More liberties
Oct. 10th, 2009 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mymetalphantomYes, the second part of my HoC fic, where I take British history and violate it for my own nefarious purposes.
On the night of a Tory landslide victory Urquhart and Stamper have a private conversation. The answer to the "does Urquhart know" question.
I apologise in advance for this ;)
Friday May 4th 1979
The air at Number 10 Downing Street felt electric that night, filled with the crackle of excitement that came not just from victory, but from the awesome knowledge that history had been made. Perhaps everyone felt a sense of ease because of this, for, whatever the future held, this night would always be included in the history books.
It was noisy in the Prime Minister’s residence, full of politicians and PR men all toasting the success and talking up their role in it. All while they waited for the lady herself to grace them with her presence. That caused a certain amount of tension as they nervously anticipated her arrival and it served to thicken the atmosphere even further.
Francis Urquhart arrived later than the others as he’d been detained at the constituency; three hours spent cornered by some frightful campaign woman in a hideous mauve jumper who he had the distinct impression was trying to seduce him. He’d always thought they handed out too much cheap champagne at those things.
As he climbed the stairs to the first floor he looked out into the heavy crowd that had gathered and noted the important presence of the new Cabinet who were already whispering secretively and shooting each other knowing looks and furtive glances.
Urquhart had their measure.
He passed through the crowd with an ethereal ease, as though he were made of nothing, and no one batted an eyelid as he passed by. He took pleasure in knowing that these egotistical men would never see him coming.
It didn’t take long for him to find Tim Stamper, another man who could be easily lost in a crowd because he took on an unassuming air. He smiled slyly as he watched Urquhart’s approach but beyond that devious expression that he liked to adopt was genuine pleasure at seeing his mentor, a look so subtle that you would have to know him to see it.
“Francis!” he greeted, raising his voice above the din. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!”
“Detained at the God-awful constituency party!” Urquhart explained. “Three hours drinking cheap champagne with people who think vol-au-vents are the height of sophistication!”
Stamper laughed and shook his head. “You should visit my constituency one day! I think you’d find it enlightening!” Urquhart laughed, knowing that he was joking, which was just as well, as Urquhart had no intention of spending any time in Stamper’s home town.
“I take it she hasn’t arrived yet!” he said, scanning the sea of half excited half nervous faces in the crowd.
“No! And they’re all wetting themselves, wondering what they’re going to get!” Stamper eyed Urquhart keenly for a minute before adding, “I hear congratulations are in order for you, Francis!”
Urquhart's eyes searched the room, wondering where they could go to have a more private conversation. He had just been to one vacuous party and he hadn’t come here to mix with the new Cabinet. Spying a door just down the corridor, Urquhart tugged on Stamper’s jacket in a silent order for him to move.
He bent down close to Stamper, his lips almost touching his ear and his nose picking up the soft scent of his hair. “We need to talk.”
Urquhart practically pushed Stamper through the door and into a small room where a new photocopier had recently been installed. It smelled strongly of paper and toner and was dark, lit by a weak bulb that flickered a few times when it first came on. Stamper eyed it warily.
“I hope there are no power cuts tonight,” he said as Urquhart closed the door, blocking the brighter light from outside. “Bloody unions,” he muttered. “Still, we’ll soon sort them out.”
Urquhart paused and leant back against the door. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York,” he quoted in a wistful tone.
“Um,” Stamper uttered clearly just humouring Urquhart. “Well, by this daughter of a grocer anyway.” Urquhart rolled his eyes but smiled just the same.
He knew he was inclined, in his darker moments, to treat his protégé rather badly. He was a poor mentor in that respect but at least he was aware of it. He was inclined to take his bad mood out on Stamper, mainly because the younger man was so willing to put up with it and would patiently wait for the better Urquhart to emerge from behind the black cloud. He didn’t meekly take abuse but he didn’t get angry either, just waited, sometimes for days, knowing that his friend would return when he was ready. He knew him well. The only person who knew him better was Elizabeth.
However, sometimes Tim paid the price for being that close to Urquhart.
Five years ago Urquhart, still heartbreakingly childless was confronted with the news that his young colleague was about to be a father and anger had burned so, so hot in chest that he felt like he would breathe fire. The injustice of it made him ache. Stamper had only been married a year and he and his young wife hadn’t even been trying for children; it had just been one of those things, a natural extension of a perfectly normal marriage.
