This story is set before any I've written previously. No one has addressed Malcolm's relationship with Kelly Grogan, that I know of...so I thought it was time someone did!
It's a bit more raunchy than stuff I've written previously, although not as explicit as it could be.
Hopefully the humour is still there.
Greg Fraser is Malcolm's lawyer, who represents him when he resigns and goes to Hackney to be arrested.
Malcolm is going for his annual medical...he is not a happy bunny. But going to the gym opens up a new set of possibilities...
KISS AND TELL.
"You need to take yourself in hand, Mr. Tucker! You're not getting any younger you know!"
"Tell me about it Doc!"
"You need to watch your weight, that paunch needs to go. Monitor your eating habits, and take more exercise! Your blood pressure is raised slightly, but a few simple changes will help reduce it."
Malcolm buttoned up his shirt, with a scowl. The doctor wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. Just, fuck if he had the time for all this shit.
Sam entered Malcolm's office, her boss was slumped in his chair, behind the desk, eating a satsuma, thoughtfully. His face was a thunder cloud.
She looked at him questioningly, she knew he'd been putting off the annual medical checkup for several weeks. And she knew why.
"Okay?" Was all she ventured.
"No...I'm fucking slowly dying!" He spat.
"I'm too fucking old, too fucking fat, I eat shit, and I need to fucking well go jogging! Deep deep joy!"
Sam frowned but said nothing.
The following morning, with his coffee, she strategically placed a gym membership leaflet, and, instead of his breakfast muffin, fresh fruit salad, and some microwaveable porridge.
"SAAAAAMMMMMM!"
'Here it comes,' she thought.
"What's all this bollocks on my desk, where's my muffin?"
"I took you at your word," she replied," I thought you said you had to start eating healthily."
"You are not my fucking Mother!"
"God, perish the thought," she said, sternly," what an undertaking that must have been! Eat it, Malcolm, it won't kill you."
Before he could further admonish her, she hightailed it back to her own desk.
The gym was one of the few that opened at stupid o'clock. He knew he'd have to go before work, he'd be far too knackered afterwards.
So, with his zip bag in the locker, resplendent in trainers and joggers, ear phones blasting Miles Davis, he attacked the running machine with gusto.
At first, he didn't notice the, curvy blonde woman, on the machine adjacent to him. But she certainly noticed him.
He pounded away, sweat in his eyes, feeling like he might collapse at any moment. God, was he so unfit?
Coming out of the locker room, towelling his hair vigorously, he almost bumped into the shapely female from earlier.
"Malcolm Tucker isn't it?" She smiled, eyebrows arched.
Malcolm stopped short, and regarded her dubiously...
"I don't think I've had the pleasure," he responded.
"Kelly. Kelly Grogan. I work for the BBC. Health correspondent."
Cogs whirred in Malcolm's brain. Yes, he did dimly recall seeing her. All power suits and coiffured hair, a scent of very sweet, sickly perfume.
"Uh! Oh yeah...hi!" He said, and they shook hands briefly.
"Do you fancy a coffee?" She asked.
"Ah...no, ta, I've gotta run, if you'll pardon the pun! Sorry...maybe another time?"
"I'll hold you to it," she said archly, and gave him a little seductive twitch of her mouth.
"Fine," he replied, somewhat bewildered, "see ya."
On his way in to work, Malcolm stopped by the barbers...
"Shear the sheep Tony, I want to be able to 'wash and go', yeah?"
By the time he reached the office, the phones were trilling.
Sam regarded his cropped head, with a slight grimace.
"What the fucks the matter with you?"
"Nothing at all," she answered, quickly, suppressing a smile, "bit severe!"
He looked at her sharply.
"Sam...get me those files I asked for, and keep your opinion to yourself."
She smiled, handed him the files, which were already in her hand, and went back to her desk.
Malcolm ran a hand over the top of his head and tutted to himself.
Miss Grogan was at the gym the next time Malcolm turned up. She made a point of speaking to him. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say she was loitering around waiting to engage him.
She wasn't really Malcolm's type. He tended to steer clear of power women. They were inclined to be controlling and manipulative, and Malcolm wasn't attracted to either quality. But she was certainly a looker, and she seemed interested, so maybe he could make an exception.
It had been a while since he'd dated. His hectic life, his single minded devotion to his job, didn't leave much room for anything else.
