Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

Pyotr leans against the wall, for once managing to effect something like grace. He sends a quick, irrelevant prayer of thanks heavenward; knowing his history of clumsiness, he’s just grateful he didn’t miss the wall altogether and slide to the floor in disgrace. “Thank God,” he breathes.  And it’s not even about being able to spend that time with Kathy—though that’s certainly the main point of things, there are other benefits to their freedom. “Because I don’t know about you, but a good lie-in tomorrow would be fucking fantastic.”

Kathy swipes the key and the green light flashes quickly, the handle turning easily to let them in. It’s a standard hotel room dressed in warm hues, remarkable perhaps only by its particularly well-stocked mini-fridge and strong wifi signal. “Well, we deserve it,” she practically chirps, tugging on Pyotr’s hand to lead him inside. As much as she appreciates the pose, there are more important things to be done. “You know, I haven’t even had the chance to sleep in this bed.” It’s a comment thrown casually, but her smile is more of a smirk now.

He instinctively switches on the light as he comes into the room, the entrance bathed in a warm, soft glow. Maybe an anonymous hotel room isn’t the romantic setting he’d have personally chosen for this, but it’s what they’ve got—and in the moment, Pyotr doesn’t stop to think of how this scene could be improved. It’s him, and her, and that’s enough. More than enough. “Perfect. We’re just going to have to break it in together, eh?” He matches Kathy’s smirk, stepping up close to her, their chests now only a hair breadth’s apart. “What do you say?”

Kathy has a brief mental image of the bed actually breaking, and stifles a giggle. That’s not something she would want to explain to the hotel management on the morning after her mother’s big win. “You’re so cute when you’re propositioning me,” she says, laughter still on the tip of her tongue, and rises on her toes to kiss him again. She’s so damn happy. What’s better, it feels like it might actually last.

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

“Where would you rather we talked about it?” he asks, his lips curving up in a sly, thoroughly happy smirk. “Sitting in the hotel lobby? Back at the party? I’m sorry we had to settle for something so unromantic.” On a night of miracles, this seems to be the most miraculous occurrence of all. He grins and eagerly clambers out of the car, none too gracefully. At least Pyotr manages to stay upright as he comes round to Kathy’s side of the vehicle. “Oh, I think we can do better than twelve hours,” he offers, raising a slightly suggestive eyebrow. “What say you we go on up and get started?”

"Very smooth," she comments with a an amused smile, then gives in to the desire to do what she’s wanted to do for months, and lifts her chin up to kiss him. It’s better than she remembers from the Dallas flight, better than what she’s allowed herself to fantasize about. It’s a few seconds before her publicity-paranoia kicks in and she makes herself pull back. "How about we put a rain-check on the Netflix-viewing idea, hmm?"

He stays still for a second, just relishing the feeling of her lips against his, before he returns the kiss enthusiastically in kind. By the time she breaks it off, he’s already slightly short of breath, his eyes wide. After months of enforced chaste thoughts, this is more than he’d dared hope for. “You took the words right out of my mouth, darling.” Pyotr laughs a little, the endearment unfamiliar but wonderful on his tongue, and takes her hand. “Come on, your room or mine?”

"I think mine’s closer." This sounds like a hook-up but doesn’t feel like it at all. Kathy stares at their joined hands, frozen for several seconds, and she feels content to just stand here and let it wash over her. Watching Downton Abbey on a hotel couch would have been enough. But she can have more than that, more than she’d had in that plane to Dallas, more than she’d hoped for ever since she realized that she’s fallen for her best friend. "You’ll spend the night, won’t you?" She sounds far too hopeful and vulnerable for someone who’s won a major political victory and will help run the country for the next four years. Her grip on Pyotr’s hand tightens just a little.

