet. That wouldn’t be any fun at all.

Gen traced the lip of her glass with her finger, her gaze flitting between him and the crowd. She couldn’t help but smile as he commented again. My god he was smooth. As if she expected any less from him. “Noted,” she said, nodding her head. What was she supposed to say to something like that? ‘Alright, let’s go turn a table then?’ That was a bit obvious. But neither was she going to wait to excuse herself to the bathroom, in hopes that he would follow her. She would think about the right way to arrange this. Otherwise, she would just get impatient and ask him point blank if they were going to shag already. “But what makes you think that you can?” she asked, taking a sip of her champagne. Classic move. Calling into question a man’s abilities. They always got so huffy and determined to prove they were amazing. It was adorable.

[Alastair Gordon]

As often as Alastair had sampled other women outside his marriage, vows not constraining him whatsoever, he always went back to Catriona. The two of them had a rule. They could cheat as much as they wanted, as long as they came home at the end of it to each other. He always did. If tonight went as planned, he would give Genevieve Hoyt one hell of an evening, but as soon as it was over, he would undoubtedly go home and do as he wished to his wife. It was about pleasure but not even that, just his ego. He had no reason to be loyal to his wife, and seeing as she did it too, he had no reason to complain.

While others vowed to be faithful, to love, to honor, to cherish, Alastair had said none of those words when he married Catriona McLeod. They'd signed the license and walked away with it. He wore a wedding ring, but it was only for show. If someone asked him about love, he would have laughed. He was a man who didn't know what the word meant. No wonder he looked at Genevieve as if he would undress her, right then and there. Had they not been in polite company perhaps he would have. A hot look wouldn't have sufficed, but here it did all the talking.

The smile he gave her was like that gaze. It would have matched perfectly. Ah, this was going to be a...pleasurable evening. They both knew what was going to happen tonight. Simply was just a matter of timing. Of playing with the other with words to heighten the potential for excitement. It was calculated, just as everything he said to her was when it was an innuendo. "I turn the tables and fuck people over for a living," Alastair said with a hint of formality that did not match the heat in his gaze as he looked to her in that same way, not paying attention as he spoke, acutely aware that someone could see them. Verbal foreplay, that's what it was. "I can because I want to." There was no need to defend himself. Standing next to her, his shoulder in the same direction as hers, it probably didn't register to anyone who may have been watching when the Member of Parliament leaned towards the daughter of a Supreme Court Justice to speak quietly in a loud room. He murmured thickly, staring at the scene before him, never giving her a sideways glance, "You can find out for yourself. I'd imagine you'd like to."

Alastair spoke with all the proud presumptuousness of a man who always got what he wanted it, when it came to women. Genevieve was like anyone else. A few of the staffers he'd taken into his office for a conversation about work; some university-aged girls getting hands-on campaign experience in private; this would be no different. When he'd met her, he had brief thoughts in this vein, but tonight, he was going to absolutely act on them. Now that they were there, he wasn't going to deny himself. He never denied himself anything. She was probably the same.

[Genevieve Hoyt]

Oh dear lord. Gen felt like she was in a game of cat and mouse, and sadly, she was the mouse. It was a strange situation for her to be in. She wasn’t used to it at all. But then again, sadly probably wasn’t the correct word to use. As she had correctly assumed, she was quite enjoying not being in control of the evening. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she knew exactly where it was heading, and all she had to do was be keen to go along for the ride. Alastair Gordon was clearly a man who got what he wanted, and didn’t take no for an answer. Happily, Gen was apparently what he wanted right now, and she definitely wouldn’t be telling him no. Unless it was ‘no, don’t stop’.

“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she observed, fighting the urge to drag him off to some secluded corner. Sure, it was going to happen, but she felt like she needed to exercise some form of restraint. She wished she could say that she hadn’t gotten laid in the Grosvenor House Hotel before, but that just wasn’t the case. She’d slept with several different men in various locations around the hotel, and sadly, not one of those occasions had taken place in a bed. She was a dirty slut, but she loved every second of it. And as a dirty slut, she felt that she needed to admit that she was quite interested in finding out if he was just all talk, or he could follow through. “But, you’re right. I would.” There certainly wasn’t any harm in admitting the truth.

