Happy Birthday, Mister President
Who: Jim and Hermione What: Halloween hijinks! When: During Stark’s party Where: Stark Tower
Jim had taken several minutes to make sure his bra was stuffed properly, and everything seemed to be in order. He’d shaved his face, but the shape was all wrong, and he looked like he belonged at an entirely different locale.
But that was okay, he had a president on his arm!
He’d gotten them to the party a bit early, in order to mingle a bit, and also get peoples’ reactions as they walked through the door.
Because he looked pretty, oh so pretty.
Hermione couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it. She was in her suit, with her wig firmly in place. It looked a lot better today than it had done in the shop, as she’d fixed it up a little bit using magic. The suit was tailored a little better, the wig was styled a little better, and she’d purchased a perfect pair of shoes. She even had a campaign button she’d ordered from Etsy.com. It was a great costume, if she did say so herself.
But Jim looked absolutely amazing. Hermione was amused and embarrassed both by and for him. She followed him to the party, clinging somewhat tightly to his hand as they entered and all eyes seemed to turn to him.
“Think you made an entrance, or what?” She whispered to him.
"Oh definitely!" He grinned, waving at everyone, then led her over to the refreshments, "Do you think there's a vent I can stand over?"
He waggled his eyebrows at her, "Maybe I can sing, get that smokey voice going." This was fun.
Hermione gave a laugh. She followed him to the refreshment table and glanced around. It was a really awesome party so far. Great decorations, great food, great company... the music was good, too. She released his hand so he could get things for them as she looked around at everyone’s costumes.
“You should ask the DJ. I bet he’d let you use his microphone.”
"Maybe later," Jim promised, resting his hand on Hermione's arm. She was the gentleman after all, and so he was on her arm.
"I feel like a princess."
“As you should, my Dear. As you should.” Hermione said, then gave Jim a little grin. “Do you want to get some drinks?” She asked. Though, it was probably mostly alcoholic. Maybe they had bottled water or something. She should start the night properly hydrated.
"I'd love some wine," Jim replied, grinning. "Lead on, Mr. President!"
Hermione walked as Presidentially as she could over to the refreshment table. “In researching my character, I found that President Kennedy didn’t have a favorite drink,” she babbled. “He enjoyed vodka/tonics, daiquiris and wine with fancy dinners.”
Jim grinned. Of course Hermione had done the research. It was one of the things he loved about her. Her ability to take the smallest thing and research it down to even it's most obscure parts.
He picked a glass of wine and sipped it, looking positively starlet.
"Anything else you learned?"
“Well, the fateful song happened in 1962, in the springtime. Apparently, John F Kennedy was on medication because he suffered from Addison’s disease, and the medication made him...” She cleared her throat, and reached over for the first glass she saw on the table. “Well, he had several affairs. He even said that if he didn’t have a woman for a number of days, that he got headaches.” She wasn’t sure how to play up the horny bit. Maybe she’d have to pinch Jim’s backside a bunch.
"Oh, Mr. President," Jim purred, trying not to burst out laughing. He somehow doubted that was a real thing, and merely an excuse to sleep around. And of course, Jack being Jack, he generally got his way.
Jim's backside? Needed pinching.
Hermione gave a grin, then reached around and gave Jim’s backside a smack. “And he was handsome and cocky enough to get plenty women outside of his marital bed.” She added. “A lot of them were beautiful, young starlets, much like yourself.”
"I do have a thing for powerful men," He replied, faking a giggle. He even managed to sound more high pitched than normal. Jim tilted his head, and then peered down the front of his dress. Her dress.
In a voice nothing at all like his normal one, she said, "Son of a bitch."
"And powerful men sure have a thing for you," Hermione said. She was looking our at the dance floor, and not at him. She didn't notice the change.
"Son of a bitch, what?" She asked, having a sip of punch. There was definitely not enough alcohol in this punch, he thought.
Marylin shrugged a shoulder elegantly, "Something seemed a bit off, Jack." She rested her hand on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes at him. Somewhere in the back of her head there was a jumble of memories and a very, very confused Jim Kirk. She ignored it. She also ignored that people might talk. They already did about her and Jack. Let them. It was good publicity.
Hermione turned to face her, but while she turned, something inside her twisted. Suddenly, Hermione wasn’t in control anymore. She was confused for a moment, then pushed into the back of her own mind as John F Kennedy took over.
