Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never will. Although, if they're not going to continue it anyway, they are welcome to give it to me. It's not like they still need it. Unless … forces self to stop wishful thinking
A/N: Warning! This fic contains all the writing-sins that could possibly be committed. It was written late at night, it is un-betaed and the authoress confesses to be a non-native speaker. Please don't kill me for my laziness, simply send me some flames, it's getting pretty cold anyway.
Now, I have no idea how this disturbing scene found its way to my sick and twisted mind, but here it is, and if it is not appropriate for please tell me so and I will take it down immediately.
I would also like to emphasize that I do in no way think the things described in this fic are in any way funny or harmless. They are not, they are serious and horrible, and I do not wish to offend anyone who might have suffered through a similar situation. It was originally meant as a sort of character-study, but the characters and the study got lost somewhere along the way as I did my best at my first attempt at angsty stuff. Sorry.
And now, in medias res:
One person after another left the Oval Office until only President Allen and her Vice President remained. The door closed, no one had really paid attention to Warren Keaton's staying. Not even the President. She was already seated behind her enormous desk, engulfed in whatever kind of paperwork Presidents were usually flooded by. She work with concentration, her brows furrowed, her reading glasses slowly sliding down her nose. She pushed them back up and turned back to work without another glance at her luxurious office; at the dark, shimmering wooden panels, the furniture or the thick carpet that swallowed the steps of the Vice President as he walked up behind her. She did not even notice the little blinking dictating machine someone had forgotten on the edge of her desk. Only when she felt something cold and sharp against her throat did she look up.
"Really funny, Warren, now take that thing down before I have to call the Service", she tried to joke even though she was anything but amused.
What startled her was the icy tone of his reply.
"I don't think so … you know, Madame President, this shiny little thing is not nearly as close to you as it could be. I think you will remain nice and calm. And silent."
Mackenzie shivered. This was beginning to be creepy. "What do you want, Warren? More money? More free time? Because if it's that, all you would have to do is ask me. There's no need to put a knife to my throat, you know. Now take it away."
He chuckled. "You don't get it, do you? This time, you are not the one in charge. This time, it's me … and you will do exactly as I tell you, or there will be a real mess, and the carpet would be ruined forever. We can't have that, can we?"
He was serious … here he stood, and threatened her, the President of the United States, right in the Oval Office …
"Warren, listen to me. Stop this before you get in more trouble than absolutely necessary."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," he said leisurely, while he pressed the blade closer, thus forcing her to stand, "I don't think you will tell anybody about our little secret …"
He was standing directly behind her now, she could feel his breath on her neck, and a wave of fear washed over her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe, she had to remain calm, she had to …
"This is ridiculous. There is no way you are going to get away with this."
He did not seem to listen, his free hand was slowly wandering around her waist, across her stomach and up to her breast. She stiffened as realisation dawned.
"You are going way too far. Take your hand off me or I'll scream." She hoped he had not noticed the quiver in her voice.
His only answer was a squeeze with his hand and increasing pressure on the knife.
"You won't …"
There was a sickening tone in his voice, almost a caress. It made Mackenzie's hackles rise.
"You are mad …", she whispered, as though she herself could hardly believe it. "You are a madman … the Vice President of the United States of America is a madman …"
Again, silent laughter, she could feel his chest moving against her back. She longed to get away from him, but she dared not move …
"No, I am not mad … I simply feel the maddening urge to shag the most powerful woman in the world … whether she wants to or not …"
And with that, he made her turn around to face him. The knife was still where it had been before. For a short moment, the thought that to hold it like that had to be awfully uncomfortable made its way to Mackenzie's fear-clouded mind. It was gone in a heartbeat when he lowered his head and breathed deeply … "Hmmm, the scent of fear …" He looked back up at her.
"Ironic, isn't it? There you are, President of the United States, head of the executive branch of the American government, commander-in-chief of one of the most powerful armies in the world, and yet you cannot make a single move because of a small, shining piece of metal. How does that feel?" He pressed his legs against hers, "Humiliating?", he hissed. "Or perhaps … frightening beyond belief?" He used the blade to force her head as far back as possible and began to bite her now-exposed throat.
Mackenzie closed her eyes. If she could not see him, he was not really there. It was only a dream. The hand that was wandering up her leg was not real, nor was his disgusting breath next to her ear … she suppressed a sob.
"Tell me …have you done this with your husband? Has he taken you here, to show you he is still is stronger than you?"
It seemed like an eternity until the words finally left her mouth. She barely recognised her own voice as she croaked "Rod loves me, he would never …"
"Of course", Keaton interrupted smoothly, "of course he loves Mackenzie Allen, the President of the United States. He would be a fool if he didn't … but does he really love you? The woman who sent him into a pink office and told him to discuss the meals while she went and ruled the world?"
Mackenzie wanted to tell him that he was lying, that Rod loved her and her alone, despite everything that might have been, but no words came.
Keaton laughed again. Why did he have to keep laughing at her? It seemed that he had heard her thoughts, for all of a sudden he turned dead-serious.
"Open those buttons", he spat. She shook her head, too petrified to move. Pain shot through her as he pressed the knife even closer. "Open them! Now!", he hissed through clenched teeth.
She slowly raised her hands and began to undo the top buttons, but they kept slipping from her shaking fingers. She could feel him smirk, it burned her skin. Now. She quickly grabbed the arm that held the blasted knife and tried to pull it away.
No use. He was faster. Stronger. She had no chance. He simply threw her back against the edge of the desk and slapped her. He gave her no second chance to raise her hands. The blade still firmly in its place, his free hand began to make its way up her thigh again.
She tried to turn her head away and squirm. "No! Don't!" No reaction. "Stop it …please …"
There, chuckling again. "Oh, please it is now? It won't help you …"
Ignoring her continuing pleads, he opened his trousers, shoved her skirt up and forced his way into her.
"Hush now", he whispered while he moved. "You don't want anyone to know. Just imagine your husband found out … he would never look at you again … he would always think of another man touching you … and your children … they wouldn't want to be in the same room with you … your whole family would hate you for betraying them … for being weak …"
He continued like this for about another five minutes, minutes Mackenzie spent telling herself that this could not be true, that she was lying in bed, next to her husband, dreaming, and that in a moment she would wake up, and he would hold her and tell her that nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
After what seemed like an eternity, he let go of her. Sweat was glistening on his face, and he was panting. She managed to hold on to the edge of her desk, barely able to keep standing.
"Remember", he wheezed while stuffing his shirt back in his trousers, not a word to anyone. And if you try to get rid of me …" he shot her his nastiest grin yet, "I suppose every newspaper in the country will be more than interested in the heated affair we have had for the last few months … and in the shape of that adorable little birthmark on your left breast …"
Mackenzie knew it did not matter that this birthmark did not exist. It would be impossible to prove Keaton was lying.
When the Vice President finally left the Oval Office, the President of the United States of America, Commander-in-chief and the most powerful woman in the world sank to the ground and began to sob uncontrollably, her tears soon mingling with the thin trickle of blood running down her neck, coming from the small cut something as insignificant as a sharpened piece of steel had caused.