She was having trouble making eye contact with him though. He kept throwing her these ridiculously hot looks, and she knew once she met his gaze again, all traces of restraint would disappear and she would have to excuse herself before she leapt on him right there. Just as she wasn’t going to tell him no, Gen never told herself no. If she wanted something, she had to have it. If anyone was watching them, they certainly wouldn’t have any idea of the type of conversation that was being carried out right now. “I just hope you’re as good as you think you are. There’s nothing worse than politicians that don’t deliver on their promises.” God, that would be depressing. She really hoped that wasn’t going to be the case, but she had been proven wrong before. Some men gave off this vibe that they were fantastic in bed, and then, well, they were rubbish. It was quite disappointing.

Gen was getting impatient though. What was the appropriate amount of time to wait after meeting a man before having sex with him? Obviously the times would differ, depending on how slutty the respective parties were, but Gen still thought that only the really slutty were happy to have sex before the half hour mark. She hadn’t hit that level of slutty yet. Well, she hoped she hadn’t. But the fact that she was just itching to get out of here seemed to point to the contrary. “Okay, I’m bored. Second door on the right if you really do want to fuck me.” No, Gen did not have patience. She proved that the second she stopped their little game, and walked out of the room with the sole purpose of getting laid.

The second door on the right led to a sort of study like room. It was mainly used for smaller meetings between out of town companies and the like. Gen only knew this because she’d once screwed the CEO of such a company and he’d told her that. Who cared if it was true or not? The desk was firm, and the couch rather large. It suited her purposes perfectly. She plonked herself down on the couch, and waited impatiently to see if Alastair would follow through or not.

[Alastair Gordon]

This evening wasn't a total bust. Some stimulating conversation, in more ways than one, leading to something he hadn't expected tonight, yet it was nothing he would reject. Alastair knew he was an interesting quandary: in public, he presented himself as the perfect family man, a powerful speaker with heaps of personal charisma, but if any of the people back home knew the man who smiled and waved at them before election time was thinking about having sex with a woman who wasn't his wife, he would be out of a job. This side, the supremely confident man, the skilled seducer who preened about how many women he'd taken to bed (or elsewhere), was only for the few who wanted him. And being wanted was intoxicating, just as power was. "I don't think, Miss Hoyt," came his formal declaration with absolute serene conviction, "I know." He did not speak with a swagger in his voice. He'd never had any complaints in the one department of his life where a complaint would shatter his carefully constructed arrogance.

The wry smile that broke the usual stern expression that rested on his face . He ventured no look her way as she told him exactly where she'd be, with such matter of factness he had to quip dryly,"Intimately familiar with this place, now, are we?"

Alastair would be a complete moron if he didn't follow her. He wasn't, so he did, waiting a few moments so no one would be the wiser if they saw him leave.

This meeting room right off the main ballroom, close enough to the goings-on yet private enough, suited their purposes just fine. He had carried his glass with him, the cold feel of the glass in his hand contrasting with the thoughts that were running through his mind of what he could do to this confident little minx with what was available to them.

"A couch? A table?" These two items of furniture were said with a languorous chuckle as he surveyed the room. He wanted to laugh outright as he looked down the long table, but he didn't. "A table. Clever." Alastair was appreciative of her humor if nothing else. He would give her whatever she wanted.

As his eyes followed her to the couch, he smiled to himself. Tantalizingly slow, he tipped the glass against his lips to get the rest of the Macallan whisky. A small table beside the couch became a resting place for the empty glass, sweating with condensation. Alastair's hands found his tie and he tugged at it, loosening the knot yet not removing it. He shrugged his jacket off and flung it to rest on the arm of the couch, occasionally his eyes drifting to Genevieve, but mostly he didn't even look at her.