“I’m sure it’s just the wine, Sweetheart.” He said, setting his own cup aside. He’d have to get a stronger drink than that swill. “Or, lack there of.” He added, giving her a wink.
"It's pretty weak, hon," She replied, giving him a sly, not-so-innocent smile. "I think the good stuff is over there." She gestured at another table, where what looked like a moose was serving wine and harder drinks.
“Then lead the way, gorgeous!” John said, reaching down to smack her backside, playfully. “What are we waiting here for?”
"I don't really know," She said, breathily, trailing delicate fingers down his arm.
Being on the receiving end of that was odd, Jim thought. Not entirely unwelcome, if only because of who it was coming from. He'd probably be pissed if it was someone else.
John moved across the room, one arm wrapping down and around the blonde’s waist. He led her over to the harder drinks and ordered one for each of them. “Halloween parties always make my head spin,” he mumbled, though he was grinning as he looked out and around the sea of costumes.
"And what are we supposed to be, Mmmm?" She finished the sentence with a purr in his ear, and a subtle flick of her tongue against his earlobe, "Going as ourselves. The people will talk."
“It’s the only night of the year we can get away with it,” he responded, one eyebrow raising gently. “Perhaps no one will know who we really are.”
Marilyn burst into a great beaming smile, and her laughter rang out. When she spoke, it was with a tigress' emphasis, "Then we should enjoy it."
Oh, boy, did he like that laugh. And that smile. It made him want to take her to bed. Or the nearest closet or bathroom, wherever they could find a little privacy. “We should.” He tightened his arm around her waist, letting his hand wander up and down her side then over her backside.
“How would you like to take advantage?”
Flashing that smile again, she dragged her nails down his chest, sticking a finger through past a button every now and again, teasingly, "Take me dancing, Mr. President, and then take me somewhere private."
“Don’t have to ask me twice, Doll.” John said, then took hold of her hand to lead her onto the dance floor. He dropped off his drink along the way, and once they were there, surrounded by hundreds of others in wild and crazy costumes, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. Completely ignoring the strange music that was playing, he led her in a slow, seductive dance.
Resting her head on his shoulder, she let herself be swayed into another place and another time. She envied his wife, how she would always be the mistress and never the misses. Really, she wasn't sure how much more she could take. But right now, in Jack's arms, she felt like a queen. Real royalty, instead of a crowned starlet of Hollywood.
One song bled into the next, and into the next. Soon he couldn't take it anymore. His arms tightened around her.
"Let's get out of here."
"Wherever you want, Jack," She whispered, leaning in to kiss him.
They were surrounded by dozens, if not hundreds, of costumed strangers. But for the moment, John didn’t care. He had the woman of his dreams in his arms, and she wanted to kiss him. And he wanted to kiss her, too. So he did. With gusto.
Marilyn's fingers tangled into Jack's hair, her body pressing close. She wanted his hands on her body, her lips on his. It was something she could only have fleetingly. You could love Jack for a short time, but not forever.
Suddenly there were cat-calls around them. Whistling, applause, laughter and people shouting “get a room” broke through the music. John pulled back, grinning, and looked around at the strangers. ...that sure broke their cover.
"Maybe we ought to listen to the people," She said saucily. "We are both, after all, public servants. In one way or another." She didn't seem to mind the attention, at least for the moment. How many women were staring at her in envy, and how many men at him?
“You know, Jack,” She said, trailing a finger down his chest. “I know just the way to celebrate the evening.”
It was a mad mad mad idea, but she sauntered over to the ...mouse...running the music, and too the mic. She proceeded to give a pitch perfect rendition of the famous happy birthday song.
Was that a blush creeping up the cheeks of one John F Kennedy? He was going a little pink in the face. Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight shone on Marilyn on stage. She was an absolute vision.
DJ Mouse knew his job. For a mouse. By the time she'd finished, she was the center of attention. Marilyn bowed, then stepped down and made her way back to the President. She rested her hand on his arm, then then walked towards the exit, hips swaying suggestively.
John could do nothing but follow. He moved with her, one hand on hers on his arm. When they left the building, there were a few more catcalls, and the music started up loudly to drown them out.
He turned to her once they were outside. “Where to, m’lady?”