That was bad enough, but the next year saw the couple expecting another child.
“You really should find out what’s causing it,” he joked but he knew that his voice had been ice cold. Stamper wisely said nothing.
It just wasn’t fair! Stamper was inferior to him in every way with his cheap suits and backstreet Grammar school education. Urquhart was wittier, more elegant and more intelligent. He was refined, the sort of man born to serve the country but also bred to lead it. Yet this one thing eluded him. This one simple thing that his common little friend found so very, very easy.
Yet his anger had dissipated as Stamper proved not to be the doting father when Urquhart unwittingly forced him to choose between his job and his family. Urquhart made more and more demands on the younger man’s time and he quite happily obliged, staying at work till all sorts of ungodly hours and dropping anything at a moment’s notice. He never once questioned the necessity of his presence and had so far never put his growing family before his duty.
“I confess,” Urquhart began as he pulled a hip flask out of his inside pocket, “that I have a craving for a proper drink after that bloody awful party.”
Stamper grinned as Urquhart unscrewed the top and the rich, tangy scent of expensive malt whiskey filled the small room. “Champagne is bad for the digestive system I find,” Stamper drawled.
Urquhart took a small swig of the drink, 17 year old Bruichladdich that was smooth on the tongue and then burned a path down the throat, warming and soothing and eminently satisfying.
Whilst Urquhart leant against the door Stamper looked round him shifted uncomfortably. They were close in that room, the cumbersome photocopier and the clutter of boxes on the floor limiting the amount of standing space. Not that Urquhart minded, although he had to admit that after spending his childhood wandering the rolling Perthshire moors he was not always comfortable in stuffy, confined spaces. Still he didn’t mind in this instance. He liked to keep Stamper close anyway.
The anger he felt about Stamper’s impending fatherhood had been followed by an uncomfortable prickle of jealousy as it suddenly occurred to him that he was, in fact, sharing him with someone else. Up until that point he had never contemplated Tim’s life outside of their relationship, considering it both none of his business and not worthy of thought, but when this news broke he was forced to accept that he was a real man. Not just some game that Urquhart could get out whenever he felt bored or lonely, but a man who was driven by feelings and desires just like any other. A man who craved physical intimacy. It was a part of his life that did not include him and Urquhart felt an unreasonable irritation at that thought. He couldn’t yet bear to admit to himself that this was the real reason for monopolising Stamper’s time. He had no idea why, but he wanted to be the only thing in this man’s life, to establish himself as the centre of his universe, the very reason for his being. Perhaps he enjoyed the idea that someone existed solely for his benefit, someone who needed him for everything.
He had even taken to talking in hushed, low tones when they were alone together and he would fondly touch Stamper’s shoulder while he talked about the future and about how useful they could be to one another, mixing ambition with physical contact. He had the desire to instil in Stamper a hunger that his wife would never be able to satiate.
No, he didn’t mind Stamper being this close.
“So,” Stamper said as he took the proffered flask from Urquhart’s hand, “are congratulations in order?”
Urquhart didn’t say anything, merely smiled and raised an eyebrow. The action made Stamper grin and a light chuckle escaped his lips, which would have been missed had he not been so close. He raised the flask in a toast. “The whip’s office is one step closer to a real Cabinet position.” He took a heavy swig of malt whiskey and Urquhart smirked as Stamper’s eyes watered and he winced, clearly unused to the pungent flavour of expensive scotch. “Plus you get to know all the little secrets,” he added, his voice roughened by the whiskey currently burning a track down his oesophagus. Yet there was a wicked glint in his eyes.
“I’ll be putting some stick about, don’t you worry,” Urquhart replied.
“You’ll have to with that lot,” Stamper threw in with a sneer. “They’re compliant now, but they’re all just biding their time, waiting to stick the knife in her. Power hunger. Desperation. You can smell it.”
Stamper was not the world’s most intelligent man, but he did seem to have a sixth sense where power was concerned. He knew who to ignore and who to back in an argument.
Urquhart’s instinct was developed over the years, as he had immersed himself in politics and as he had soaked up every last drop of information that he had been exposed to until his very being was saturated with it. Stamper’s instinct on the other hand was natural and raw and directionless, almost amateurish. He was learning, under Urquhart’s guidance, but Urquhart had no desire to watch his protégé become too clever, preferring to always keep Stamper dependent upon him.