Standing there, surveying the territory with his hands in his pockets, he did not have the swagger of a man who was going to get some. He had no need for it. Alastair's temerity just ran that high.

Not until he'd loosened the cuffs of his white pressed Oxford shirt did he approach her, resting his hands on either side of her on the back of the couch, meeting her eyes with that same long, rapacious look he'd given her earlier. Alastair had used this tactic before. It was all about being right there yet doing nothing. Suddenly he leaned into kiss her deeply with rough impatience, his hands finding her dark curls. This wasn't like it was with Catriona, that instant slow burn he felt inside just looking at her, but it was good enough and close enough. He knew he was going to like this without the thought even crossing his mind. The only thing he concerned with as making sure Gen enjoyed it as much as he did.

"Come here." He growled the words against her lips before kissing her again, his left hand dropping from her hair to roughly pull down at the strap of her dress, exposing her pristine shoulder. Alastair was a public servant, after all. He lived to oblige, and he would do whatever it was she wanted. And judging by her talk earlier, she wanted him to take her on that table. Desk. Whatever it was. He grabbed her, there was no other word for it; he was rough as he pulled her to her feet and pushed her towards the table. He was right behind her, kissing the back of her neck with purpose. "I could say til now I've never shagged anyone at a charity gala," he said with some amusement as he pressed himself up against her, his hands covering hers on the edge of the table. She couldn't go anywhere if she wanted to.

[Genevieve Hoyt]

Gen was certain that he would show up. What a waste of ten minutes of verbal foreplay if he didn’t. Realistically, if he didn’t show up, then she would just trot back on out there, and find someone else to shag. Alastair had gotten her all riled up now, and she thought she might lose her mind if she didn’t get laid soon. Damn that man was gifted when it came to words. Unsurprising, really. Bloody politicians were always good at laying it on thick. It was the reason they had their jobs. If lying was a competition, politicians would win hands down.

She’d ignored his dig about her knowing the establishment well. What did it matter if she did? She’d already proved she was a big, fat, dirty, cock-loving slut by basically telling him to come screw her. Of course, this was all very subjective. She liked to say that she was assertive. Everyone knew that assertive was just a slutty girl’s way of feeling better about her slutty ways. He didn’t disappoint her. It was quite possible that he looked hotter, walking into the room, than he did when he’d been out in the main area with her.

Gen shrugged, a smirk plastered on her face, as he observed the room. What did he want, a fucking bed? The couch and table were perfectly suited for their needs. Besides, as strange as it sounded, she’d never had sex on a table before. Perhaps that would change this evening. She sipped her champagne, watching him loosen his tie, take off his jacket. Fuck he was good at this. She tried to be aloof, but it wasn’t working out all that well. He was just too good at playing this game. Sure, he’d clearly had about two decades more practice than she had, but she was still miffed that she was having this much trouble.

There really was nothing for her to do until he decided that he was good and ready, and for an impatient girl like Gen, it was a little irritating. It seemed like he was taking forever. And he was. He was clearly just trying to get her riled up. Congratulations, it was working. She really wanted to just go jump him already, but no. She was going to make him come to her. He did, eventually, placing his hands either side of her up against the couch. His eyes bored into hers, but not doing fucking anything. The man was infuriating. And then suddenly his lips were against hers, kissing her roughly, and it was all Gen could do not to sigh at finally getting things underway. He was driving her absolutely nuts. Which was clearly his intention, but that didn’t make it any more acceptable.

She let him have his way. He seemed keen to get it, and so she didn’t see the point in being difficult. As long as he sorted her out good and proper, she would have nothing to complain about. As so far, he was doing a bloody good job. He told her to come here, which Gen didn’t really understand, since she was already right in front of him, but she at least made an effort to scoot forward a smidge closer to him. It was hard in this dress. She hadn’t exactly thought about the practicalities of a dress like this when she’d picked it out. Then again, she hadn’t exactly thought she would be getting lucky tonight.