"The nearest place we can go for a private dance," She replied, leaning up to kiss him.
“Taxi!” He called out, turning just a little so her lips hit his cheek. He turned back and stole a kiss from her lips--quickly but full of promise--then lifted his hand to flag down a taxi cab. “The nearest five star hotel,” he said to the driver as they climbed into the back. “And quickly.”
It wasn't very lady like, to crawl into a man's lap in a taxi in the middle of a city. It wasn't very lady like to occupy his mouth with her tongue, in a taxi in the middle of the city, but that's precisely what Marilyn did.
It was Halloween. They weren’t drunk on anything physical, but John felt rather intoxicated by her. He wrapped his arms around her, hands moving to naughty places playfully, then back to more safe areas. He kissed her hungrily.
It wasn’t a long enough taxi ride. Or maybe it was just the right length. They were at their destination before anything had the chance to happen in the back of the cab.
The cabbie probably got a good tip, before they made their way into the hotel. Something seemed off about it but she couldn't tell just what. Everything looked too modern.
But she didn't really care right now. John wasn’t letting things outside of Marilyn distract him. He pulled out his wallet, handed over the credit card, and requested the Presidential Suite. Only a matter of minutes later they were upstairs in the penthouse, letting themselves into the room with a strange, credit card key.
Someone was going to have a hell of a credit card bill.
Marilyn took in the suite, peeling herself off of him long enough to really admire it. The television on the wall was ridiculous, like something out of a low budget science fiction movie. She walked over to it, planting her hands on her hips.
Poor Hermione. She didn’t even get to fully enjoy the room she was paying for. Or would be, anyway.
John took a step back to close the door behind them, then drop his jacket on the nearest chair. He loosened his tie as he followed her further into the room, looking around at things. His attention kept going back to her in that absolutely amazing white dress. Then he crossed to her and started to tug at said dress.
Enough with taking things... slow. He wanted her now.
The dress hit the floor with a fwomp.
He kissed her with such force and such passion that it pushed them up against the wall.
A low, rumbly groan escaped Marilyn's mouth as she tangled her hands in his hair. Anything further was blocked by his lips and the battle of tongues between them.
There was a crashing at the door, and a voice shouted with anger and indignation, "JOHN!"
John sprung back from where he had Marilyn pinned to the wall. “...Jackie??”
"What the hell do you think you're doing with this whore?" Jackie exclaimed, picking up the nearest heavy object and throwing it at Marilyn. She ducked, scrambling to pick up her dress and find cover.
John lifted his hands up and over his head as if to protect it from the projectile. The vase smashed on the wall behind them, and he turned with anger now toward his wife, rather than with shock and embarrassment. “Watch it, you might kill somebody.”
"Yeah, you! For being so damned obvious!" She retorted back, folding her arms and glaring daggers at both him and Marilyn. Marilyn, for her part, was trying to get back into her dress, while not exposing herself to another barrage of objects.
John stepped in front of Marilyn, hoping to shield her from his wife’s wrath. “Come on, now... let me explain.”
"Please, do." Jackie's feathers seemed ruffled, and she didn't budge an inch. She was still in range of picking up a heavy potted plant.
John hoped she didn’t pick up that plant. He was a little worried that she might hurt herself, or hurt him, if she attempted to chuck it across the room. “You know how I get,” he said, softening his voice and his tone. “You know how much I need a wo-you. And I couldn’t find you. I thought...” He stepped closer to her, trying to keep things calm. “C’mon, Love. You know how I am.”
Jackie chewed her lip, fingers twitching a little bit. She sighed, and her shoulders relaxed, tension ebbing, "I know, honey. I know." She pinched her brow, as though to ward off a headache.
He stepped even closer, leaving Marilyn dressing behind him. “And you know I’d much rather be with you.” He said, hoping that she’d buy it. Truth was, he loved his wife. But sex was sex. He’d take it anywhere he could get it. “C’mere, doll. I want you.”
Jackie folded into his arms. Sometimes she was tired of his shit, but she still loved him. And she'd yell at him later.
Marylin rolled her eyes. Really, Jackie had him wrapped around her little finger, and it was irritating.
“Let’s order some room service, get some drinks up here, and we can all...” He glanced over his shoulder at Marilyn, giving her a gentle smirk. “Get to the bottom of this little problem of mine.”