Don't Walk Guys, Run. Run As Fast As You Can And Bring Popcorn.

Don't walk guys, run. Run as fast as you can and bring popcorn.

If anyone’s in the mood for some heavy Malcolm Tucker angst…I’ve written a thing

Teaser: “Over a decade in British politics had culminated in running, in all his flailing, undignified glory, from a herd of bloodthirsty hacks outside a fucking prison.”

Look, I just want to sit on his lap and bury my nose in his hair alright?

The twenty-something who could do immortal rage like no-one else.

Matt Smith as The 11th Doctor in DOCTOR WHO

Older Lister is just adorable. I want him to be my dad and my best friend simultaneously.

He's like a feral little Scottish puppy, and I want one.

he’s so silly

When you discover someone else writing about Malcolm having a much younger wife and you now need to be best friends.

After the Party

Synopsis: Malcolm and his wife are attending some book event. For now.

A/n: I am a writer. Occasionally. I'm sorry for being shite with the uploads. Love you all. Warnings for mild cum eating and Ollie's general existence. Hahaha.

You fanned yourself discreetly. The heaters were at full-blast inside the cramped room. You could feel the lining of the skirt you wore starting to cling to you. It was starting to squall outside. You had half a mind to go outside and stand in it.

It would be a relief.

Your husband was off, still clutching a handful of files necessary for his job. Dazzling and scaring the masses of government people from multiple parties. And the press. Followed by his dark shadow, Jamie. Whom you quite liked, but at the moment was the bane of your existence since he tried to coup the faith of your husband out of fear of change.

You didn’t understand why you had to come to this party. It was some nutter’s book launch.

A few spouses had also come but they were put off by you for the crime of loving the scariest man in the room. His reputation preceded him too much. Also, your “noticeable” age difference made people fear the worst sometimes.

You would have thought other scandals would have turned their heads by now!

The Reeder boy approached you. He was possibly hell-bent on ruining every time you saw him.

You clutched your glass of Coke tighter.

“Did your father let you out of the house finally?” Reeder mocked, pointing to Malcolm. The irony was he was younger than you.

You blamed jealousy. He obviously got off on whatever Judas or Brutus fantasies he clearly had coming to fruition slowly. He probably loved masturbating to the image of him getting fucked by your husband on top of a print-out of party manifesto or whatever.

You inhaled and breathed out slowly, “Papa let’s me out twice a year for good behavior!” You mocked his slick, posh accent, as you discreetly tried fixing the strap of your bra under the turtleneck you wore.

Malcolm eventually saw you blanching and scowling as Reeder tried to target you more.

“Ah, noticed your glass was getting’ low, pet. Take mine…” He addressed you and swapped glasses with you. Quickly his tone changed, “You! Fuck nut, get your girl a fresh drink. Be useful! For fuck’s sake!” He said as he shoved the boy away from you. Hopefully towards the Tory girl he was apparently trying to honeypot and failing to do so…

You sipped the orange juice quietly and squeaked out a thank you.

“He likes you.” Malcolm hypothesized as he whipped out his phone and checked it. He sent a quick text and shoved it. You noticed Jamie pat his pocket and check it. He looked over at the pair of you.

He slung an arm around you and kissed your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom.” You confessed. “Can you walk me? I don’t want to deal with anyone looking at me like they did last time I got lost.” You stone-faced ground your jaw.

It was fairly easy to get lost in this place.

“Sure.” He shook his head, walking over to Jamie and whispering something in his ear before rejoining you and opening the door for you.

The hallway was empty. Thank goodness.

You exhaled as if you had been holding your breath for the entire time you’d been at the party.

He looked good. Too good. It was always such a sin for him to look like this on this lighting and in the stupid suits his job demanded him to wear.

You left him in the hall and went to the restroom. When you left the stall, he was in there with you.

“This is the ladies…” You rolled your eyes.

“Did you have to wear that?” He gestured to your simple turtleneck and faux leather skirt get-up. Not particularly sexy, the skirt was even floor length!

“I’ve been hard since you fucking got here.” He approached you, as if to illustrate the point. He fingers the fabric of your belt holding the outfit together. “I want to fuck you here.” He pressed you against the sink’s countertop.

He was right, he was hard. It was pressing against both of your abdomens.

His hand found it’s way to the hollow of your throat as he pressed you into a position where you had no choice but to sit on the edge of the counter now. He kissed your cheek and traced his tongue down the line of your jaw.

“What if someone catches us?” You reasoned, despite every fiber of your body wailing to let him take you then and there.

“Oh, let them. They’ll never speak again!” He laughed. His work persona leaking out. The soft sweet house-husband you knew was dead in these lands. Malcolm was dead, long live Tucker.

This is who he was outside the bubble of your home and what little personal lives you both had. Just a small facet of who he was.

You were quickly falling under his spell and were seeing how quickly you could at least slide your tights down and at least slide your panties to the side for this when you had the realization that you might, personally, be embarrassed if someone, especially one of those judgmental bitches that also married into this life walked in.

You pushed him off as he was just getting his cock out.

“Save it ‘til we get home? Please.” You batted your lashes. “I don’t want caught.” You reasoned.

He pulled back and sighed, “Fine. You’re in for it when we get home!” He smeared his face with his hands as if to manually compose himself into something recognizable. He somehow had gotten his belt undone in the brief time that this attack on your face had taken place.

You twisted your tongue and rolled your eyes as you fixed it.

Somehow you felt like this was just the beginning of a very long night. Longer than it already was.

Your social battery was already dead and gone, so this provided you an opportunity to go home anyways.

You washed your hands and exited, him following you like a bat out of hell. Back into that room…

He went back to talking. Seemed like he was making a graceful and acceptable exit from it.