Gen let out a tiny gasp of surprise as he pulled her to her feet suddenly, and pushed her towards the table. Her hands landed on the table as she caught her. Not a moment had passed and he was right behind her, kissing her neck with skilful purpose, covering her hands with his own. She realised quite quickly that she couldn’t go anywhere. Not that she wanted to, but Alastair had pinned her between himself and the table. She couldn’t move her arms, and so found herself, effectively powerless. “Technically speaking, you still haven’t shagged anyone at a charity gala,” she said, voice wavering ever so slightly. All she could do was grind her backside into his crotch as he did wicked things to her neck. And she had doubted him. That was clearly mistake number one.

[Alastair Gordon]

Long ago, when Alastair had first tasted power, the fact that he had control over some things, he'd become addicted to it. Here was an example of it now. He had complete control over Genevieve. It was why he had her right where she was, so he would have that control when so many things seemed out of his reach. He could do whatever he wanted because she would let him. The reasons didn't much matter, it was only that he had what he wanted and that he would get what he wanted. He'd been doing this for years, the practiced seducer, and it never got old. Not exactly because he wanted to sleep with them, but because he wanted that old ego trip of lording something over someone.

Genevieve didn't strike him as being as stupid as some of the girls he'd dallied with. Women who thought this was the beginning when it was really the end. On the contrary, she knew exactly what this was. Lust. Power. Control. As Plato would say, "The measure of a man is what he does with power." Alastair was no do-gooder with the common good in his eyes. It was all about him: his wants, his desires, over all. She was probably the same. She wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. They were no different from each other.

"I will be in a moment, if you're so concerned," he promised in reply to her quip, finding it almost amusing if he wasn't so focused on other things, namely how much he wished he could rip that priceless dress off and have his way with her in oh so many ways. Alastair didn't have time for verbal ripostes, he had time for one thing and one thing only, the reason she'd come here and the reason he'd followed. There would be no tenderness in anything he did; he didn't even know how, but such things were irrelevant. He didn't care. It was all to act out one big ego trip as it always was, with a healthy dose of pleasure involved. His lips on her skin struck him like a gimmick. It was all just a formula: touch here, kiss here, shove clothes out of the way after a bit of that. Ho-hum. Yeah, she had him pretty turned on and all, but this was so old hat to him he did what he did without thinking knowing she'd be squirming for him.

He continued kissing her, his hands that were once imprisoning her to him allowing her a tiny bit of freedom as he pulled up her dress with some fumbling around, wanting it out of the way. Why the hell did women do this? It was extraordinarily inconvenient. Growling in irritation that he couldn't quite manage this in the position they were in, he gripped her shoulders and turned her around, giving neither a moment to breathe as he dived in for a proper lusty kiss. He wasn't allowing her much room to do anything to him, forcing whatever came to mind on her, like propping her tottering on the edge of the table for a better angle. No time for extensive enjoyment of her young body, though his hands roaming shamelessly down her chest as he pulled her dress down were telling another story. Alastair's eyes surveyed the new territory before him with the same look he had earlier when he was hinting to her what he wanted to do to her with a simple gaze. This was going to be quick yet despite that he would make sure it was worth her while.

(We can fade here or whatever, I don't care!)

[Genevieve Hoyt]

If she was concerned. If? As if that was even a question. A less experienced girl might be concerned that he wasn’t taking long enough. They might think that this actually had the potential to go somewhere. Gen didn’t think any of those things. Let’s face it, she was afraid of commitment to begin with. Having meaningless sex with random men was far better than being tied to one man for the rest of your life. Though, clearly, in Alastair’s case, that wasn’t an issue. She was just excited to have stumbled across such a willing participant, without even trying. That didn’t happen every day.