“I have heard that some of our colleagues find her rather attractive,” Urquhart said thoughtfully. Stamper chuckled again and handed the flask back to him after another unsuccessful attempt to drink its rich amber contents.
“They all fancy her, perverts,” Stamper replied, a lazy look of distaste on his face and Urquhart laughed quietly and smiled with an almost paternal fondness. How he enjoyed talking to Stamper. How the young man could bring Urquhart out of his own mind, pull him back to reality with his refreshing brand of honesty, his low humour and his irreverence towards everything. He never tried to be amusing it was just a natural bi-product of the blunt, often dreadful things he said.
He would never tell him, but Stamper was a bright spot in his life, there for his amusement when the rest of his world became too dark. He could be relied upon. To a point. Urquhart knew that loyalty was a fragile, delicate thing that could be thrown to the floor and shattered. Sometimes loyalty wasn’t enough.
“It’s going to be tough, Tim,” Urquhart said, pocketing his flask, pushing himself away from the door and standing straight and tall in front of Stamper, looming over him the half lit box room. “The things she wants to do, they’re going to prove controversial.”
“She certainly has a very radical view on economics,” Stamper said and Urquhart noticed that he had swayed towards him, as though he were drawn by some magnetic force. “It might prove unpopular with the voters.”
“Not just the voters, Tim,” Urquhart replied. “Some members of the Party might not...appreciate her tough stance on welfare.” His voice had dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper which meant that Stamper had to lean in even further to hear him. Urquhart held his gaze, registering with a flicker of excitement that Stamper’s eyes were wide and almost completely black in the dim light.
“Those in marginal constituencies aren’t going to like it,” Stamper agreed. “There will probably be mass unemployment-”
“They’ll want to keep those seats.” Urquhart inched forward, so close now that his chest brushed against Stamper’s with every inward breath.
“So they’ll vote against the PM.” Stamper’s voice had become strained.
“She’s going to want to crack the whip,” Urquhart said, fully aware of the different connotations those words held. “I’m going to have to take a hard line. Stand for no nonsense.”
Stamper swallowed loudly. “Yes,” he agreed in a ragged whisper.
“I’m going to need some sound men under me,” Urquhart continued and this time he pitched his voice low, so that it rumbled in his diaphragm. He leant in a little more, thrilled when he saw Stamper’s eyes flick down towards his mouth and Urquhart watched in fascination as he licked his own lips in a slow, unconscious movement. A movement that in this dark little room and at that precise moment was almost disgustingly erotic. “How you would you like to be Treasurer of Her Majesty’s Household?”
Stamper tore his gaze away from Urquhart’s mouth and looked into his eyes, a comically exaggerated look of confusion on his face. “You mean...you want me to be the Deputy Whip?”
“Of course, Tim,” Urquhart said and he brought his hands up and clasped Stamper’s upper arms. He bit back the smile of triumph as he felt a tremble pass through the smaller man and he flexed his fingers gently, subtly massaging the bicep muscles. “Who else would I want with me?” Stamper’s nostrils flared. “What do you say?”
Stamper reached out a hand, obviously itching to touch Urquhart in return. But that wasn’t how it worked and he knew that, so he dropped his hands back down to his sides and looked Urquhart squarely in the face.
Despite having known him since he was fresh-faced novice, Urquhart had never seen Stamper look so young and innocent before. It excited him.
“Of course,” Stamper replied, swallowing again and licking his dry lips. “I’d be honoured.” Yet there was a look of hesitation, almost distrust on his face and it gave Urquhart pause. He merely wished to reward the man, give him that incentive he needed to remain at his side and to help him in his now flourishing career. Why was the man so damned suspicious all the time?
“What’s the matter, Tim,” he asked flexing his fingers again, this time a bit harder. He delighted in the almost drugged look that came over Stamper’s face. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
Stamper looked at him in that moment with such devotion that Urquhart couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted the man’s feelings. He barely hesitated before he replied.
“You know I do”
AN: And Thatcherism begins. She was famous for (among other things) utilising the Whip to maintain order in the Party.
Apologies to Michael Jopling, John Wakeham, David Waddington, Timothy Renton, and Richard Ryder who were all Conservative Whips and have cruelly been erased from history to make way for Urquhart!
