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

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

It’s over. The votes have been cast, the polling stations closed, CNN’s projections made—and Annabelle Rogers has been elected the first female president of the United States of America.

Pyotr is at Annabelle’s campaign headquarters when the announcement is made; in these mad final weeks of the campaign, with election-craze afflicting the nation at an all-time high, he’s become a talking-head on MSNBC’s political programming. And so as the election results are going public, Pyotr’s on camera. Providing commentary, talking excitedly about the crowds of Ms. Rogers’ supporters, smiling and laughing and drawing the audience at home into the infectiously joyful atmosphere. Pyotr’s never been so exhausted in his life—he’s hardly slept in a week. But they’ve won, and Pyotr’s career has never flown so high, and as the camera pans out over the celebrations, it all feels worth it.

Pyotr can’t stay long on camera; he’s been invited to the campaign after-party. It’s an honour not usually extended to journalists, but there are perks that come with being the best friend of the new White House Chief of Staff. He’s giddy until he reaches the party. But as he pulls off his leather gloves, accepts a beer, and finds himself overheated and jostled among dozens of drunk, exhausted campaigners, his enthusiasm quickly cools. Tiredly, he makes his way to a fairly abandoned corner of the room. He won’t stay long, he decides. Just long enough to see Kathy and then make his escape.

It’s all worth it when Annabelle smiles like the sun and her picture flashes over every major public news channel in the country. The cameras are going off, deafening and blinding, but Kathy squeezes her mother’s hand tightly and beams. Her heart beats so loudly in her chest that it feels like it’s about to burst free at any moment. They’ve actually done it this time. Her mother is president.

The after-party is one of the few things that did not involve Kathy’s planning or approval, much to her relief. It’s just expensive and tasteful enough to pass for something fitting the future president, but the lights are dimmed and the alcohol is plentiful enough to make half of the campaign team blissfully drunk. Kathy shakes hands and smiles until someone hands her a scotch, and she drinks it quickly. She has another half a shot but sets the glass back on the counter before she can finish it, shaking her head and trying to break free from the crowd. It only makes her feel hotter, the dress clinging to her skin even more uncomfortably. 

She sees Pyotr on the other side of the room, happy to note that he’s alone, and walks along the wall to where he’s standing. “Hey.” She smiles at him tiredly. “Enjoying the celebrations?”

"Not really." He flashes her a smile in return, one of the first sincere ones he’s given since arriving at the party. The lights are too dark and he feels so terribly flushed and tired. But it’s so good to see her. "It’s a bit…loud for my tastes. But fuck that." Pyotr turns and throws his empty can into a nearby recycling bin, and then turns back to Kathy and offers her his hand. A veneer of professionalism, at least. "Congratulations, Kathy." His smile widens, his dimples showing. "Or should I say Madam Chief of Staff? Either way. You ran a brilliant campaign. And I’m proud to have been here with you for it."

Kathy takes his hand automatically, but uses it to pull him in for a hug after only a few seconds. She’s not concerned with looking professional. Everyone here knows that they’re close. “Thank you.” As she makes herself pull back, she realizes that there’s no reason for them to be seeing each other quite as often as they’re used to. The campaign is over and so is Pyotr’s job as its prime reporter. Kathy feels her chest tighten at the thought, tries to chase it away with another smile. “I hope you’re not going to disappear now.” She shouldn’t want him to stay as badly as she does.

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

pyotrfyodorovich:

It’s over. The votes have been cast, the polling stations closed, CNN’s projections made—and Annabelle Rogers has been elected the first female president of the United States of America.

Pyotr is at Annabelle’s campaign headquarters when the announcement is made; in these mad final weeks of the campaign, with election-craze afflicting the nation at an all-time high, he’s become a talking-head on MSNBC’s political programming. And so as the election results are going public, Pyotr’s on camera. Providing commentary, talking excitedly about the crowds of Ms. Rogers’ supporters, smiling and laughing and drawing the audience at home into the infectiously joyful atmosphere. Pyotr’s never been so exhausted in his life—he’s hardly slept in a week. But they’ve won, and Pyotr’s career has never flown so high, and as the camera pans out over the celebrations, it all feels worth it.