He liked women, and they liked him, despite his prickly exterior, but after his marriage failed, Malcolm never seemed to be able to give his all to any relationship.
More often than not he returned home at the end of the day, to a reheated meal, a glass of wine and a very unsatisfying wank.
"How about that coffee?" She was wearing a red lipgloss, that made her mouth look wet...and enticing.
How could he say no?
They left the gym together, the cafe was a few doors down the street.
The window table was free, and they sat opposite each other. She eyed him thoughtfully.
"The hair suits you," she cooed, "very Robert De Niro."
Malcolm laughed heartily, and gave her his, 'you're talking bollocks' face.
"My PA doesn't like it, she thinks I look like a criminal!" He retorted.
"Well, who listens to their PA?"
Malcolm, smiled wistfully to himself. They finished their drinks. He was about to stand and leave.
"So, how about you take me out to dinner, sometime?"
Her hand was on his sleeve. He looked down at her crimson painted talons, gripping his suit slightly, then back up at her face.
"You're fucking keen." He remarked.
"Why faff about? You're a handsome man, I like you, dinner seems like a good idea."
"Hmmm...well...okay then, shall we say Thursday? I'll come by your office at 7.30?"
"I'll look forward to it."
He could feel her knees touching his, under the table. Fuck! This was not going to end well.
Over the preceding days, Malcolm didn't have much time to think about Kelly or their impending date. The general maelstrom that was a typical day, saw to that. He and Sam were like knights, besieged in a castle, as one after another, shit storms hit, and had to be dealt with. They worked 16 hour days. Throughout it all, his Sam, (yes...that was how he thought of her, in his most indulgent moments...HIS Sam), remained impassive and efficient, and he was glad he had her there. They made such a great team.
"How much do I pay you? He asked her, late one evening.
"Not nearly enough!" She laughed.
"Fucking right, you're worth your weight in gold, you are, sweetheart."
He looked up as Sam blushed scarlet. How attractive that was, the flush crept up her cheeks, down her neck and ears. She quickly turned away from him.
"Go home Sam, you've done enough for today," he waved his hand dismissively.
She hurried away without a word, and a few minutes later her head popped round his door.
"Night, Malc."
"Night, Darl, see ya tomorrow. And thanks!"
Shit...it should be her he was taking out to dinner!
The cab deposited Kelly and Malcolm to the foyer of the swanky restaurant. Malcolm held the door for her to walk through. She was dressed to kill. Short black sheath, low cut, pashmina wrapped artfully around her shoulders, minimal but tasteful jewellery, high heels. Just a little too much make-up for his liking, those red nails and that sweet, musky perfume.
There was plenty of small talk, Malcolm was good at that, he neglected to mention he'd run a security check on her earlier, nothing significant had shown up, so he felt a little more at ease than perhaps he would have otherwise done.
Her leg was very close to his as they chatted, and he guessed it was calculated to have exactly the effect it was having. She had a habit of laying her hand on his arm to emphasise her point when she spoke.
In the taxi home she rested her hand on his thigh.
"Nightcap?" She said, voice soft and husky.
They were barely inside her door when she pounced, almost knocking him off balance.
Her lips crashed onto his, pulling him into her by his lapels. The kiss was not sweet, there was no tenderness, just animal lust and hungriness.
As she continued to almost suck at his face, her hands went up to his shirt collar and tie.
Malcolm leaned back,
"Christ!" He breathed, "you don't waste any fucking time do yer?"
"Isn't this what this evening is all about?" She continued to touch his mouth with hers, pulling on his lower lip, he could feel her knee pushing into his crotch...and he was hard, dammit.
"I want you, Malcolm, you turn me on, but I would have thought that was obvious." She resumed her fumbling, opening his tie and undoing the buttons on his shirt.
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," he closed his hands over hers, arresting her movements.
With that, she stepped back from him and reaching behind her, undid her zipper. She gently peeled her dress forwards, over her breasts, round her waist, then down to her ankles, before stepping out of it. Her eyes never left his, seductive, teasing.
Fucking hell, she was gorgeous, black lace underwear, stockings and suspenders, and those high heels. He was doomed.
Back she came with a renewed onslaught, kissing, biting his neck. Pulling off his tie and shirt and feeling for his belt buckle.
They moved from her hallway, into the living room, not breaking the frenzied contact.
He was straining inside his trousers, especially when he felt her hand on his fly.
"Jesus!" He gasped.