Just one linky for you this time, so that my reference isn't missed:
The Winter of Discontent
On the night of a Tory landslide victory Urquhart and Stamper have a private conversation. The answer to the "does Urquhart know" question.
I apologise in advance for this ;)
Friday May 4th 1979
The air at Number 10 Downing Street felt electric that night, filled with the crackle of excitement that came not just from victory, but from the awesome knowledge that history had been made. Perhaps everyone felt a sense of ease because of this, for, whatever the future held, this night would always be included in the history books.
It was noisy in the Prime Minister’s residence, full of politicians and PR men all toasting the success and talking up their role in it. All while they waited for the lady herself to grace them with her presence. That caused a certain amount of tension as they nervously anticipated her arrival and it served to thicken the atmosphere even further.
Francis Urquhart arrived later than the others as he’d been detained at the constituency; three hours spent cornered by some frightful campaign woman in a hideous mauve jumper who he had the distinct impression was trying to seduce him. He’d always thought they handed out too much cheap champagne at those things.
As he climbed the stairs to the first floor he looked out into the heavy crowd that had gathered and noted the important presence of the new Cabinet who were already whispering secretively and shooting each other knowing looks and furtive glances.
Urquhart had their measure.
He passed through the crowd with an ethereal ease, as though he were made of nothing, and no one batted an eyelid as he passed by. He took pleasure in knowing that these egotistical men would never see him coming.
It didn’t take long for him to find Tim Stamper, another man who could be easily lost in a crowd because he took on an unassuming air. He smiled slyly as he watched Urquhart’s approach but beyond that devious expression that he liked to adopt was genuine pleasure at seeing his mentor, a look so subtle that you would have to know him to see it.
“Francis!” he greeted, raising his voice above the din. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!”
“Detained at the God-awful constituency party!” Urquhart explained. “Three hours drinking cheap champagne with people who think vol-au-vents are the height of sophistication!”
Stamper laughed and shook his head. “You should visit my constituency one day! I think you’d find it enlightening!” Urquhart laughed, knowing that he was joking, which was just as well, as Urquhart had no intention of spending any time in Stamper’s home town.
“I take it she hasn’t arrived yet!” he said, scanning the sea of half excited half nervous faces in the crowd.
“No! And they’re all wetting themselves, wondering what they’re going to get!” Stamper eyed Urquhart keenly for a minute before adding, “I hear congratulations are in order for you, Francis!”
Urquhart's eyes searched the room, wondering where they could go to have a more private conversation. He had just been to one vacuous party and he hadn’t come here to mix with the new Cabinet. Spying a door just down the corridor, Urquhart tugged on Stamper’s jacket in a silent order for him to move.
He bent down close to Stamper, his lips almost touching his ear and his nose picking up the soft scent of his hair. “We need to talk.”
Urquhart practically pushed Stamper through the door and into a small room where a new photocopier had recently been installed. It smelled strongly of paper and toner and was dark, lit by a weak bulb that flickered a few times when it first came on. Stamper eyed it warily.
“I hope there are no power cuts tonight,” he said as Urquhart closed the door, blocking the brighter light from outside. “Bloody unions,” he muttered. “Still, we’ll soon sort them out.”
Urquhart paused and leant back against the door. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York,” he quoted in a wistful tone.
“Um,” Stamper uttered clearly just humouring Urquhart. “Well, by this daughter of a grocer anyway.” Urquhart rolled his eyes but smiled just the same.
He knew he was inclined, in his darker moments, to treat his protégé rather badly. He was a poor mentor in that respect but at least he was aware of it. He was inclined to take his bad mood out on Stamper, mainly because the younger man was so willing to put up with it and would patiently wait for the better Urquhart to emerge from behind the black cloud. He didn’t meekly take abuse but he didn’t get angry either, just waited, sometimes for days, knowing that his friend would return when he was ready. He knew him well. The only person who knew him better was Elizabeth.
However, sometimes Tim paid the price for being that close to Urquhart.
Five years ago Urquhart, still heartbreakingly childless was confronted with the news that his young colleague was about to be a father and anger had burned so, so hot in chest that he felt like he would breathe fire. The injustice of it made him ache. Stamper had only been married a year and he and his young wife hadn’t even been trying for children; it had just been one of those things, a natural extension of a perfectly normal marriage.
That was bad enough, but the next year saw the couple expecting another child.