For all the months they’ve spent as close friends, Pyotr doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kathy sound like this before. He feels an irrational need to protect this flash of vulnerability and hope—to nurse the flame far away from prying eyes. “If you want me to,” he promises, bending down to kiss her again. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds this time; tempting though it is, he refuses to waste any more precious time exposed in a parking lot. He breaks away with a grin and leads the way into the hotel.

The receptionist barely glances their way as they walk past the front desk and into the waiting elevator. Kathy and Pyotr together are not an unusual sight — if the woman notices their joined hands, she doesn’t show it.

There’s a thrilling novelty in being able to stand so close to Pyotr that Kathy can feel the heat radiating off of him, even though there’s plenty of space in the otherwise empty elevator. She smiles at him, tired but happier than she’s been in months, and waits for their arrival on her floor. “You know, I’m really glad that I sold my mother out to you before the election even started. Weird as that is to say.”

"So am I. Though I think we might need to come up with a more sanitized version to share with people when they ask how we met.” The fact that Kathy’s standing so close to him is reason enough to smile—but it widens further still at the simple fact that he can now say ‘we’ without feeling weird about it. “They don’t get to know the dirty little details.” The elevator arrives on Kathy’s floor with a pleasant ‘ding’, and he leads the way out once again. The hideously patterned carpet and off-white hallway seem so bizarrely banal after everything that’s happened tonight. “Will people be wondering where you are? Your mum?”

"Mm, what shall we tell them? I tempted you with a story and you just couldn’t resist sticking around, good journalist that you are?" She flashes an amused smile, using her free hand to rummage through her purse in search of the key. "You were mum’s contact first, I suppose we can just stick with that. And I told her that I won’t be sticking around for very long. I’m sure no one will raise the alarms until well into tomorrow." She’s extremely satisfied to have that little bit of freedom, at least.

Pyotr leans against the wall, for once managing to effect something like grace. He sends a quick, irrelevant prayer of thanks heavenward; knowing his history of clumsiness, he’s just grateful he didn’t miss the wall altogether and slide to the floor in disgrace. “Thank God,” he breathes.  And it’s not even about being able to spend that time with Kathy—though that’s certainly the main point of things, there are other benefits to their freedom. “Because I don’t know about you, but a good lie-in tomorrow would be fucking fantastic.”

Kathy swipes the key and the green light flashes quickly, the handle turning easily to let them in. It’s a standard hotel room dressed in warm hues, remarkable perhaps only by its particularly well-stocked mini-fridge and strong wifi signal. “Well, we deserve it,” she practically chirps, tugging on Pyotr’s hand to lead him inside. As much as she appreciates the pose, there are more important things to be done. “You know, I haven’t even had the chance to sleep in this bed.” It’s a comment thrown casually, but her smile is more of a smirk now.

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

“Where would you rather we talked about it?” he asks, his lips curving up in a sly, thoroughly happy smirk. “Sitting in the hotel lobby? Back at the party? I’m sorry we had to settle for something so unromantic.” On a night of miracles, this seems to be the most miraculous occurrence of all. He grins and eagerly clambers out of the car, none too gracefully. At least Pyotr manages to stay upright as he comes round to Kathy’s side of the vehicle. “Oh, I think we can do better than twelve hours,” he offers, raising a slightly suggestive eyebrow. “What say you we go on up and get started?”

"Very smooth," she comments with a an amused smile, then gives in to the desire to do what she’s wanted to do for months, and lifts her chin up to kiss him. It’s better than she remembers from the Dallas flight, better than what she’s allowed herself to fantasize about. It’s a few seconds before her publicity-paranoia kicks in and she makes herself pull back. "How about we put a rain-check on the Netflix-viewing idea, hmm?"

He stays still for a second, just relishing the feeling of her lips against his, before he returns the kiss enthusiastically in kind. By the time she breaks it off, he’s already slightly short of breath, his eyes wide. After months of enforced chaste thoughts, this is more than he’d dared hope for. “You took the words right out of my mouth, darling.” Pyotr laughs a little, the endearment unfamiliar but wonderful on his tongue, and takes her hand. “Come on, your room or mine?”