She released him from his underwear with a sound of delight, and lay back, her legs parted, wet, ready...
"Fuck me, Malcolm, fuck me hard." She whispered.
He didn't need asking twice. It was over pretty quickly. It had been a while since Malcolm had felt anything other than his own hand, and this was intense, to say the least.
She shrieked like a banshee when she came. Malcolm had never heard anything like it... He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to again!
The following morning, Sam's gaze was greeted and riveted by, a barely concealed love bite on the side of Malcolm's neck. Not quite covered by his collar.
It was hard for her to hide her crestfallen face. He wished her good morning, in quite his usual way, but somehow she could only manage to mumble a reply. The inexplicable burning she had behind her eyes, took all her willpower to force down.
Malcolm noticed. She seemed subdued, sad almost. He was especially soft with her all day. Speaking to her quietly and sparing her some of the more violent outbursts. Shit! Had he done something to upset her? Maybe she was on her period? Not that he'd ever noticed her like this before, and she'd obviously had periods previously. Typical man...if in doubt, blame it on the woman's hormones!
Over the next two months Malcolm and Kelly saw each other, whenever his schedule allowed. The relationship was entirely founded on sex. They ate out, went to the theatre from time to time, but mainly it was all about the rutting.
They fucked like hormonal teenagers, rampant, insatiable, breathless and sweaty. She was quite the temptress, and Malcolm was getting more sex than at any other time in his life. He wasn't complaining.
Kelly practically used him as a dildo, on some occasions. Riding him mercilessly, begging him to hold off until she was sated. There was no foreplay to speak of, just clothes off and down to it. Miss Grogan liked to be in charge. She liked her man to do as he was told, there was no doubt in Malcolm's mind, that if he would just agree to it, she'd have him tied up and helpless, hers to do with as she pleased. Malcolm was having none of that though, whilst he might enjoy a bit of teasing, he wasn't about to submit to her fantasies. He had fantasies of his own, and they were nothing like hers. Where she saw power and control, what she could get out of Malcolm, and how to use him; he saw, caress, tenderness, sharing and trust, a mutual bond...and that was never going to happen with Kelly Grogan.
She smacked him across the face on one occasion, hard, when she'd told him to hold off his orgasm and he'd been unable to.
His response was to hold her wrist, firmly, but not tight enough to mark her, looking at her with his steely stare,
"Don't ever fucking do that again, love. You only get the one warning. I'm quite happy to be your fuckbuddy, but you'll not turn me into your little pet, to be slapped or stroked according to your whim. I don't hit women, and I don't expect them to hit me. You keep your little pussy tight if that's what you want, but don't expect to fucking control my bollocks."
She was apologetic, and simpering but Malcolm made sure they didn't meet again for a couple of weeks, to give her time to know he meant it. Sam, of course, saw the hand mark on his cheek. And he knew, she saw. Somehow he felt ashamed. He cared what she thought of him...His Sam.
The call he received after that fortnight, was all purrs, and tantalisation. Pitched, to leave him wanting, craving. They met at his place that evening. She'd been aching for him all day, she said. She'd missed him, she said, she wanted him to take her, right here over the kitchen table.
It was pure lust, with her, not passion. There was nothing sensual or deep about her. The sex was terrific, but somehow it always left Malcolm wanting something more. The longer the relationship went on, the more empty he felt.
It had been some four months, and their regular coupling sessions with little else to recommend them, were beginning to pall.
It was after one particularly stressful day, that Malcolm decided to call at Kelly's place unexpectedly, to be frank, after the crazy few hours he'd just been through, his cock needed some respite, he needed to cum, he was hoping for a little light relief, and where better to get it? That was what made the relationship so destructive; didn't really want it...couldn't live without it. He was not in love with her, you didn't fall in love with a woman like Kelly, and he was quite certain she harboured no such feelings towards him.
He rang the bell.
Kelly answered the door.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, Malcolm was a little taken aback, it wasn't quite the welcome he'd expected. She looked shifty and did not fully open the door. Instead she wedged herself against it and stood defiant.
"I thought you might be free?"
Malcolm's eyes roamed her guilty face, then darted behind her, where he thought he could detect movement.
"But I see you're not!" He continued.
From behind her, a man's voice called.
"Who is it Kel? Tell them to fuck off!"
Kelly's face coloured. She opened the door slowly and backed up. In the kitchen stood a male, shortish, stocky and shirtless.