Gen wondered idly how often he did things like this. She got the feeling that he was very familiar with this, though perhaps so with being so in charge. He certainly wasn’t gentle, but then again, Gen didn’t like gentle guys. She went for the macho guys purely because they weren’t afraid to throw her around a bit. It was a bit sick, but she had fun. Just like now, as Alastair released her hands, only to pull her dress up. She grabbed it, wanting to be at least helpful. After all, how was he supposed to fuck her with her dress getting in the way. She was almost ready to pull it off, when he turned her around, pushing her arse up against the table. She didn’t even have time to take a breath before he crushed his lips back against hers, and propped her up on the table.

Now, Gen was pretty athletic, and was quite used to being in strange positions, but she would have never guessed how difficult it was to be teetering on the edge of the table like she was, without using Alastair for support. She wrapped a bar leg around his still fully clothed one. She was becoming more aware by the second that here she was, just her dress pooling around her waist keeping her from being completely naked (because, of course, you couldn’t wear underwear with this dress), and Alastair still had the majority of his clothing on. That was a situation that needed to be rectified immediately. Her hands scrambled for his pants. It made sense in her head. She didn’t care if he had his shirt on or not, there wasn’t anything under there that she cared about. Pants were a completely different story.

OMGHAWTTABLESEX!WHATISITWITHALASTAIRANDTABLES?

Gen stretched out on the table, seemingly nonplussed by the fact that she was still completely starkers, and that anyone that walked through the door would be afforded a rather graphic sight. She was just pleased that Alastair hadn’t disappointed. “Well, that was great. Thanks! And to think, I almost didn’t come tonight,” she said brightly, sitting up. She retrieved her dress, and began tugging it back on. She wasn’t really the type of girl to hang around afterwards. Unless he had a cigarette handy. Then she might hang around long enough to have a smoke before she ran off.

She almost said something to the effect of ‘we should do it again sometime’, but she stopped herself. Did she really want to do it again? Sure, it was great sex, but great sex wasn’t usually enough to entice her to hang around for seconds. “I don’t suppose you smoke, do you?” she asked, scanning the room for her heels. She vaguely remembered kicking them off not long before she’d thrown his shirt to the ground. And yes, she spied one. Now just to find the other.

[Alastair Gordon]

Kids these days. Well, she wasn't a kid, but she was still young. Younger than the women he'd slept with, which made him feel vaguely wrong about all this, but she'd enjoyed it, so Alastair didn't dwell on it. It was a thought that came in and out. If it didn't matter, he didn't think about it. For a man who spent a lot of time thinking, he'd rather have wasted brain power on important shit. Not worrying about screwing a girl technically young enough to be his daughter, if he had a kid when he was eighteen...

A brow lifted as she started talking. Alastair looked at her as if he were vaguely entertained by what she had to say, an 'out of the mouths of babes' sort of look that was rather wrong in context, considering he'd just fixed up his pants and she'd just pulled up her dress. Her enthusiasm for thanking him was what he thought was really funny, but as someone who kept most feelings deep inside so they rarely reached the surface without considerable effort, he didn't really show it. "You're welcome." Had a woman ever thanked him? He couldn't recall. No, not in those very words. How flippant of her. He wasn't going to compliment her on her skills, because hey, they'd just done it on a table. That wasn't a good way to find out if someone was a good lover. She'd enjoyed it, as he always made sure whoever he shagged did. That was as much as he cared. It boosted his ego every damned time.

Buttoning his shirt, he turned to look over at his jacket slung on the couch while she slipped off the table. Not answering Genevieve with words, he nodded. A fag sounded great. He always felt the need to smoke when he was stuck at things like this; it had nothing to do with the sex. A few strides took him to the couch, and there his jacket, where he fished around in a pocket and pulled out a half empty pack of Embassys and a lighter. Gallantly, as if he were some real gentleman and not a scheming, lying politician who'd just had sex with a woman who was half his age, he lit one and handed it to her. "I'd be surprised," he said before lighting his own, "if you didn't. Keeps me sane. Shouldn't be drinking, but I can smoke."