"I think mine’s closer." This sounds like a hook-up but doesn’t feel like it at all. Kathy stares at their joined hands, frozen for several seconds, and she feels content to just stand here and let it wash over her. Watching Downton Abbey on a hotel couch would have been enough. But she can have more than that, more than she’d had in that plane to Dallas, more than she’d hoped for ever since she realized that she’s fallen for her best friend. "You’ll spend the night, won’t you?" She sounds far too hopeful and vulnerable for someone who’s won a major political victory and will help run the country for the next four years. Her grip on Pyotr’s hand tightens just a little.

For all the months they’ve spent as close friends, Pyotr doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kathy sound like this before. He feels an irrational need to protect this flash of vulnerability and hope—to nurse the flame far away from prying eyes. “If you want me to,” he promises, bending down to kiss her again. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds this time; tempting though it is, he refuses to waste any more precious time exposed in a parking lot. He breaks away with a grin and leads the way into the hotel.

The receptionist barely glances their way as they walk past the front desk and into the waiting elevator. Kathy and Pyotr together are not an unusual sight — if the woman notices their joined hands, she doesn’t show it.

There’s a thrilling novelty in being able to stand so close to Pyotr that Kathy can feel the heat radiating off of him, even though there’s plenty of space in the otherwise empty elevator. She smiles at him, tired but happier than she’s been in months, and waits for their arrival on her floor. “You know, I’m really glad that I sold my mother out to you before the election even started. Weird as that is to say.”

"So am I. Though I think we might need to come up with a more sanitized version to share with people when they ask how we met.” The fact that Kathy’s standing so close to him is reason enough to smile—but it widens further still at the simple fact that he can now say ‘we’ without feeling weird about it. “They don’t get to know the dirty little details.” The elevator arrives on Kathy’s floor with a pleasant ‘ding’, and he leads the way out once again. The hideously patterned carpet and off-white hallway seem so bizarrely banal after everything that’s happened tonight. “Will people be wondering where you are? Your mum?”

"Mm, what shall we tell them? I tempted you with a story and you just couldn’t resist sticking around, good journalist that you are?" She flashes an amused smile, using her free hand to rummage through her purse in search of the key. "You were mum’s contact first, I suppose we can just stick with that. And I told her that I won’t be sticking around for very long. I’m sure no one will raise the alarms until well into tomorrow." She’s extremely satisfied to have that little bit of freedom, at least.

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

“Where would you rather we talked about it?” he asks, his lips curving up in a sly, thoroughly happy smirk. “Sitting in the hotel lobby? Back at the party? I’m sorry we had to settle for something so unromantic.” On a night of miracles, this seems to be the most miraculous occurrence of all. He grins and eagerly clambers out of the car, none too gracefully. At least Pyotr manages to stay upright as he comes round to Kathy’s side of the vehicle. “Oh, I think we can do better than twelve hours,” he offers, raising a slightly suggestive eyebrow. “What say you we go on up and get started?”

"Very smooth," she comments with a an amused smile, then gives in to the desire to do what she’s wanted to do for months, and lifts her chin up to kiss him. It’s better than she remembers from the Dallas flight, better than what she’s allowed herself to fantasize about. It’s a few seconds before her publicity-paranoia kicks in and she makes herself pull back. "How about we put a rain-check on the Netflix-viewing idea, hmm?"

He stays still for a second, just relishing the feeling of her lips against his, before he returns the kiss enthusiastically in kind. By the time she breaks it off, he’s already slightly short of breath, his eyes wide. After months of enforced chaste thoughts, this is more than he’d dared hope for. “You took the words right out of my mouth, darling.” Pyotr laughs a little, the endearment unfamiliar but wonderful on his tongue, and takes her hand. “Come on, your room or mine?”