“You really should find out what’s causing it,” he joked but he knew that his voice had been ice cold. Stamper wisely said nothing.
It just wasn’t fair! Stamper was inferior to him in every way with his cheap suits and backstreet Grammar school education. Urquhart was wittier, more elegant and more intelligent. He was refined, the sort of man born to serve the country but also bred to lead it. Yet this one thing eluded him. This one simple thing that his common little friend found so very, very easy.
Yet his anger had dissipated as Stamper proved not to be the doting father when Urquhart unwittingly forced him to choose between his job and his family. Urquhart made more and more demands on the younger man’s time and he quite happily obliged, staying at work till all sorts of ungodly hours and dropping anything at a moment’s notice. He never once questioned the necessity of his presence and had so far never put his growing family before his duty.
“I confess,” Urquhart began as he pulled a hip flask out of his inside pocket, “that I have a craving for a proper drink after that bloody awful party.”
Stamper grinned as Urquhart unscrewed the top and the rich, tangy scent of expensive malt whiskey filled the small room. “Champagne is bad for the digestive system I find,” Stamper drawled.
Urquhart took a small swig of the drink, 17 year old Bruichladdich that was smooth on the tongue and then burned a path down the throat, warming and soothing and eminently satisfying.
Whilst Urquhart leant against the door Stamper looked round him shifted uncomfortably. They were close in that room, the cumbersome photocopier and the clutter of boxes on the floor limiting the amount of standing space. Not that Urquhart minded, although he had to admit that after spending his childhood wandering the rolling Perthshire moors he was not always comfortable in stuffy, confined spaces. Still he didn’t mind in this instance. He liked to keep Stamper close anyway.
The anger he felt about Stamper’s impending fatherhood had been followed by an uncomfortable prickle of jealousy as it suddenly occurred to him that he was, in fact, sharing him with someone else. Up until that point he had never contemplated Tim’s life outside of their relationship, considering it both none of his business and not worthy of thought, but when this news broke he was forced to accept that he was a real man. Not just some game that Urquhart could get out whenever he felt bored or lonely, but a man who was driven by feelings and desires just like any other. A man who craved physical intimacy. It was a part of his life that did not include him and Urquhart felt an unreasonable irritation at that thought. He couldn’t yet bear to admit to himself that this was the real reason for monopolising Stamper’s time. He had no idea why, but he wanted to be the only thing in this man’s life, to establish himself as the centre of his universe, the very reason for his being. Perhaps he enjoyed the idea that someone existed solely for his benefit, someone who needed him for everything.
He had even taken to talking in hushed, low tones when they were alone together and he would fondly touch Stamper’s shoulder while he talked about the future and about how useful they could be to one another, mixing ambition with physical contact. He had the desire to instil in Stamper a hunger that his wife would never be able to satiate.
No, he didn’t mind Stamper being this close.
“So,” Stamper said as he took the proffered flask from Urquhart’s hand, “are congratulations in order?”
Urquhart didn’t say anything, merely smiled and raised an eyebrow. The action made Stamper grin and a light chuckle escaped his lips, which would have been missed had he not been so close. He raised the flask in a toast. “The whip’s office is one step closer to a real Cabinet position.” He took a heavy swig of malt whiskey and Urquhart smirked as Stamper’s eyes watered and he winced, clearly unused to the pungent flavour of expensive scotch. “Plus you get to know all the little secrets,” he added, his voice roughened by the whiskey currently burning a track down his oesophagus. Yet there was a wicked glint in his eyes.
“I’ll be putting some stick about, don’t you worry,” Urquhart replied.
“You’ll have to with that lot,” Stamper threw in with a sneer. “They’re compliant now, but they’re all just biding their time, waiting to stick the knife in her. Power hunger. Desperation. You can smell it.”
Stamper was not the world’s most intelligent man, but he did seem to have a sixth sense where power was concerned. He knew who to ignore and who to back in an argument.
Urquhart’s instinct was developed over the years, as he had immersed himself in politics and as he had soaked up every last drop of information that he had been exposed to until his very being was saturated with it. Stamper’s instinct on the other hand was natural and raw and directionless, almost amateurish. He was learning, under Urquhart’s guidance, but Urquhart had no desire to watch his protégé become too clever, preferring to always keep Stamper dependent upon him.
