Title: Kucinich Kraze
Rating: Pg-13
Summery: Kyle is getting excited about politics and drags his lover along.
Bet you can't tell whom my candidate is. Umm, these are not necessarily
Kucinich's view on things, since none of them are quoted from hims.
"Kucinich! Kucinich!" Kyle screamed over the cheers in the crowded auditorium. Well, he had just turned eighteen. He was allowed to go crazy over his first primaries. Besides, the last few years had been so difficult. You can only have a raving right-winged lunatic running the country so long before you were ready to go grab Roy's tiger and set it free in the Whitehouse.
So, when Kyle heard his candidate, Dennis Kucinich, was doing a speech in a town only thirty miles away, he had to go. And since he didn't have a car, he had to drag Christophe with him.
"Christophe, come on, scream with me."
"All he's said is 'No to four more year.'"
"He's Kucinich man, he rocks."
"Yes, yes, I hear that from you everyday, don't I? Kucinich Rocks, Kucinich Rules, Kucinich is Kitschy, Vote Kucinich, but I believe you're supposed to have some evidence to support your take on a candidate."
"He's the democrat's democrat, the liberal's liberal, the leftist of the left. If he was thirty years younger and looked like Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I'd throw myself at him."
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here," Christophe replied a bit sullenly. He was used to Kyle showering such affections over him, not over some suit with a little American flag.
"Oh love," Kyle wrapped his arms around Christophe quickly, pressed his cheek against Christophe's chest. They had been relatively close in size as kids, but when Christophe was about fourteen, he had went through a growth spurt that put him about eight inches taller than the redhead.
"Some say that our GLBT shouldn't be counted as a minority, that they have a choice about what they wish to be. I say that the GLBT are the only minority where it is still LEGAL to discriminate against. I say marriage for blacks or Muslims is no different than it is for Christian whites, and if I am elected, it will not be any different for the gays and lesbians in our country."
This got a nice, loud scream from the audience, including Kyle who actually cupped his hands around his mouth to make a nice little echo.
"We will never be free as long as women, minorities, and gays are suppressed. Freedom is not freedom when less than fifty percent of the nation controls the rest. This is not freedom, this is slavery. And this slavery with be emancipated and we will all be free; free from slavery, free from repression, free from the Patriot Act, free from NAFTA, free from control over our own bodies, free from poverty, and free from the Bush administration!" This was obviously the end of his speech and finally the whole crowd erupted into cheers. This wasn't exclusively an event for Dennis Kucinich, but everyone in the auditorium were democrats, and they all agreed that Bush needed to get his fat alcoholic pretzel-gobbling lily- white ass out of the Whitehouse.
"Give me a lift," Kyle slapped Christophe on the shoulder.
"What?"
"On your shoulders, lift me up."
"Oh, um, okay." Christophe kneeled down, letting Kyle climb onto his shoulders, holding his calves so he couldn't slip. Kyle held up his huge signing reading "FAGS FOR KUCINICH" he had painted last night using red, orange, yellow, purple, green, and blue. Dennis might be a little offended that Kyle had decided to color his bright smile with these colors also, but he sure looked friendlier.
"Can we go yet," Christophe asked impatiently, though, secretly, he liked having Kyle's thighs around his neck like this.
"I wanna shake his hand. I don't know why, but I'll just feel special if he notices me."
"Oh, he'll notice you, definitely. You're the only 11 foot tall person out here."
"Christophe!"
"Alright, alright."
"And put your pin on, that thing cost three bucks!"
Christophe didn't understand why Kyle was so excited about this. Granted, he didn't actually care much for modern politics. He loved history, but he couldn't see any difference between democrats and republicans; they all lied, failed to accomplish anything, and left with a totally unsatisfactory term.
But he was bouncing around like a fool in the crowed assembled outside, waiting for Kucinich to come by and shake his hand. Christophe leaned on his hip, looking around blearily at the other supporters. A few people dressed up entirely in red with the words "Long Live the Community Revolution" scrawled out in black ink, a bunch of blacks, Hispanics, Asians and other such minorities. A lot of people were dressed in rainbow or had rainbow pins/patches on them. Christophe thought they were needlessly pushing their sexuality into other's faces. Sure, he liked holding Kyle down on the mattress, grinding small bones, burying himself inside of the boy who had never allowed another inside him, slurping up the liquids left across Kyle's stomach; but he didn't share this with others either, now did he?