"I think mine’s closer." This sounds like a hook-up but doesn’t feel like it at all. Kathy stares at their joined hands, frozen for several seconds, and she feels content to just stand here and let it wash over her. Watching Downton Abbey on a hotel couch would have been enough. But she can have more than that, more than she’d had in that plane to Dallas, more than she’d hoped for ever since she realized that she’s fallen for her best friend. "You’ll spend the night, won’t you?" She sounds far too hopeful and vulnerable for someone who’s won a major political victory and will help run the country for the next four years. Her grip on Pyotr’s hand tightens just a little.

For all the months they’ve spent as close friends, Pyotr doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kathy sound like this before. He feels an irrational need to protect this flash of vulnerability and hope—to nurse the flame far away from prying eyes. “If you want me to,” he promises, bending down to kiss her again. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds this time; tempting though it is, he refuses to waste any more precious time exposed in a parking lot. He breaks away with a grin and leads the way into the hotel.

The receptionist barely glances their way as they walk past the front desk and into the waiting elevator. Kathy and Pyotr together are not an unusual sight — if the woman notices their joined hands, she doesn’t show it.

There’s a thrilling novelty in being able to stand so close to Pyotr that Kathy can feel the heat radiating off of him, even though there’s plenty of space in the otherwise empty elevator. She smiles at him, tired but happier than she’s been in months, and waits for their arrival on her floor. “You know, I’m really glad that I sold my mother out to you before the election even started. Weird as that is to say.”

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

“Where would you rather we talked about it?” he asks, his lips curving up in a sly, thoroughly happy smirk. “Sitting in the hotel lobby? Back at the party? I’m sorry we had to settle for something so unromantic.” On a night of miracles, this seems to be the most miraculous occurrence of all. He grins and eagerly clambers out of the car, none too gracefully. At least Pyotr manages to stay upright as he comes round to Kathy’s side of the vehicle. “Oh, I think we can do better than twelve hours,” he offers, raising a slightly suggestive eyebrow. “What say you we go on up and get started?”

"Very smooth," she comments with a an amused smile, then gives in to the desire to do what she’s wanted to do for months, and lifts her chin up to kiss him. It’s better than she remembers from the Dallas flight, better than what she’s allowed herself to fantasize about. It’s a few seconds before her publicity-paranoia kicks in and she makes herself pull back. "How about we put a rain-check on the Netflix-viewing idea, hmm?"

He stays still for a second, just relishing the feeling of her lips against his, before he returns the kiss enthusiastically in kind. By the time she breaks it off, he’s already slightly short of breath, his eyes wide. After months of enforced chaste thoughts, this is more than he’d dared hope for. “You took the words right out of my mouth, darling.” Pyotr laughs a little, the endearment unfamiliar but wonderful on his tongue, and takes her hand. “Come on, your room or mine?”

"I think mine’s closer." This sounds like a hook-up but doesn’t feel like it at all. Kathy stares at their joined hands, frozen for several seconds, and she feels content to just stand here and let it wash over her. Watching Downton Abbey on a hotel couch would have been enough. But she can have more than that, more than she’d had in that plane to Dallas, more than she’d hoped for ever since she realized that she’s fallen for her best friend. "You’ll spend the night, won’t you?" She sounds far too hopeful and vulnerable for someone who’s won a major political victory and will help run the country for the next four years. Her grip on Pyotr’s hand tightens just a little.

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

“Where would you rather we talked about it?” he asks, his lips curving up in a sly, thoroughly happy smirk. “Sitting in the hotel lobby? Back at the party? I’m sorry we had to settle for something so unromantic.” On a night of miracles, this seems to be the most miraculous occurrence of all. He grins and eagerly clambers out of the car, none too gracefully. At least Pyotr manages to stay upright as he comes round to Kathy’s side of the vehicle. “Oh, I think we can do better than twelve hours,” he offers, raising a slightly suggestive eyebrow. “What say you we go on up and get started?”

