Work Text:
23 December 1998
Harsh streams of rain lashed down on the windows of the DTI as Peter sat rigidly at his desk in a state of utter despair. He gazed over the office he had grew so incredibly fond of over the past few months having finally being promoted, making him a minister with a job.
Since July he had really made himself feel at home in there, decorating it with modern furniture which perfectly suited his lavish lifestyle ambitions. He traced his finger over his Christmas card from Prince Charles as he contemplated life. He was taking a final moment to suck up this atmosphere which he so loved, knowing the tragic face of his career was impending.
Peter, who was already on edge, jumped slightly as his door flung open.
In walked Alastair who tended to not bother knocking before he entered rooms. Heading straight over to the back of the room, he didn’t say anything, he just gave Peter a look of horrendous pity. He positioned himself behind him, looming tall over the slight man who was hunched over stacks of papers piled neatly on his desk.
Peter whose eyes remained fixated on the oak desk in front of him felt Alastair’s cold hand stroke his right shoulder, as he gently murmured “It’s Tony, he needs to talk to you”, as he passed over his pager with his free hand.
Peter and Tony began to discuss the consequences of Peter’s undeclared loan in which the media was brutally attacking him for. A few minutes in, Peter’s tone changed dramatically as he finally came to accept that there was no chance of his survival. He must resign. To this realisation, he broke into a series of small but harsh, nervous tremors, as he muttered desperate, feeble apologies over the phone, in the hope that it could miraculously change the circumstances.
Alastair, who paced the room back and forth behind him, took immediate notice of the switch up of Peter’s body language and came over to try and soothe him.
Alastair traced his fingers softly over Peter’s cheek causing him to stumble over his words as he momentarily lost track of thought. Peter’s neck relaxed from its state of tension as he felt Alastair briefly massaging it before moving up to his hair. He ran his long fingers through Peter’s soft locks, reassuring him that he isn’t alone at his time of misery. This continued for a couple more minutes until the phone call was completed, and Peter finally turned to face Alastair, causing his hand to drop away from him at last.
Remarkably over the course of the ten minute phone call, Peter (for once) had managed to hold back his tears.
This didn’t last. The waterworks opened.
Though Alastair would’ve usually liked to have taken this opportunity to have told him to man up, he felt a genuine sense of sympathy, as well as a deep personal loss over the knowledge that his Peter was going. Alastair placed his arms under Peter’s, scooping his limp body up from his chair with ease. He cradled him in his arms, allowing him to sob into his neck as he rocked him gently and stroked his back in soft circular motions.
After a little while, Peter finally lifted his head, allowing Alastair to finally look him in the eyes. Eyes that were now grim with sorrow. He cleared his throat in preparation to finally express how he was feeling, unobstructed by the extremely overdramatic, harrowing crying noises which he was consistent in producing over any inconvenience in his life (most recently because Pret had ran out of his favourite granola bar).
“This isn’t fair, I only just got here and now I have to go. I didn’t even do anything that was really wrong” he exclaimed with pure bitterness.
“I know, I know” Alastair sighed.
Peter’s complaints continued between furious sniffles- “Why is it that I’m the one who gets so easily disposed of? Whelan still has his job. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for that little bitch.”
“I promise I will sort that fucking oik out. I will make sure he won’t be here for much longer.” Alastair said, reassuring Peter.
Peter didn’t respond, he just looked hopelessly down at his shoes, not satisfied as he had heard these ‘promises’ before. Alastair gently tilted Peter’s head back towards him by gently propping his chin up with his finger.
“Look-” Alastair continued as he stared deeply into Peter’s distraught eyes, “You will be back here in no time I promise. You are a good minister Peter, the value you bring to this government is irreplaceable. We all- well nearly all anyways- love you so dearly I promise…”
He broke off his sentence, pausing to wipe Peter’s tears. The closeness of each other’s breath warmed their faces, soothing the bitterness of their skin in the icy December air. Alastair, now softly whispering close to Peter’s mouth finally added- “I’ll show you just how much I love you”.
With this comment, they both simultaneously pressed their lips against each others without hesitation, melting into a gentle yet passionate kiss. Peter’s tear-soaked cheeks dampened Alastair’s as their faces pressed together tightly. He clung to the collar of Alastair’s shirt to pull him even closer to him, desperate for more of what he had desired for years.
Alastair was just as desperate to service these burning desires, with himself craving nothing more than Peter’s touch. He sucked lustfully on Peter’s bottom lip, relishing his sweet taste. Next, he pressed Peter into himself by grasping his waist like his life depended on it. The force of this movement knocked them both backwards, causing Alastair to be pinned up firmly against the wall.
The kiss, which had now progressed with a deep intensity, numbed Peter’s from the fact that he had just lost his job. All he cared about at this very moment was taking it further with Alastair- the only person who truly took care of him during his crisis.
Alastair, who still had his thick winter jacket on over his suit found Peter eagerly unzipping it. This eagerness was met with pure delight at what he had revealed to himself.
“Oh fuck.” Alastair mumbled.
Embarrassingly, in the over-optimistic hopes that wearing a certain item of clothing could bring good luck (something he mocked Tony for, as he wore the same pair of shoes every week during PMQs), he had worn the tie Peter had given him for his birthday four years ago which supposedly brought good luck.
Alastair had kept his jacket purposefully zipped up, as he intended their DTI encounter to be brief. He had certainly not envisaged Peter being forced to resign as means by which they would finally embrace each other.
Although Peter was ecstatic that Alastair had finally worn the lime green tie he had spent ages picking out for him, and then ages begging him to actually wear it, Alastair was mortified. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gift, it just wasn’t a very him tie. He simply thought it was too brash.
At this point, they really should’ve been beginning to write Peter’s resignation speech, however Peter who now had a genuine smile on his face, decided to use the opportunity of Alastair’s shame to tease him, making him no longer feel like the only fool in the room. “Can I say, you’re wearing a very gay tie”, Peter beamed mischievously. Alastair would’ve ordinarily protested this claim, but instead he just rolled his eyes and let out a low chuckle, comforted by the fact that Peter was now happy.
He decided the speech writing could wait for now and allowed Peter to pull him back so they were entangled together messily in their previous position of a gay embrace. Or as some would say- a gay tie.