"Mr. Kucinich, I-" suddenly Kyle's mouth opened but words ceased to come out. He tried vaguely for a few seconds. Dennis Kucinich smiled politely.
"He means he supports you fully and he's so happy he got to meet you and you have his vote," Christophe cut in suddenly, slipping an arm around Kyle's waist, "Don't you, honey?"
"Yes."
"Are you two together?"
"We are," Kyle finally seemed able to speak. He leaned back against Christophe, molding his body to fit the taller man's.
"Been considering marriage?"
"Yes." Well, that was news to Christophe.
"Then I'm sure you'd like to see Bush out."
"Bush," Kyle exaggerated his shudder, but Christophe could clearly see the hatred shining in Kyle's sparkling green eyes.
"Hey, my publicity crew got a picture of you on your boyfriend's shoulders holding your sign, would you be willing to get a picture taken with me for the campaign?"
Christophe had a feeling Kyle was about to faint. He might as well been asked by Brian Molko to spend the night.
"I'd love you! I mean, Christophe, is that okay with you?"
"Well, yes, I guess so."
So, Christophe wasn't sure how it happened, but he ended up with Kyle on his shoulders again, himself holding the "FAGS FOR KUCINICH" sign, and the maybe-president-to-be standing beside them on a stool so Kyle's face could get inside the photograph. Kyle's fingers were twirling around his dark, messy locks, then cradling his face. His first picture in politics, and they were taken with his hair falling over his eyes and Kyle's fingers pushing down the flesh of his face, making him look like he had been born with some kind of birth defect. Kyle looked adorable.
"So we plan on getting married?"
"Yes," Kyle removed his shoes, stood back up straight, and rotated the bones in his shoulders, sighing with the crack that followed.
"I wasn't aware of that."
"We'll get married," he persuaded, walking up, almost seductively, to slip his arms around Christophe. They stood together, silently; feeling each other's warmth. "And we'll buy a perfect little house," Kyle went on, "With a white picket fence and a golden lab, and we'll have two point five children."
"Will we?"
"I'll bear them if you wish me to. You can fill me with your seed over and over and over again until it finally happens. It's bound to happen, you know."
"It's never happened before."
"But no male has ever been as extremely virile and potent as my little French fry."
Christophe blushed; turning away from Kyle to began undressing. They were in his apartment, Kyle having told his mother that he was going to spend the night at Stan's house (with Stan's help in this little lie). Kyle and Christophe needed the time alone.
"I thought you agreed to stop calling me that."
"But your accent is so cute."
"Yeah, yeah, accent, cute, right."
He tossed a cigarette into the garbage can, removed his shirt, and went right for another one. The whole time they were in the auditorium, he had been forbidden to smoke, being a public place. He was going through serious withdraw.
"No, no, no," Kyle walked over to him, grabbed the cigarette, and threw it into a glass of water beside the bed. Before Christophe could protest, he was upon his back on the bed, and Kyle was on top of him, kissing him with as much passion that it could've been their first time, minus the nervousness and pain. Kyle had given his virginity to him and it had been difficult, full of whispers and backups and cried out words.
"Kyle, I need to breathe," Christophe pushed back, panting.
"I can't help it. I'm excited. The rally excited me."
"Politics excited you?" Christophe cocked an eyebrow, a small grin slowly spreading out across his face.
"Yes. It excites me. The screaming, the cheers, the promise of new hope, new strategies, new people, a new generation, a new form of life. Generations are not fifty years or twenty years or even ten, they're four years, and they come every November."
"So the empowerment got to you?"
"Yes, but Christophe, you must remember, generations come from somewhere, and it's our job to make the next one. The next generation is that made from two magical love sperm."
And Christophe couldn't protest when Kyle's lips reclaimed his. Maybe politics weren't that boring after all.
The next morning, Christophe sat down to a cup of coffee, snacking on crunchy, bacon that Kyle was cooking. He had promised to make him breakfast as a present for taking him to the rally. It actually was rather good and Christophe asked for second helpings as he flipped through the newspaper.
There it was, front page, fully colored. Kyle's energetic grin and Christophe looking like a badly made clay figure.
Christophe, who had never went to a pride meeting or parade.
Christophe, who believed that differences are not resolved by pushing them into the other's face.
Christophe, who simply WAS NOT interested in politics.