"Very smooth," she comments with a an amused smile, then gives in to the desire to do what she’s wanted to do for months, and lifts her chin up to kiss him. It’s better than she remembers from the Dallas flight, better than what she’s allowed herself to fantasize about. It’s a few seconds before her publicity-paranoia kicks in and she makes herself pull back. "How about we put a rain-check on the Netflix-viewing idea, hmm?"

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy gives her customary smirk at having her door opened for her, but she’d stopped complaining about it a long time ago. In fact, she’s horrified to realize that she’s come to expect it on some level. “It’s crazy that we have the time to actually watch it, though.” Her hands fumble with the seat-belt, her motor skills a little fuzzy. She gives a short laugh. “I feel that I may need some morals for the next few years, come to think of it. I’ve no idea what I’m getting into.” Admitting it doesn’t cripple her with as much shame as she’d expected, but she can’t hide her wince.

"You’re fine." Pyotr closes his door and starts the engine, instinctively checking the parking lot for any lingering photographers before he pulls out. "You’ve worked to get where you are now, Kath. You wouldn’t have made it this far unless you were capable. It’s going to be a stretch, sure. But we can do it. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out." The ‘we’ slips in without him noticing. "But for now, let’s just…not think about it, alright? No politics for at least the next twelve hours."

"I don’t love this job as well as I should, but sometimes it feels so good when I do it." She doesn’t even know what she means by it, really. Maybe she’s just saying that she’s a damn hypocrite. Pyotr is right on one thing, though — she can be Chief of Staff, and she’ll do a fine job. "Thank you," she adds, quieter. "You don’t have to deal with half of the shit you take for me." She braces herself for the inevitable, That’s what friends are for, and leans back in her chair. Sometimes she swears that Pyotr returns at least a small fraction of her affections, but cold experience reminds her not to confuse vanity and wishful thinking with reality. “Alright, no more politics.”

"I’m happy to put up with all the shit, whether it’s political or not. You know that, right?" he asks, glancing over at her as he drives out of the parking lot and off down the dark street. "Even though the campaign’s over, I’m still here for you." Pyotr’s heart thuds so hard against his ribcage it might as well be audible, as he adds, "however you need me to be. Or want me." Oh God, please want me.

"Of course I want you." She is too drunk or too tired or too something to add anything else to it. She just lets the statement hang there, firm and a little stubborn. She won’t be afraid of this. “You’re part of the story now, not behind it.” She swallows, lets her shoulder fall in a half-shrug. “You’re not just the journalist who covered the Rogers campaign anymore.”

"I’m not part of the story, Kath. I’m not brilliant like you or your parents are, you know that. You all go out and do the great deeds—I just write about them." He taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, sighing as he rests back in his chair. "And that’s fine, because I don’t need to dominate the stage here. I’m happy to just…get to watch you fly, you know?"

"But you still get pastries with me on the weekends and drive me home to watch Netflix after one of the most brilliant nights in my career," Kathy points out. Her patience is wearing thin, but she’s much more alert than she would have expected. It feels like the wrong time to have this conversation. But then again, she’s too much of a coward to ever find a good time. "I don’t want you to just watch me fly, yeah? I want you to fly with me. Even though that’s a shitty metaphor."

"Smash the metaphor, then. Remember what happened last time we flew together? On the private jet on our way to Dallas?" Pyotr asks, a note of wistfulness stealing into his voice. If they’re really having this conversation now, then he sees no point in beating around the bush. Disastrous as this all might end up being. "I…yeah, if that’s the kind of flying we’re talking about, then I’m totally on-board." He swallows roughly, glancing at Kathy out of the corner of his eye. "But I don’t just want a repeat of the Dallas trip. I want it for real. And I don’t know if we can have that."