Pyotr can’t stay long on camera; he’s been invited to the campaign after-party. It’s an honour not usually extended to journalists, but there are perks that come with being the best friend of the new White House Chief of Staff. He’s giddy until he reaches the party. But as he pulls off his leather gloves, accepts a beer, and finds himself overheated and jostled among dozens of drunk, exhausted campaigners, his enthusiasm quickly cools. Tiredly, he makes his way to a fairly abandoned corner of the room. He won’t stay long, he decides. Just long enough to see Kathy and then make his escape.

It’s all worth it when Annabelle smiles like the sun and her picture flashes over every major public news channel in the country. The cameras are going off, deafening and blinding, but Kathy squeezes her mother’s hand tightly and beams. Her heart beats so loudly in her chest that it feels like it’s about to burst free at any moment. They’ve actually done it this time. Her mother is president.

The after-party is one of the few things that did not involve Kathy’s planning or approval, much to her relief. It’s just expensive and tasteful enough to pass for something fitting the future president, but the lights are dimmed and the alcohol is plentiful enough to make half of the campaign team blissfully drunk. Kathy shakes hands and smiles until someone hands her a scotch, and she drinks it quickly. She has another half a shot but sets the glass back on the counter before she can finish it, shaking her head and trying to break free from the crowd. It only makes her feel hotter, the dress clinging to her skin even more uncomfortably. 

She sees Pyotr on the other side of the room, happy to note that he’s alone, and walks along the wall to where he’s standing. “Hey.” She smiles at him tiredly. “Enjoying the celebrations?”

Sweater Weather ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

She takes his hand after only a moment of hesitation, making a mental note that Pyotr is a surprisingly good actor. “And wouldn’t that be a headline to make our careers.” She hates herself just a little for making the comment equally as flirty instead of dry and amused, but they get to the police car before she can add anything.

"The trunk’s open," the officer says as he gets into the front seat. "Get in the back when you’re ready and we’ll have you near civilization in no time."

Pyotr knows exactly what a dangerous game they’re playing; it’s exactly the same game that led them to that undignified fuck in the jet. But Kathy’s hand feels too good in his for him to want to stop pretending. So he just smiles wickedly at her and sets down the suitcase to open the back door of the police cruiser for her. “I’ll just put the baggage away and then I’ll join you in a second, sweetheart.” He winks—may God forgive him for it—and walks back round to the trunk. If this is his new level of self-control where Kathy is concerned, then maybe they can’t get to Indianapolis soon enough.

She puts a hand over her face to hide her amusement, not bothering to dignify that with a comment. When she gets into the car, though, she feels the first pangs of the guilt she should have felt as soon as this started. She’s engaged, and this isn’t the decent thing, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it’s necessary. Still, she can’t resist smiling at Pyotr as they take off and the officer talks about something or other.

She is late to the meeting after all, but it’s only a twenty-minute tardiness. She manages to give Pyotr’s clothes to a hotel employee beforehand, though. They’re clean and neatly folded on her bed when she gets there in the afternoon. She waits until it’s almost ten at night to bring them to him in the hotel room down the hall. She’s not even sure why she doesn’t do it in the bright light of day. Pyotr could be sleeping by now, they’re both exhausted. But her hand already knocks, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Pyotr is lucky—unlike Kathy, he doesn’t have any meetings to attend. But he does have an inbox of frantic emails and voicemails from his editor in Washington, demanding why he hasn’t filed a story in nearly 48 hours. He spends the day cooped up in his hotel room, his fingers flying over his laptop keys. He tells himself that he’s annoyed with Emily’s demands—but, in truth, he’s really a bit relieved. When he’s busy with a deadline, he doesn’t have time to think about whatever the hell happened with Kathy last night and this morning. And (more importantly) he doesn’t have time to think about how much he bloody enjoyed it.

Sending off the story to Emily with a satisfied click, Pyotr rubs his hands over his face and makes plans for the rest of the evening. He orders in a ridiculous amount of pizza and Coke, strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, and settles in to watch some rerun of House. Lying on the bed in a kind of bone-weary tiredness, it takes him a few seconds to move when he hears the knock on the door. The second he sees Kathy on the doorstep, he really wishes he’d bothered to put pants on before opening up. “…Hey.” He bites his lower lip and smiles. “What’s up, Kath?” 

