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After the campaign there is, of course, a party. Davos stays as long as he can stomach before sneaking away. The campaign staffers are getting drunker by the hour and a few of the interns who snuck their way in are dancing in lawsuit-tempting ways in a corner of the atrium. Davos isn’t exactly one for parties. He did his part, organized the outreach to the union voters, and helped win the election for Stannis Baratheon. Not single-handed, but without the union voters, the other factions wouldn’t have taken notice. The union voters got Stannis out of the primaries and into the proper debates, got him recognized as a formidable candidate.
Davos deserves something.
Davos is, admittedly, rather drunk himself by the time he staggers away from the party and wanders the building. It seems just yesterday he was standing in a grubby office with posters taped up everywhere, handing his resume over to a scowling man in an impeccable suit. How far they’ve come …
He finds himself standing in the Prime Minister’s Office, leaning against one of the high-backed armchairs, the world pleasantly tipsy before his eyes. He feels like he’s back on a ship again, the waves rocking him up and down, the swells carrying him forward.
Well, they carried him this far. But where else does he have to go now? Stannis promised him a position here, but that was a campaign promise, those can be easily forgotten if not put into writing, and Davos never got around to drawing up a contract. He could be out on his arse by morning.
Davos eyes up the desk, the imposing desk Stannis will soon be sitting behind. Stannis is going to sit there every day, signing laws, receiving calls, organizing coalitions.
Chuckling, Davos circles around the desk. It’s pristine, ready to be made over into Stannis’ property. The chair behind it is probably more expensive than some of the cars Davos has bought in the past. Grinning, Davos sinks down into it. It’s a fantastic chair.
Davos idly considers just falling asleep, right here, right now, being found by the cleaning staff or fellow political activists come morning snoring in the Prime Minister’s chair.
There’s an appealing allure to the idea, but not one Davos has the time for. He’d rather sleep in his own bed and have the hope of a proper job in the morning than get fired for crashing on the Prime Minister’s furniture.
But, while he’s here, pleasantly buzzed and thinking about Stannis Baratheon, his eyes, his arse, his cheekbones, his shoulders hunched under a rumpled white shirt at 3am obsessing over the polls …
Davos unbuckles his belt, works his cock free of his pants.
“Crazy …” he mutters to himself, even as he starts stroking himself. This is ridiculous.
He wonders if Stannis will do this, right here, in the office, alone some night, to celebrate his victory. Stannis doesn’t seem the type for something as crass as that, but there’s no telling with posh, tightly-wound blokes like Stannis. They’re always the sort to have a sex scandal with a dominatrix or a transgender prostitute or some doe-eyed lad working on an academic internship.
Davos thinks about that young staffer, Jon … something. Steel? Stark? Something. Jon in here, on his knees, under the desk, welcoming the Prime Minister into his new office.
Yeah, that seems about right.
He’s close now, just the image of Stannis’ head thrown back in ecstasy is bringing Davos to the brink. He’s not even imagining Jon Something anymore, all Davos is thinking about is Stannis, Stannis right here, squirming, moaning, finally losing his bloody control …
Stannis standing in the doorway of the office, champaign glass in one hand.
Davos freezes, deer in headlights. The severity of his situation slowly dawns on him. He’s been caught by his boss, wanking at the office, in the boss’s chair of all places. Davos will be lucky to be merely fired, he could be looking at an indecent exposure suit.
“Davos …” Stannis takes a step inside, shuts the door with the deliberate care of a man drunker than he’s used to being. “Fancy … seeing … you here.” He doesn’t slur his words, but he’s very close.
“Ah …” Davos has no idea what to do. He just sits there, cock in hand, still frustratingly hard. Should he zip up and leave? He’s not certain he can stuff his cock back into his pants in his state without a lot of maneuvering.
He’s going to lose his job. In the worst possible way, for the worst possible reason.
Then it becomes a hundred times worse, because his boss has caught him wanking … and now his boss is leering at him.
That’s when Davos’ life goes completely to hell.
~*~
Davos keeps his job. He’s appointed to a nice little spot. He advocates for union rights and helps pass laws. Davos gets to meet with diplomats and discuss policies on handling the issue of worker’s rights. Some cheeky kids start up a blog dedicated to pictures of Davos working with strikers and union leaders in developing nations, where they edit sparkles around his face and christen him with ridiculous nicknames. A joke poll goes around about whether they’d vote him into office, and it gets a staggering amount of support.
Really, it’s more than Davos could ever had wanted. He’s helping make a difference in the world, in his own small way.
There’s just the small matter of getting called in to wank while the Prime Minster watches.
It would be easier, Davos thinks, if Stannis would just fuck him already. But Stannis seems opposed to crossing that line. He only wants to watch, occasionally providing Davos with toys to use on himself.
But he never touches Davos.
He touches himself plenty, oh yes. Davos is now intimately familiar with the faces and sounds Stannis Baratheon makes when he orgasms. Stannis does look satisfyingly wrecked, which Davos appreciates on some level, but he would have rather found out under different circumstances. Not with Stannis holding the threat of being fired over his head with every secretive visit.
Davos starts to form a plan. If Stannis is so desperate for this, why not make him work a little for it? Davos commits publically to more international trips, is away from Stannis for weeks and even a full month or two sometimes.
Stannis reels him back in, forced to actually voice his threats for once.