And in small print beneath the photograph read the words "Faggots and French Fries Alike Come to Support the Liberal's Liberal."
At least Kyle was limping this morning.
"Kucinich! Kucinich!" Kyle screamed over the cheers in the crowded auditorium. Well, he had just turned eighteen. He was allowed to go crazy over his first primaries. Besides, the last few years had been so difficult. You can only have a raving right-winged lunatic running the country so long before you were ready to go grab Roy's tiger and set it free in the Whitehouse.
So, when Kyle heard his candidate, Dennis Kucinich, was doing a speech in a town only thirty miles away, he had to go. And since he didn't have a car, he had to drag Christophe with him.
"Christophe, come on, scream with me."
"All he's said is 'No to four more year.'"
"He's Kucinich man, he rocks."
"Yes, yes, I hear that from you everyday, don't I? Kucinich Rocks, Kucinich Rules, Kucinich is Kitschy, Vote Kucinich, but I believe you're supposed to have some evidence to support your take on a candidate."
"He's the democrat's democrat, the liberal's liberal, the leftist of the left. If he was thirty years younger and looked like Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I'd throw myself at him."
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here," Christophe replied a bit sullenly. He was used to Kyle showering such affections over him, not over some suit with a little American flag.
"Oh love," Kyle wrapped his arms around Christophe quickly, pressed his cheek against Christophe's chest. They had been relatively close in size as kids, but when Christophe was about fourteen, he had went through a growth spurt that put him about eight inches taller than the redhead.
"Some say that our GLBT shouldn't be counted as a minority, that they have a choice about what they wish to be. I say that the GLBT are the only minority where it is still LEGAL to discriminate against. I say marriage for blacks or Muslims is no different than it is for Christian whites, and if I am elected, it will not be any different for the gays and lesbians in our country."
This got a nice, loud scream from the audience, including Kyle who actually cupped his hands around his mouth to make a nice little echo.
"We will never be free as long as women, minorities, and gays are suppressed. Freedom is not freedom when less than fifty percent of the nation controls the rest. This is not freedom, this is slavery. And this slavery with be emancipated and we will all be free; free from slavery, free from repression, free from the Patriot Act, free from NAFTA, free from control over our own bodies, free from poverty, and free from the Bush administration!" This was obviously the end of his speech and finally the whole crowd erupted into cheers. This wasn't exclusively an event for Dennis Kucinich, but everyone in the auditorium were democrats, and they all agreed that Bush needed to get his fat alcoholic pretzel-gobbling lily- white ass out of the Whitehouse.
"Give me a lift," Kyle slapped Christophe on the shoulder.
"What?"
"On your shoulders, lift me up."
"Oh, um, okay." Christophe kneeled down, letting Kyle climb onto his shoulders, holding his calves so he couldn't slip. Kyle held up his huge signing reading "FAGS FOR KUCINICH" he had painted last night using red, orange, yellow, purple, green, and blue. Dennis might be a little offended that Kyle had decided to color his bright smile with these colors also, but he sure looked friendlier.
"Can we go yet," Christophe asked impatiently, though, secretly, he liked having Kyle's thighs around his neck like this.
"I wanna shake his hand. I don't know why, but I'll just feel special if he notices me."
"Oh, he'll notice you, definitely. You're the only 11 foot tall person out here."
"Christophe!"
"Alright, alright."
"And put your pin on, that thing cost three bucks!"
Christophe didn't understand why Kyle was so excited about this. Granted, he didn't actually care much for modern politics. He loved history, but he couldn't see any difference between democrats and republicans; they all lied, failed to accomplish anything, and left with a totally unsatisfactory term.
But he was bouncing around like a fool in the crowed assembled outside, waiting for Kucinich to come by and shake his hand. Christophe leaned on his hip, looking around blearily at the other supporters. A few people dressed up entirely in red with the words "Long Live the Community Revolution" scrawled out in black ink, a bunch of blacks, Hispanics, Asians and other such minorities. A lot of people were dressed in rainbow or had rainbow pins/patches on them. Christophe thought they were needlessly pushing their sexuality into other's faces. Sure, he liked holding Kyle down on the mattress, grinding small bones, burying himself inside of the boy who had never allowed another inside him, slurping up the liquids left across Kyle's stomach; but he didn't share this with others either, now did he?
"Mr. Kucinich, I-" suddenly Kyle's mouth opened but words ceased to come out. He tried vaguely for a few seconds. Dennis Kucinich smiled politely.