Kathy falls silent for a long moment, watching the hotel gates get taller as the car pulls closer. Her heart feels like it has split itself between her throat and her wrists, rattling and beating madly like an animal in a cage. “What makes you think we can’t have something real?” She tries not to be wounded by his skepticism. After years of experience at a job that largely consists of making things possible and succeeding against all odds, it’s an odd thing to be practically helpless in the face of Pyotr’s doubts. Because she wants this so badly she’s almost certain it’s visible.

"I didn’t think you wanted me like that," he admits, his heart in his throat as he turns into the hotel parking-lot and maneuvers to a space. "And I don’t know if you’ll want me like that long-term." It goes without saying that a short-term relationship is not an option; their friendship means too much to Pyotr for him to let it burn out over a fling. He sighs heavily and turns off the engine, before shifting in his seat to face Kathy more easily. "But if you think you could want me like that, maybe…" he trails off, even though his voice is unmistakably hopeful. "Then I say let’s give it a try."

"I can’t believe we’re talking about this in your car in a hotel parking lot." She gives an exhilarated, half-nervous laugh, but her shoulders are already dropping in relief. "Do or do not," she says, grinning happily. "There is no try. Now come on." She opens the door and steps out into the cool air. This is real, somehow. "You promised me twelve hours."

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy gives her customary smirk at having her door opened for her, but she’d stopped complaining about it a long time ago. In fact, she’s horrified to realize that she’s come to expect it on some level. “It’s crazy that we have the time to actually watch it, though.” Her hands fumble with the seat-belt, her motor skills a little fuzzy. She gives a short laugh. “I feel that I may need some morals for the next few years, come to think of it. I’ve no idea what I’m getting into.” Admitting it doesn’t cripple her with as much shame as she’d expected, but she can’t hide her wince.

"You’re fine." Pyotr closes his door and starts the engine, instinctively checking the parking lot for any lingering photographers before he pulls out. "You’ve worked to get where you are now, Kath. You wouldn’t have made it this far unless you were capable. It’s going to be a stretch, sure. But we can do it. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out." The ‘we’ slips in without him noticing. "But for now, let’s just…not think about it, alright? No politics for at least the next twelve hours."

"I don’t love this job as well as I should, but sometimes it feels so good when I do it." She doesn’t even know what she means by it, really. Maybe she’s just saying that she’s a damn hypocrite. Pyotr is right on one thing, though — she can be Chief of Staff, and she’ll do a fine job. "Thank you," she adds, quieter. "You don’t have to deal with half of the shit you take for me." She braces herself for the inevitable, That’s what friends are for, and leans back in her chair. Sometimes she swears that Pyotr returns at least a small fraction of her affections, but cold experience reminds her not to confuse vanity and wishful thinking with reality. “Alright, no more politics.”

"I’m happy to put up with all the shit, whether it’s political or not. You know that, right?" he asks, glancing over at her as he drives out of the parking lot and off down the dark street. "Even though the campaign’s over, I’m still here for you." Pyotr’s heart thuds so hard against his ribcage it might as well be audible, as he adds, "however you need me to be. Or want me." Oh God, please want me.

"Of course I want you." She is too drunk or too tired or too something to add anything else to it. She just lets the statement hang there, firm and a little stubborn. She won’t be afraid of this. “You’re part of the story now, not behind it.” She swallows, lets her shoulder fall in a half-shrug. “You’re not just the journalist who covered the Rogers campaign anymore.”

"I’m not part of the story, Kath. I’m not brilliant like you or your parents are, you know that. You all go out and do the great deeds—I just write about them." He taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, sighing as he rests back in his chair. "And that’s fine, because I don’t need to dominate the stage here. I’m happy to just…get to watch you fly, you know?"

"But you still get pastries with me on the weekends and drive me home to watch Netflix after one of the most brilliant nights in my career," Kathy points out. Her patience is wearing thin, but she’s much more alert than she would have expected. It feels like the wrong time to have this conversation. But then again, she’s too much of a coward to ever find a good time. "I don’t want you to just watch me fly, yeah? I want you to fly with me. Even though that’s a shitty metaphor."