“I have heard that some of our colleagues find her rather attractive,” Urquhart said thoughtfully. Stamper chuckled again and handed the flask back to him after another unsuccessful attempt to drink its rich amber contents.
“They all fancy her, perverts,” Stamper replied, a lazy look of distaste on his face and Urquhart laughed quietly and smiled with an almost paternal fondness. How he enjoyed talking to Stamper. How the young man could bring Urquhart out of his own mind, pull him back to reality with his refreshing brand of honesty, his low humour and his irreverence towards everything. He never tried to be amusing it was just a natural bi-product of the blunt, often dreadful things he said.
He would never tell him, but Stamper was a bright spot in his life, there for his amusement when the rest of his world became too dark. He could be relied upon. To a point. Urquhart knew that loyalty was a fragile, delicate thing that could be thrown to the floor and shattered. Sometimes loyalty wasn’t enough.
“It’s going to be tough, Tim,” Urquhart said, pocketing his flask, pushing himself away from the door and standing straight and tall in front of Stamper, looming over him the half lit box room. “The things she wants to do, they’re going to prove controversial.”
“She certainly has a very radical view on economics,” Stamper said and Urquhart noticed that he had swayed towards him, as though he were drawn by some magnetic force. “It might prove unpopular with the voters.”
“Not just the voters, Tim,” Urquhart replied. “Some members of the Party might not...appreciate her tough stance on welfare.” His voice had dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper which meant that Stamper had to lean in even further to hear him. Urquhart held his gaze, registering with a flicker of excitement that Stamper’s eyes were wide and almost completely black in the dim light.
“Those in marginal constituencies aren’t going to like it,” Stamper agreed. “There will probably be mass unemployment-”
“They’ll want to keep those seats.” Urquhart inched forward, so close now that his chest brushed against Stamper’s with every inward breath.
“So they’ll vote against the PM.” Stamper’s voice had become strained.
“She’s going to want to crack the whip,” Urquhart said, fully aware of the different connotations those words held. “I’m going to have to take a hard line. Stand for no nonsense.”
Stamper swallowed loudly. “Yes,” he agreed in a ragged whisper.
“I’m going to need some sound men under me,” Urquhart continued and this time he pitched his voice low, so that it rumbled in his diaphragm. He leant in a little more, thrilled when he saw Stamper’s eyes flick down towards his mouth and Urquhart watched in fascination as he licked his own lips in a slow, unconscious movement. A movement that in this dark little room and at that precise moment was almost disgustingly erotic. “How you would you like to be Treasurer of Her Majesty’s Household?”
Stamper tore his gaze away from Urquhart’s mouth and looked into his eyes, a comically exaggerated look of confusion on his face. “You mean...you want me to be the Deputy Whip?”
“Of course, Tim,” Urquhart said and he brought his hands up and clasped Stamper’s upper arms. He bit back the smile of triumph as he felt a tremble pass through the smaller man and he flexed his fingers gently, subtly massaging the bicep muscles. “Who else would I want with me?” Stamper’s nostrils flared. “What do you say?”
Stamper reached out a hand, obviously itching to touch Urquhart in return. But that wasn’t how it worked and he knew that, so he dropped his hands back down to his sides and looked Urquhart squarely in the face.
Despite having known him since he was fresh-faced novice, Urquhart had never seen Stamper look so young and innocent before. It excited him.
“Of course,” Stamper replied, swallowing again and licking his dry lips. “I’d be honoured.” Yet there was a look of hesitation, almost distrust on his face and it gave Urquhart pause. He merely wished to reward the man, give him that incentive he needed to remain at his side and to help him in his now flourishing career. Why was the man so damned suspicious all the time?
“What’s the matter, Tim,” he asked flexing his fingers again, this time a bit harder. He delighted in the almost drugged look that came over Stamper’s face. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
Stamper looked at him in that moment with such devotion that Urquhart couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted the man’s feelings. He barely hesitated before he replied.
“You know I do”
AN: And Thatcherism begins. She was famous for (among other things) utilising the Whip to maintain order in the Party.
Apologies to Michael Jopling, John Wakeham, David Waddington, Timothy Renton, and Richard Ryder who were all Conservative Whips and have cruelly been erased from history to make way for Urquhart!
Just one linky for you this time, so that my reference isn't missed:
The Winter of Discontent
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-10 09:45 pm (UTC)Guh guh guh guh
I'm watching a slow, slippery slope...and seeing how so many little things can bring a person into the realm of corruption.