"He means he supports you fully and he's so happy he got to meet you and you have his vote," Christophe cut in suddenly, slipping an arm around Kyle's waist, "Don't you, honey?"
"Yes."
"Are you two together?"
"We are," Kyle finally seemed able to speak. He leaned back against Christophe, molding his body to fit the taller man's.
"Been considering marriage?"
"Yes." Well, that was news to Christophe.
"Then I'm sure you'd like to see Bush out."
"Bush," Kyle exaggerated his shudder, but Christophe could clearly see the hatred shining in Kyle's sparkling green eyes.
"Hey, my publicity crew got a picture of you on your boyfriend's shoulders holding your sign, would you be willing to get a picture taken with me for the campaign?"
Christophe had a feeling Kyle was about to faint. He might as well been asked by Brian Molko to spend the night.
"I'd love you! I mean, Christophe, is that okay with you?"
"Well, yes, I guess so."
So, Christophe wasn't sure how it happened, but he ended up with Kyle on his shoulders again, himself holding the "FAGS FOR KUCINICH" sign, and the maybe-president-to-be standing beside them on a stool so Kyle's face could get inside the photograph. Kyle's fingers were twirling around his dark, messy locks, then cradling his face. His first picture in politics, and they were taken with his hair falling over his eyes and Kyle's fingers pushing down the flesh of his face, making him look like he had been born with some kind of birth defect. Kyle looked adorable.
"So we plan on getting married?"
"Yes," Kyle removed his shoes, stood back up straight, and rotated the bones in his shoulders, sighing with the crack that followed.
"I wasn't aware of that."
"We'll get married," he persuaded, walking up, almost seductively, to slip his arms around Christophe. They stood together, silently; feeling each other's warmth. "And we'll buy a perfect little house," Kyle went on, "With a white picket fence and a golden lab, and we'll have two point five children."
"Will we?"
"I'll bear them if you wish me to. You can fill me with your seed over and over and over again until it finally happens. It's bound to happen, you know."
"It's never happened before."
"But no male has ever been as extremely virile and potent as my little French fry."
Christophe blushed; turning away from Kyle to began undressing. They were in his apartment, Kyle having told his mother that he was going to spend the night at Stan's house (with Stan's help in this little lie). Kyle and Christophe needed the time alone.
"I thought you agreed to stop calling me that."
"But your accent is so cute."
"Yeah, yeah, accent, cute, right."
He tossed a cigarette into the garbage can, removed his shirt, and went right for another one. The whole time they were in the auditorium, he had been forbidden to smoke, being a public place. He was going through serious withdraw.
"No, no, no," Kyle walked over to him, grabbed the cigarette, and threw it into a glass of water beside the bed. Before Christophe could protest, he was upon his back on the bed, and Kyle was on top of him, kissing him with as much passion that it could've been their first time, minus the nervousness and pain. Kyle had given his virginity to him and it had been difficult, full of whispers and backups and cried out words.
"Kyle, I need to breathe," Christophe pushed back, panting.
"I can't help it. I'm excited. The rally excited me."
"Politics excited you?" Christophe cocked an eyebrow, a small grin slowly spreading out across his face.
"Yes. It excites me. The screaming, the cheers, the promise of new hope, new strategies, new people, a new generation, a new form of life. Generations are not fifty years or twenty years or even ten, they're four years, and they come every November."
"So the empowerment got to you?"
"Yes, but Christophe, you must remember, generations come from somewhere, and it's our job to make the next one. The next generation is that made from two magical love sperm."
And Christophe couldn't protest when Kyle's lips reclaimed his. Maybe politics weren't that boring after all.
The next morning, Christophe sat down to a cup of coffee, snacking on crunchy, bacon that Kyle was cooking. He had promised to make him breakfast as a present for taking him to the rally. It actually was rather good and Christophe asked for second helpings as he flipped through the newspaper.
There it was, front page, fully colored. Kyle's energetic grin and Christophe looking like a badly made clay figure.
Christophe, who had never went to a pride meeting or parade.
Christophe, who believed that differences are not resolved by pushing them into the other's face.
Christophe, who simply WAS NOT interested in politics.
And in small print beneath the photograph read the words "Faggots and French Fries Alike Come to Support the Liberal's Liberal."
At least Kyle was limping this morning.