Yes, Prime Minister

[life-of-amesu.livejournal.com]

So this may or may not be a fic based on the series Yes Minister but to be sure of the content there ought to be a formation of a group of members of the her Majesty's government in order to determine, describe, delegate, and deliberate upon the origins and descriptions of the qualifications of a slash fanfic which this may or may not be.

Title: The Empty Hall
Fandom: Yes Prime Minister
Pairing: Sir Humphrey Appleby/Benard Woolley
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Summary: a brief little pwp with Sir Humphrey and Bernard in the former's office. Because truly, there is not enough slash with those two.

x-posted on unusual_liasons

    Pausing, Bernard strained to hear through the door. Nothing. His eyes closed as Humphrey pushed him against the wall, their mouths pressed together. Tongues were dueling before Humphrey's won and Bernard's hands were pressing against the back of the older man's neck, wanting him closer, wishing they were somewhere else, anywhere else.
    A soft gasp as they drew apart, Humphrey's fingers lingering on his belt, dipping into his trousers, shirt tails already out and warm skin stroked. Lips moved from mouth to jaw to nape of the neck and Bernard was sure he was going mad. Mad as legs were hitched up and the feeling of their bodies was so close, so very close, yet cotton was too thick and their jackets had to go, and why the hell was Humphrey wearing a waistcoat on today of all days? His tie was too tight and Bernard could hear the occasional soft moan as they rubbed against each other, both knowing that nothing would come of it. Nothing could come of it.
    Chuckling he nuzzled against Humphrey's neck, eyes closed and wait for the older man to pull away. To give him an unreadable look, fix his clothes, and say “Good day, Bernard, I will see you tomorrow”, leaving him in a darkening office with mused hair and clothes in disarray. There were no words and the thrusts, rubbs, grew more desperate as Humphrey panted his name, their lips kissing absently, fingers uncertainly carding through hair, down necks, holding hips closer.
    A slam of a door somewhere in the building and they were apart, Bernard fumbling with his belt and tie, not remembering when they had come undone, watching Sir Humphrey straighten his hair and glance from him to the door. No light edging in under the crack and they were alone. A terse smile as the older man adjusted his tie and picked up his briefcase.
    “Good day, Bernard. I will see you tomorrow.” A curt nod and he was out the door as the shadows in the room lengthened and Bernard whispered his reply to the empty hall.