"Hi." They haven’t made a habit of visiting each other so late in the evening, and Kathy realizes that she hasn’t seen Pyotr in this state of undress since the episode on the jet. She catches herself staring far longer than appropriate, long enough that he’s almost certainly noticed, so she smiles slightly and tries to make light of the situation. "I’ve brought you your clothes, and it looks like I’m just in time. Wouldn’t want you to get cold." She holds out the pile in question, almost managing to hit their usual note of teasing.

Pyotr tells himself it’s silly to make this situation awkward—they’ve had sex before, it’s not as if she’s likely to be surprised by seeing him in a state of comparative undress. But she’s looking at him for far too long, and a part of Pyotr can’t help but wonder if she likes what she sees. “Oh, that’s very nice of you.” A thought occurs to him and his smile widens, even as he blushes deeply. One day, maybe, he’ll be able to flirt without feeling like a naughty schoolboy. “I was thinking, though. Why don’t you keep the sweater? I thought it suited you.” 

Kathy blinks at him, a slow and stupidly amused smile spreading across her face. “It suited me?” she repeats . “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.” She really did like the sweater, though. It’s warm and pleasant to the touch, and well-worn in the best way possible. She wonders how the hell she would explain this to Mark when she gets home and starts unpacking — I spent a cold and uncomfortable night cuddling with my best friend and he let me keep the sweater. It’s just another whisper of guilt and doubt, part of a long chain of such thoughts that makes her wonder if this is as unfair and cruel as it feels. “Thanks, Pyotr. I think I’d like to.” Aw, fuck it.

Pyotr’s never met Mark more than in passing, and it’s easy to push his image far away from his mind. The campaign won’t last forever, he reminds himself. And then he and Kathy will settle back into their normal lives, and this period of intimacy will be nothing more than a harmless memory. “You know how much I love these kinds of sweaters. I’d like to think it’s the highest compliment I can offer. You’re welcome to it, of course.” He laughs and opens the door wider, inclining his head invitingly. “D’you want to come in? I’ve got way too much pizza and some crappy local channel’s showing a marathon of House. Or do you have more campaign work to do?”

"I always have more campaign work to do." She shrugs and takes the invitation, stepping inside despite her misgivings about being in close quarters with an underwear-clad Pyotr. "But it can wait until morning for now, I suppose." She sets the clothing down on a nearby chair, and casts an appraising eye over the pizza. "You certainly know how to have a good time."

"I’m all on my own in a new city with an unlimited company account at my disposal. Damn straight I’m going to party it up." He mutes the television and sits back on the bed, patting the spot next to him for Kathy to join him. "How’d your day go? Was it alright with you being late for your briefing?"

"You don’t want to hear about the briefing, trust me." She sits cross-legged on the indicated spot and reaches for a slice of pizza. It’s still warm, the cheese clinging to her mouth as she takes a bite, and she makes a quiet appreciative sound. "If only this were an appropriate way to organize campaign dinners. We’d get voters in no time."

Sweater Weather ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

She takes his hand after only a moment of hesitation, making a mental note that Pyotr is a surprisingly good actor. “And wouldn’t that be a headline to make our careers.” She hates herself just a little for making the comment equally as flirty instead of dry and amused, but they get to the police car before she can add anything.

"The trunk’s open," the officer says as he gets into the front seat. "Get in the back when you’re ready and we’ll have you near civilization in no time."

Pyotr knows exactly what a dangerous game they’re playing; it’s exactly the same game that led them to that undignified fuck in the jet. But Kathy’s hand feels too good in his for him to want to stop pretending. So he just smiles wickedly at her and sets down the suitcase to open the back door of the police cruiser for her. “I’ll just put the baggage away and then I’ll join you in a second, sweetheart.” He winks—may God forgive him for it—and walks back round to the trunk. If this is his new level of self-control where Kathy is concerned, then maybe they can’t get to Indianapolis soon enough.

She puts a hand over her face to hide her amusement, not bothering to dignify that with a comment. When she gets into the car, though, she feels the first pangs of the guilt she should have felt as soon as this started. She’s engaged, and this isn’t the decent thing, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it’s necessary. Still, she can’t resist smiling at Pyotr as they take off and the officer talks about something or other.