"Smash the metaphor, then. Remember what happened last time we flew together? On the private jet on our way to Dallas?" Pyotr asks, a note of wistfulness stealing into his voice. If they’re really having this conversation now, then he sees no point in beating around the bush. Disastrous as this all might end up being. "I…yeah, if that’s the kind of flying we’re talking about, then I’m totally on-board." He swallows roughly, glancing at Kathy out of the corner of his eye. "But I don’t just want a repeat of the Dallas trip. I want it for real. And I don’t know if we can have that."

Kathy falls silent for a long moment, watching the hotel gates get taller as the car pulls closer. Her heart feels like it has split itself between her throat and her wrists, rattling and beating madly like an animal in a cage. “What makes you think we can’t have something real?” She tries not to be wounded by his skepticism. After years of experience at a job that largely consists of making things possible and succeeding against all odds, it’s an odd thing to be practically helpless in the face of Pyotr’s doubts. Because she wants this so badly she’s almost certain it’s visible.

Party in the USA ~ Pyotr & Kathy (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

Kathy gives her customary smirk at having her door opened for her, but she’d stopped complaining about it a long time ago. In fact, she’s horrified to realize that she’s come to expect it on some level. “It’s crazy that we have the time to actually watch it, though.” Her hands fumble with the seat-belt, her motor skills a little fuzzy. She gives a short laugh. “I feel that I may need some morals for the next few years, come to think of it. I’ve no idea what I’m getting into.” Admitting it doesn’t cripple her with as much shame as she’d expected, but she can’t hide her wince.

"You’re fine." Pyotr closes his door and starts the engine, instinctively checking the parking lot for any lingering photographers before he pulls out. "You’ve worked to get where you are now, Kath. You wouldn’t have made it this far unless you were capable. It’s going to be a stretch, sure. But we can do it. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out." The ‘we’ slips in without him noticing. "But for now, let’s just…not think about it, alright? No politics for at least the next twelve hours."

"I don’t love this job as well as I should, but sometimes it feels so good when I do it." She doesn’t even know what she means by it, really. Maybe she’s just saying that she’s a damn hypocrite. Pyotr is right on one thing, though — she can be Chief of Staff, and she’ll do a fine job. "Thank you," she adds, quieter. "You don’t have to deal with half of the shit you take for me." She braces herself for the inevitable, That’s what friends are for, and leans back in her chair. Sometimes she swears that Pyotr returns at least a small fraction of her affections, but cold experience reminds her not to confuse vanity and wishful thinking with reality. “Alright, no more politics.”

"I’m happy to put up with all the shit, whether it’s political or not. You know that, right?" he asks, glancing over at her as he drives out of the parking lot and off down the dark street. "Even though the campaign’s over, I’m still here for you." Pyotr’s heart thuds so hard against his ribcage it might as well be audible, as he adds, "however you need me to be. Or want me." Oh God, please want me.

"Of course I want you." She is too drunk or too tired or too something to add anything else to it. She just lets the statement hang there, firm and a little stubborn. She won’t be afraid of this. “You’re part of the story now, not behind it.” She swallows, lets her shoulder fall in a half-shrug. “You’re not just the journalist who covered the Rogers campaign anymore.”

"I’m not part of the story, Kath. I’m not brilliant like you or your parents are, you know that. You all go out and do the great deeds—I just write about them." He taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, sighing as he rests back in his chair. "And that’s fine, because I don’t need to dominate the stage here. I’m happy to just…get to watch you fly, you know?"

"But you still get pastries with me on the weekends and drive me home to watch Netflix after one of the most brilliant nights in my career," Kathy points out. Her patience is wearing thin, but she’s much more alert than she would have expected. It feels like the wrong time to have this conversation. But then again, she’s too much of a coward to ever find a good time. "I don’t want you to just watch me fly, yeah? I want you to fly with me. Even though that’s a shitty metaphor."