He joined you as he gave you your coat.

The Reeder boy approached, “Awe, is it past curfew?” He shot you a look that seemed both in mocking and envy.

You balled up your fist and went to strike the annoying boy. A strong, familiar hand caught your wrist as you could see Reeder begin to flinch. You could feel your face twist from scowling and rage-filled to annoyed and put out.

“No, not now.” Malcolm ordered you.

“I’ll fucking deal with you on fucking Monday, walking syphilis.” He shoved Ollie into the corner a tad. “Don’t ever hit my wife again.” He spun the event around.

Oliver Reeder, hitting Malcolm Tucker’s wife would keep this gossip mills busy for a while.

You knew that much about your husband’s job. It was simple enough.

As you made your way through the halls and towards the exit, Jamie appeared, as if his leash was yanked by Malcolm’s invisible hand.

“Tell people that Ollie tried to strike (y/n).” Malcolm barked order at him. “He may have also hit on her and groped her. Your choice.”

"Aye, that's me, boss. Nae fuckin' worries. I'll make sure they all know what a sick wee fucker he is... Ta!” He slugged his beer, grasped so oddly in one hand and started whipping put his phone and texting.

You ripped off and chewed your right index fingernail.

The cold air felt wonderful on your sweating form. Too bad that it was shortly interrupted by the called car and driver pulling up. You could have stood there with the flakes hitting your face from that moment until the end of eternity…

Soon enough, you were home.

The minute the key unlocked the deadbolt, he pounced on the back of your neck, rough kisses with the faintest hint of stubble grazing down the back of exposed neck as teeth made purchase with the hollow of nape of your neck.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” He purred as he shoved you through your front door and shoved you into the entrance and parting your legs with his. “Making me wait while my balls are aching. Took me all not to pin you the fuck down and fuck you in the middle of that room.”

He groped your breast roughly through both turtleneck and bra.

So this is what everyone else got? This sharp, crude and dangerous man? You’d never been given of an inch of roughness by the man. He’d be soft and gentle from the first moment your eyes had met.

You flushed deeply and felt your clit throb and a familiar ache wracked through your core. You moaned and felt your body relax against the wall as he unbuckled his pants and bunched up your skirt, tearing aside your tights and underwear as he slid you down the wall. He steadied the two of you with one of his hands on both of yours. He shoved your butt up with his free hand and slid his cock in your increasingly-wet cunt.

“Christ, you feel so fuckin’ great. You’re so tight. Aren’t you? My tight little missus.” He went on as he gripped your hip with one hand and started pounding you frantically.

The words did something to you.

You felt your spine sink as you went rigid elsewhere.

“No, this won’t do.” You heard him mutter after what felt like several minutes. He went over to the sofa, dragging you along by your wrist, held only in his fingers. He clumsily sat as he slung you over his lap.

“Sit on my lap. Be a good girl.” He pulled your hips over and you onto his cock.

He began to bounce you as he pet your hair, his jaw locked as he pushed himself further into you with every bounce. You felt yourself start to grind down with every thrust.

“Such a fucking slut for me. Show me how you want my cock, angel.” His praise had you swooning over backwards as you felt your head roll back and moan.

He kept bucking his hips forward and up as you moaned more. You felt a guiding hand keep you on his cock and your walls get tighter.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned as he shot his load into your aching, well-towards-an-orgasm pussy.

You complained, “No! Don’t pull out!” As he slipped himself out of you and let out a huffy little puff of air.

“Of course. You’re such a good girl for me.” His eyes had a strange glint in them. Debauched. That was the only way you could describe it. He was definitely debauched.

He pulled you down to the ground and tilted a pillow from the couch down and propped your hips up on it.

One of those deft, long fingers reached and stroked your lips and went down, wiping up the leaking cum from your hole, digging in slightly.

He brought the finger to your lips and parted them, cleaning it off with the wetness of your mouth.

He went down and dug out a tad more and repeated the process…

“Now, look at what you’ve done, pet.” He cooed. “Look what a mess you’ve made!” Tucker fading and Malcolm taking his place.

He kissed your lips with a feathery smile.

You would have passed out right then and there…

He slid his way to between your legs, where your cunt was fully on display. You couldn’t see but you could feel him breathing down your thighs as he licked and sucked on your raw, throbbing clit.

He steadied himself by pressing and pulling your thighs apart more.

You felt his teeth bite you roughly. Right at the top of your inner thigh, right where you were most sensitive and your flesh had rolled down into and you bucked your hips further. His face shoved directly into you. The slight stubble striking across the new marks as you felt his nose swipe into your hollows.

You groaned as you felt him commit to going down on you. Seemed like he was intent on cleaning up your mess. You failed upwards as you tried to find his hair to play with as he continued to suck and bite and nibble you to a pathetic moan.

“Please, please.” You felt yourself babble out.

You felt girlish and stupefied.

He stroked your folds and tutted. You groaned a tad more, slipping further from reality.

“If you insist, little one.” You could feel his smile from your vantage-less point.

He continued on until you came.

“Don’t wear that outfit again. I cannae focus. I may have leaked more than pre-cum.” He joked.

You nodded from your dumbfounded spot on the floor he had you in.

You still felt a little full of what remained of his load and like you has fully lost the plot here…

He joined you on the floor, yanking more pillows down and propping up both of your heads. He curled you into his chest and kissed your forehead. Both of you still partially still dressed in your clothes of your roles outside of this safe bubble you had; in that moment you couldn’t feel further from Mrs. Tucker. Just his (y/n).

His phone started buzzing off the hook. You swore you saw him switch it off, for the first time ever.

He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa.

The snow squall outside raged on.

And you felt very safe and warm.