Holy...
When you can't have one thing...try another...Urq's trying out Stamper for size...oh, good Lord...the only reason why I feel sorry for Stamper now (and I can't believe you did this to me) is because I know how it all ends...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 10:00 am (UTC)Indeed. A lifetime of disppointment can make a man very bitter. I kinda feel sorry for Urquhart. There was a good man in there somewhere.
And somewhere along the line, sex and power got really mixed up in his head, as did the definition of "being paternal". Poor Stamper just doesn't know what he's got himself involved in :(
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 12:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 12:51 am (UTC)Damn, this is well written. I want more.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 01:03 am (UTC)You make me ponder such things!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 10:11 am (UTC)And of course, Urquhart might find that playing the "not-quite seduction" game is a lot more difficult than he first thought...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 05:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 01:16 am (UTC)I can't wait to see what you do with them next!
((also, who needs real people in the government when you have Urquhart?))
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 10:16 am (UTC)Thanks!
((Well quite. Although, yikes!))
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 02:26 pm (UTC)((And I do see your point.))
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 08:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 10:24 am (UTC)I love that the sexual component is a conscious thing on Urquhart's part and a completely unconscious thing on Stamper's. I think he'd be horrified at you if you suggested that maybe he had the hots for Urquhart. Poor confused boy. *hugs him*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-11 02:12 pm (UTC)He took pleasure in knowing that these egotistical men would never see him coming.
Ha, I bet he did.
Urquhart tugged on Stamper’s jacket in a silent order for him to move.
Never a request, of course. Always an order. The way he treats Tim like his property, and is so jealous that other people are involved in his life, is so incredibly perfect.
*SQUEAL* RIII XD You know just how to make me dance with glee, don't you?
He had no idea why, but he wanted to be the only thing in this man’s life, to establish himself as the centre of his universe, the very reason for his being.
This is so believable. And I can totally believe that Stamper wouldn't think twice before putting Urquhart first, no matter what. Urquhart acts like he doesn't care about anything but power, but so many things in his life are woven into that power-hunger, and Tim is inextricably one of them.
He had the desire to instil in Stamper a hunger that his wife would never be able to satiate.
YES. This is so Urquhart. He knows that's what would hold Stamper the most, and he needs him. He's so good at finding out exactly what will bind a person to him.
He never tried to be amusing it was just a natural bi-product of the blunt, often dreadful things he said.
Truer words were never spoken!
Urquhart inched forward, so close now that his chest brushed against Stamper’s with every inward breath.
GUH. This whole scene, oh my lord. No wonder Stamper went kind of weak-kneed. And Urquhart, like you promised, knows exactly what he's doing.
“You know I do”
!!!!!!!!! OMFG. *arm flailing* When I read this, I jumped in my seat enough so that my wife was like "What's wrong?" There are just no words. Oh god, Tim.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-12 12:08 am (UTC)The way he treats Tim like his property, and is so jealous that other people are involved in his life
I also liked the idea that Urquhart was like, "oh shit, he's an actual person!"
I love the fact that that particular period in British history was actually nicknamed "The Winter of Discontent", because it just fits so perfectly with the whole HoC story.
And I can totally believe that Stamper wouldn't think twice before putting Urquhart first, no matter what
Okay, here's my personal canon (fanon?): the single saddest thing about Stamper's story (apart from the obvious thing), is that his life could have been so normal and happy had he not been so drawn to Urquhart. Your mileage may vary obviously, but that's how I've always pictured it.
And ohmigod my mind is so full of Urquhart/Stamper right now that it's driving me to distraction!
When I read this, I jumped in my seat enough so that my wife was like "What's wrong?"
*innocent smile* sorry ;) Send my apologies to your missus for startling her :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-12 02:02 am (UTC)I didn't know that! How awesome, and convenient!
his life could have been so normal and happy had he not been so drawn to Urquhart.
Yeah, he seems like the kind of person who would always be on the mean side, but his involvement with Urquhart compounded everything infinitely. And I can definitely see that he'd have had a fairly normal family life, too.
And ohmigod my mind is so full of Urquhart/Stamper right now that it's driving me to distraction!
Luckily for all of us! XD
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-12 06:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-12 10:18 pm (UTC)