And that’s when the phone Davos set to “record” by the lamp catches everything.
Davos does as he’s told that night, gets on his knees, repeats all the nasty little things Stannis tells him to say. Then he goes home for the night, downloads the sound file, makes copies everywhere. He sends one copy to Sal, just in case Stannis gets any clever ideas about making some threat or sending Davos down to the docks with some blokes who don’t ask questions. Not that Davos would expect such a move from someone like Stannis, but then again, he hadn’t foreseen this situation either, Stannis is full of nasty surprises.
The next time Stannis orders him into the office, Davos takes his sweet time. Stannis is outraged when Davos finally arrives. And all that puffed-up indignation fades to horrorstruck silence when Davos holds up his phone and plays the recording.
”You’re not to leave the capitol for longer than a week, is that clear?”
“Sir, I have a job to do, I have responsibilities –”
“Your responsibilities are to satisfy my needs! Do I make myself clear?”
“…”
“Do I make myself clear?! On your knees!”
“… yes sir.”
“Now, get your cock out. Take your time tonight, none of that rushing through things anymore. If you come too soon, you can just sit and wait until you can do it again properly.”
Davos clicks the pause button and smirks. “Well, I’m no Lewinsky, but you are my boss. This has got sexual harassment and abuse of power written all over it,” Davos grins as the color drains from Stannis’ face. “Press will have a field day, and the conservative block? Forget it. They already think you’re too liberal on women’s rights, when they find out you’ve been having sex games with another man? They’ll try to oust you, maybe even succeed, if I sue you publically enough.” Davos put on an expression of deepest concern, “Your Honor, I have five kids and a sick wife, I couldn’t afford to lose my job, and he’s the Prime Minister, there was no higher authority to turn to!”
Stannis stares at him. “What …” he coughs. “What do you want? We’ll … we’ll stop this … no more … nothing … I …”
“Ah, see, now you’ve given me a taste.” Davos waggles the phone in the air. “Looks like you’ve quite enjoyed yourself over there, watching me do all manner of depraved things to myself while you lorded it over me. Elitist bastard. I bet you and your mates had it on with all the scholarship girls when you were in school, if you had any mates. Daddies bailed you out though, right, paid off the poor girls when they sobered up?” Davos nods. “Yeah. You think you’re better than the rest of us. You hid it well enough during the campaign, getting your sleeves rolled up and all, but you can’t fool me. Not when I’ve seen you in here, how you really want to be: giving out orders to the disgusting lower class scum you wish you could just buy off.”
“You mean I can’t buy you off?” Stannis asks. “I … I have money, I can –”
“If you think this is just something you can fling money at, you’re even more oblivious than I thought.” Davos pockets his phone. “Now, we’re gonna change things up tonight. Won’t that be fun. I’m thinking … me here,” Davos sinks down into Stannis’ chair. “And you … on your knees.”
Stannis hesitates for a moment.
“Unless you want my friend to send that recording to every tabloid rag and major network come the 6am news?”
Stannis gets down on his knees. That alone is enough to make Davos’ cock twitch.
“You look good like that,” Davos smiles, because it’s true, and because his words have made Stannis blush. “Now, I think you know how this usually goes. Same thing, just reversed. Oh,” Davos leans over and yanks Stannis forward by his tie, “and I’m not going to keep my hands to myself.” Then he runs a hand through Stannis’ hair, because he can, and he knows how much Stannis hates to have his appearance mussed in any way.
Stannis flinches, and waits for instructions.
“Good boy,” Davos decides right then to come on Stannis’ face before the evening’s through. “Now, touch yourself. And make it last.”
There’s only so much of that Davos can stand to watch before he wants Stannis’ mouth on him. So he yanks Stannis forward, half chokes him, relishes every spluttered sound.
“Who’s the boss now, eh?” Davos growls. “Still think it’s you?”
Stannis isn’t half bad, though clearly embarrassed and ashamed during the entire performance. Somehow that makes it even more satisfying to Davos.
“Lean back,” Davos groans, close, so close.
Stannis does, a look of relief crossing his sweaty face.
That’s replaced with shock and disgust when Davos jerks himself to completion, splatters over Stannis’ cheek and chin.
He’s not done yet though. Davos pushes Stannis with his shoe, until Stannis is flat on his back on the floor. There’s come in his hair too, Davos notices now. Lovely.
“Get off against my shoe, or you don’t get off tonight. If you think you can have a quick wank when I’m gone, the consequences for you in the morning will be extremely unpleasant.”
Davos leaves Stannis on the floor: disheveled, come on his face and his trousers, a right mess in every sense of the word. He heads for the door, zipping up as he leaves.
“The recording …” Stannis croaks pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“I think I’ll hang onto it for the time being.” Davos says, turning around to look at Stannis, the Prime Minister curled up on his carpet, shirt and trousers open and hair like a drunken student.
“Why … you … you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Gotta hang onto it now, in case you try something.”
“I wouldn’t.” Stannis insists. “I … I wouldn’t.”
“See, I’d love to believe you,” Davos rocks back on his heels. “But I just can’t trust you anymore, Prime Minister.”
Stannis winces at his title.
“Evening! See you in the morning!” Davos waves over his shoulder and strides out of the office.
He thinks he might hear the start of a choked sob as he shuts the door, but he’s not entirely certain.