She is late to the meeting after all, but it’s only a twenty-minute tardiness. She manages to give Pyotr’s clothes to a hotel employee beforehand, though. They’re clean and neatly folded on her bed when she gets there in the afternoon. She waits until it’s almost ten at night to bring them to him in the hotel room down the hall. She’s not even sure why she doesn’t do it in the bright light of day. Pyotr could be sleeping by now, they’re both exhausted. But her hand already knocks, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Pyotr is lucky—unlike Kathy, he doesn’t have any meetings to attend. But he does have an inbox of frantic emails and voicemails from his editor in Washington, demanding why he hasn’t filed a story in nearly 48 hours. He spends the day cooped up in his hotel room, his fingers flying over his laptop keys. He tells himself that he’s annoyed with Emily’s demands—but, in truth, he’s really a bit relieved. When he’s busy with a deadline, he doesn’t have time to think about whatever the hell happened with Kathy last night and this morning. And (more importantly) he doesn’t have time to think about how much he bloody enjoyed it.

Sending off the story to Emily with a satisfied click, Pyotr rubs his hands over his face and makes plans for the rest of the evening. He orders in a ridiculous amount of pizza and Coke, strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, and settles in to watch some rerun of House. Lying on the bed in a kind of bone-weary tiredness, it takes him a few seconds to move when he hears the knock on the door. The second he sees Kathy on the doorstep, he really wishes he’d bothered to put pants on before opening up. “…Hey.” He bites his lower lip and smiles. “What’s up, Kath?” 

"Hi." They haven’t made a habit of visiting each other so late in the evening, and Kathy realizes that she hasn’t seen Pyotr in this state of undress since the episode on the jet. She catches herself staring far longer than appropriate, long enough that he’s almost certainly noticed, so she smiles slightly and tries to make light of the situation. "I’ve brought you your clothes, and it looks like I’m just in time. Wouldn’t want you to get cold." She holds out the pile in question, almost managing to hit their usual note of teasing.

Pyotr tells himself it’s silly to make this situation awkward—they’ve had sex before, it’s not as if she’s likely to be surprised by seeing him in a state of comparative undress. But she’s looking at him for far too long, and a part of Pyotr can’t help but wonder if she likes what she sees. “Oh, that’s very nice of you.” A thought occurs to him and his smile widens, even as he blushes deeply. One day, maybe, he’ll be able to flirt without feeling like a naughty schoolboy. “I was thinking, though. Why don’t you keep the sweater? I thought it suited you.” 

Kathy blinks at him, a slow and stupidly amused smile spreading across her face. “It suited me?” she repeats . “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.” She really did like the sweater, though. It’s warm and pleasant to the touch, and well-worn in the best way possible. She wonders how the hell she would explain this to Mark when she gets home and starts unpacking — I spent a cold and uncomfortable night cuddling with my best friend and he let me keep the sweater. It’s just another whisper of guilt and doubt, part of a long chain of such thoughts that makes her wonder if this is as unfair and cruel as it feels. “Thanks, Pyotr. I think I’d like to.” Aw, fuck it.

Pyotr’s never met Mark more than in passing, and it’s easy to push his image far away from his mind. The campaign won’t last forever, he reminds himself. And then he and Kathy will settle back into their normal lives, and this period of intimacy will be nothing more than a harmless memory. “You know how much I love these kinds of sweaters. I’d like to think it’s the highest compliment I can offer. You’re welcome to it, of course.” He laughs and opens the door wider, inclining his head invitingly. “D’you want to come in? I’ve got way too much pizza and some crappy local channel’s showing a marathon of House. Or do you have more campaign work to do?”

"I always have more campaign work to do." She shrugs and takes the invitation, stepping inside despite her misgivings about being in close quarters with an underwear-clad Pyotr. "But it can wait until morning for now, I suppose." She sets the clothing down on a nearby chair, and casts an appraising eye over the pizza. "You certainly know how to have a good time."

Sweater Weather ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

She takes his hand after only a moment of hesitation, making a mental note that Pyotr is a surprisingly good actor. “And wouldn’t that be a headline to make our careers.” She hates herself just a little for making the comment equally as flirty instead of dry and amused, but they get to the police car before she can add anything.

"The trunk’s open," the officer says as he gets into the front seat. "Get in the back when you’re ready and we’ll have you near civilization in no time."