"Um, this is Simon." She looked embarrassed.
"Well, well," Malcolm hissed venomously, "yes, we've met. Hello Hewitt... You're hanging with the wrong gang here, Kelly love. Nasty pieces of work, these newspaper types."
He turned to face her.
"Classic! ...the proverbial cuckold, then, am I? Got yourself a new playmate?"
He turned back to Simon.
"Good luck with her, you mincing fucking cunt." He said, face very close to Hewitt's.
"Malcolm..." Kelly began,
"Save it, Darl, I can see where I stand. No need to explain. My only consolation is, at least you're going down in the world now, rather than up."
He turned to leave.
"Fuck you!" She cried, grabbing his arm," I'm going right to the top, and I'll trample wankers like you under my shoe!"
Malcolm removed her hand from his sleeve with two fingers, as if it were contaminated.
"The only place you're going is down the sewer pipe, love, if you hang around with the likes of this fucktard. He'd sell his own granny for a story. You'll be the one under the shoe!"
He walked purposefully down the hall, out into the street and hailed a cab.
Well, that was that, then. Back to do it yourself hand jobs.
Malcolm did not spend much time grizzling over the demise of his love affair. It was almost a relief in many ways, he had known it would never last. He was, however, angry at the deception. How long would she have kept up the pretence, of him being the only one in her bed? Or worse still, was she hanging on to him because she thought him useful? Fucking bitch.
It wasn't long before he found out.
Sam, had, of course, noticed her bosses' mood was somewhat volatile. She guessed something was up. For a start, he ceased to have that all pervading perfume smell on his clothes. She hated that scent, it was tawdry and had the air of something grubby about it. She also noticed, he was a great deal more attentive to her. Never in a suggestive or flirty way, but in a kind and caring one.
Malcolm's mobile burst into life. It was one of his many acquaintances in the press core, with whom he had a rapport, and over whom he wielded a modicum of power. Mainly because they all owed him favours.
"Malc...I heard the word there's a big piece going to press, on you...Malcolm Tucker, the Scourge of Whitehall, just giving you the heads up, mate, Hewitt's writing it."
Malcolm, slammed down the phone.
"SAAAAMMMMM!"
Sam hurried to the door of his office, wondering what on earth had happened.
"FUCKING HELL...THAT CUNT! I'll tear his miserable shrivelled little ball sac off."
Malcolm was opening and closing drawers, hunting through papers...
"SAAA...oh there you are...get me fucking Greg Fraser, double quick. And I need your help, to avoid my pathetic fucking career hitting the fan."
"What is it, Malcolm? What's happened?" She crossed the room and stood at his side, hand on his back, in a gesture of comfort.
"That fucking whore, I'll see her in hell before I let her do this to me, Sam."
The vein in his temple throbbed, and he looked genuinely upset.
"What do you need me to do, tell me?"
"Get me that fuckwit Hewitt on the line...I need to explain to him, just how I'm going to flay his arse with a paddle the size of a fucking cricket bat...I'll teach him to fucking mess with me, him and that cow's bone hole where he's currently shoving his prick."
'Ah, so that was how it was! No wonder he'd been so out of sorts these past weeks, he'd been unceremoniously dumped on, and he was sore as hell about it, the affair had ended badly and he was hurting,' thought Sam, she felt sorry for him.
Spittle shot out of Malcolm's mouth, his face was livid and red, eyes blazing. Even Sam had never seen him so apoplectic.
Two hours later, an injunction had been served. Publication halted. Kelly Grogan severely reprimanded by her superiors, for her underhanded behaviour, in divulging details of her lovers public and personal life, her job in serious jeopardy. Malcolm was calmer.
Sam brought him in a drink. He sniffed it and pulled a face.
"What's this crap?"
"It's camomile tea...it's calming!" She replied.
"Fuck that, get me a coffee." He replied, pushing it away, with distaste. He glanced at his wristwatch.
"Christ, it's eight o'clock. Why am I still in this fucking office? Why are you still in this fucking office?
"I thought I'd better stay...in case..."
He looked up at her then, face softening.
"Bloody hell, Sam, my life is so shit sometimes! Tell you what, fancy a drink or a bite to eat? It's the least I can do."
"That'd be nice, Malcolm, thank you."
"Nice? Fuck me! I dunno what I'd do without you sometimes! Best fucking PA in the world!"
Sam beamed.
"I'll get my bag and coat."