Pyotr knows exactly what a dangerous game they’re playing; it’s exactly the same game that led them to that undignified fuck in the jet. But Kathy’s hand feels too good in his for him to want to stop pretending. So he just smiles wickedly at her and sets down the suitcase to open the back door of the police cruiser for her. “I’ll just put the baggage away and then I’ll join you in a second, sweetheart.” He winks—may God forgive him for it—and walks back round to the trunk. If this is his new level of self-control where Kathy is concerned, then maybe they can’t get to Indianapolis soon enough.

She puts a hand over her face to hide her amusement, not bothering to dignify that with a comment. When she gets into the car, though, she feels the first pangs of the guilt she should have felt as soon as this started. She’s engaged, and this isn’t the decent thing, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it’s necessary. Still, she can’t resist smiling at Pyotr as they take off and the officer talks about something or other.

She is late to the meeting after all, but it’s only a twenty-minute tardiness. She manages to give Pyotr’s clothes to a hotel employee beforehand, though. They’re clean and neatly folded on her bed when she gets there in the afternoon. She waits until it’s almost ten at night to bring them to him in the hotel room down the hall. She’s not even sure why she doesn’t do it in the bright light of day. Pyotr could be sleeping by now, they’re both exhausted. But her hand already knocks, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Pyotr is lucky—unlike Kathy, he doesn’t have any meetings to attend. But he does have an inbox of frantic emails and voicemails from his editor in Washington, demanding why he hasn’t filed a story in nearly 48 hours. He spends the day cooped up in his hotel room, his fingers flying over his laptop keys. He tells himself that he’s annoyed with Emily’s demands—but, in truth, he’s really a bit relieved. When he’s busy with a deadline, he doesn’t have time to think about whatever the hell happened with Kathy last night and this morning. And (more importantly) he doesn’t have time to think about how much he bloody enjoyed it.

Sending off the story to Emily with a satisfied click, Pyotr rubs his hands over his face and makes plans for the rest of the evening. He orders in a ridiculous amount of pizza and Coke, strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, and settles in to watch some rerun of House. Lying on the bed in a kind of bone-weary tiredness, it takes him a few seconds to move when he hears the knock on the door. The second he sees Kathy on the doorstep, he really wishes he’d bothered to put pants on before opening up. “…Hey.” He bites his lower lip and smiles. “What’s up, Kath?” 

"Hi." They haven’t made a habit of visiting each other so late in the evening, and Kathy realizes that she hasn’t seen Pyotr in this state of undress since the episode on the jet. She catches herself staring far longer than appropriate, long enough that he’s almost certainly noticed, so she smiles slightly and tries to make light of the situation. "I’ve brought you your clothes, and it looks like I’m just in time. Wouldn’t want you to get cold." She holds out the pile in question, almost managing to hit their usual note of teasing.

Pyotr tells himself it’s silly to make this situation awkward—they’ve had sex before, it’s not as if she’s likely to be surprised by seeing him in a state of comparative undress. But she’s looking at him for far too long, and a part of Pyotr can’t help but wonder if she likes what she sees. “Oh, that’s very nice of you.” A thought occurs to him and his smile widens, even as he blushes deeply. One day, maybe, he’ll be able to flirt without feeling like a naughty schoolboy. “I was thinking, though. Why don’t you keep the sweater? I thought it suited you.” 

Kathy blinks at him, a slow and stupidly amused smile spreading across her face. “It suited me?” she repeats . “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.” She really did like the sweater, though. It’s warm and pleasant to the touch, and well-worn in the best way possible. She wonders how the hell she would explain this to Mark when she gets home and starts unpacking — I spent a cold and uncomfortable night cuddling with my best friend and he let me keep the sweater. It’s just another whisper of guilt and doubt, part of a long chain of such thoughts that makes her wonder if this is as unfair and cruel as it feels. “Thanks, Pyotr. I think I’d like to.” Aw, fuck it.

Sweater Weather ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

She takes his hand after only a moment of hesitation, making a mental note that Pyotr is a surprisingly good actor. “And wouldn’t that be a headline to make our careers.” She hates herself just a little for making the comment equally as flirty instead of dry and amused, but they get to the police car before she can add anything.

"The trunk’s open," the officer says as he gets into the front seat. "Get in the back when you’re ready and we’ll have you near civilization in no time."

Pyotr knows exactly what a dangerous game they’re playing; it’s exactly the same game that led them to that undignified fuck in the jet. But Kathy’s hand feels too good in his for him to want to stop pretending. So he just smiles wickedly at her and sets down the suitcase to open the back door of the police cruiser for her. “I’ll just put the baggage away and then I’ll join you in a second, sweetheart.” He winks—may God forgive him for it—and walks back round to the trunk. If this is his new level of self-control where Kathy is concerned, then maybe they can’t get to Indianapolis soon enough.

She puts a hand over her face to hide her amusement, not bothering to dignify that with a comment. When she gets into the car, though, she feels the first pangs of the guilt she should have felt as soon as this started. She’s engaged, and this isn’t the decent thing, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it’s necessary. Still, she can’t resist smiling at Pyotr as they take off and the officer talks about something or other.

She is late to the meeting after all, but it’s only a twenty-minute tardiness. She manages to give Pyotr’s clothes to a hotel employee beforehand, though. They’re clean and neatly folded on her bed when she gets there in the afternoon. She waits until it’s almost ten at night to bring them to him in the hotel room down the hall. She’s not even sure why she doesn’t do it in the bright light of day. Pyotr could be sleeping by now, they’re both exhausted. But her hand already knocks, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Pyotr is lucky—unlike Kathy, he doesn’t have any meetings to attend. But he does have an inbox of frantic emails and voicemails from his editor in Washington, demanding why he hasn’t filed a story in nearly 48 hours. He spends the day cooped up in his hotel room, his fingers flying over his laptop keys. He tells himself that he’s annoyed with Emily’s demands—but, in truth, he’s really a bit relieved. When he’s busy with a deadline, he doesn’t have time to think about whatever the hell happened with Kathy last night and this morning. And (more importantly) he doesn’t have time to think about how much he bloody enjoyed it.

Sending off the story to Emily with a satisfied click, Pyotr rubs his hands over his face and makes plans for the rest of the evening. He orders in a ridiculous amount of pizza and Coke, strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, and settles in to watch some rerun of House. Lying on the bed in a kind of bone-weary tiredness, it takes him a few seconds to move when he hears the knock on the door. The second he sees Kathy on the doorstep, he really wishes he’d bothered to put pants on before opening up. “…Hey.” He bites his lower lip and smiles. “What’s up, Kath?” 

"Hi." They haven’t made a habit of visiting each other so late in the evening, and Kathy realizes that she hasn’t seen Pyotr in this state of undress since the episode on the jet. She catches herself staring far longer than appropriate, long enough that he’s almost certainly noticed, so she smiles slightly and tries to make light of the situation. "I’ve brought you your clothes, and it looks like I’m just in time. Wouldn’t want you to get cold." She holds out the pile in question, almost managing to hit their usual note of teasing.

Sweater Weather ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Political Animals AU)

pyotrfyodorovich:

kathymoran:

She takes his hand after only a moment of hesitation, making a mental note that Pyotr is a surprisingly good actor. “And wouldn’t that be a headline to make our careers.” She hates herself just a little for making the comment equally as flirty instead of dry and amused, but they get to the police car before she can add anything.

"The trunk’s open," the officer says as he gets into the front seat. "Get in the back when you’re ready and we’ll have you near civilization in no time."

Pyotr knows exactly what a dangerous game they’re playing; it’s exactly the same game that led them to that undignified fuck in the jet. But Kathy’s hand feels too good in his for him to want to stop pretending. So he just smiles wickedly at her and sets down the suitcase to open the back door of the police cruiser for her. “I’ll just put the baggage away and then I’ll join you in a second, sweetheart.” He winks—may God forgive him for it—and walks back round to the trunk. If this is his new level of self-control where Kathy is concerned, then maybe they can’t get to Indianapolis soon enough.

She puts a hand over her face to hide her amusement, not bothering to dignify that with a comment. When she gets into the car, though, she feels the first pangs of the guilt she should have felt as soon as this started. She’s engaged, and this isn’t the decent thing, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it’s necessary. Still, she can’t resist smiling at Pyotr as they take off and the officer talks about something or other.

She is late to the meeting after all, but it’s only a twenty-minute tardiness. She manages to give Pyotr’s clothes to a hotel employee beforehand, though. They’re clean and neatly folded on her bed when she gets there in the afternoon. She waits until it’s almost ten at night to bring them to him in the hotel room down the hall. She’s not even sure why she doesn’t do it in the bright light of day. Pyotr could be sleeping by now, they’re both exhausted. But her hand already knocks, and it’s too late to turn back now.