Chapter Text
“Alicent, talk to me,” is the first thing Gwayne says the moment Alicent steps into the office. It’s six in the morning, but the fluorescent lighting in the Eisenhower offices would lead anyone to believe otherwise. Alicent has always hated how harsh it is, but she’s always moving too quickly to complain about something as frivolous as light bulbs. Every day of her job is hitting the ground running, something Alicent has gotten used to in her years working alongside her brother.
She had ran his campaigns ever since grad school, working him up to a congressional position until eventually he had been tapped for Vice President—which had been an entire uproar that Alicent had to manage since everyone was demanding to see Hightower birth certificates because their posh accents tend to come across as elitist which meant Alicent had to write and rewrite far too many statements explaining that yes, Gwayne Hightower was born on United States soil and was more than able to take his place in the line of presidential succession should he need to and yes, the accents come from being raised in England after their parents divorced at the ripe age of seven years old for Gwayne and five for Alicent and yes, they went to boarding school, but no they are not elitist. Well, not elitist enough for it to be a problem. Nonetheless, her brother now held the office of Vice President of the United States. It was not a glamorous position in the slightest, but Gwayne made it look like it.
With no campaign to run, Alicent put her skills to use as the Director of Communications which basically means she has to hear everything all of the time. It is exhausting, but after years of chaos, she’s grown irritatingly used to it.
“Oil wants someone on the clean jobs committee,” Alicent delivers the news with a solemn expression, grateful for the coffee that Gwayne’s secretary hands over to her. She barely has time to stop moving and grab it before she’s ushered into Gwayne’s office alongside his Chief of Staff, Mysaria.
“We can not put oil on clean jobs.”
“Fucking obviously, Gwayne,” Alicent seethes, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Clean Jobs is a shit initiative anyway and you know it’s never going to pass, but if we get someone from oil onto Clean Jobs, everyone else is going to know it’s never going to pass. My job is information, I am giving you information. Also, you have to do a photo op for this stupid cafe that is opening downtown, apparently some fucking guy is doing it to raise money for his mother’s hospital bills—I don’t know, but the president can’t make it, so you have to do it.”
“Of course, the president can’t make it, he only makes it to the interesting stuff,” Mysaria comments dryly, clicking through something on her phone. “We can tap Chuck for oil’s representative. He’s retired, but he’s still oil. With him not actively in, we might be able to sway the majority.”
“We’re never going to pass Clean Jobs,” Gwayne groans, chugging the rest of his coffee with the same enthusiasm as someone doing a shot of straight vodka. Alicent grimaces at the sight. “He gave me Clean Jobs to pass the time so I don’t just sit here twiddling my thumbs, it’s never going to pass. I never get to do anything.”
“If you want to do something interesting, run for president,” Mysaria suggests with a sarcastic lilt to her voice. Alicent scoffs slightly, coughing to cover up her laughter.
Gwayne glares at the both of them and Alicent relents, “I’ll put feelers out on Chuck, but find me other options. Let me make some calls.”
With that, Alicent leaves the two of them in the office, dialing her first number and pressing the phone to her ear. She leaves a message with one secretary before the office door opens and Alicent groans.
“Out—get out.” Alicent is not in the mood to deal with Rhaenyra Targaryen.
“It is my job to be here, Alicent, perk up,” Rhaenyra sneers, though she’s so humorous about it, it makes Alicent want to throw up. Being the White House Liaison, Rhaenyra is not someone well liked in this neck of the woods but that is less accredited to her position and much more accredited to the arrogance she oozes. “I heard they’re making you put oil on Clean Jobs, you’re screwed, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Alicent spits back, taking a sip of her coffee and slamming it down on her desk so hard she thinks it may crack. “Is there a reason you’re here or are you just feeling like gloating?”
Rhaenyra slides around the people milling about to stand right in front of Alicent’s desk. She glares up at her from her keyboard—Alicent has far too many emails to send—emails she knows are going to elicit very angry responses and she does not need to be in a worse mood than she already is. Rhaenyra, without a doubt, makes her mood worse every time they simply breathe the same air.
Her typing slows as she drags her gaze up at Rhaenyra—admittedly, she does always manage to look good. Her silver hair is shorn to her shoulders; Alicent has never seen it longer, and her white button-up has sleeves rolled to her elbows, tucked into a pair of tailored navy blue work pants. Alicent knows damn well that Rhaenyra comes from money, so often she finds herself wondering why Rhaenyra slums it in a liaison position when she could be working much higher up in the West Wing. Alicent sometimes wonders if she turns down promotions just to spite Alicent.
Rhaenyra leans down with two palms against Alicent’s desk, a small act that makes her fume—and Rhaenyra knows it’s going to make her fume. Alicent can’t help but sneak a glance to the light bit of skin that is now exposed to her. It’s instinctual, of course, doesn’t mean anything. Alicent glares at her and waits for whatever piece of information Rhaenyra is going to spew and ruin her morning.
“You’re gonna try and get Chuck, right? You’re fucked if you get him because oil hates him and so does everyone else—”
“You’re better suited delivering this news to Mysaria, I just send emails. Didn’t you call me a glorified secretary once?” Alicent offers her a pursed lip smile before resuming her typing, trying to hide the fact that her eye is almost certainly twitching.
Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“I hear everything,” Alicent reminds her with a smile, “Did you come here just to tell me what I already know or are you actually planning on doing your job? I’m still waiting.”
“I have an in with Barry, he’s going to be a better man for Clean Jobs. He’s still oil but he does enough greenwashing shit that I think you’d be able to get away from it enough for the initiative to pass,” Rhaenyra offers, drumming her fingers against the mahogany of the desk. “You won’t be able to get him without me, though, he fucking hates your brother. But he owes me a favor.”
Alicent scoffs, reaching for her coffee once more. She distantly wonders if six in the morning is too early to start drinking. “And why would you utilize such a favor on… what? Helping the veep? Do I have to give you my soul while we’re at it?”
Finally, Rhaenyra leans back against the wall of the cubicle behind her, crossing her arms. “You have to let me take you to dinner.”
“I’m not an escort, Rhaenyra, I am sure there is some supermodel out there you can call to take care of you,” Alicent hums, switching tabs to do a deep dive on Barry just to ensure Rhaenyra is telling the truth. Not that she’s going to take her up on the offer because she would rather die a horrible, fiery death than go out to dinner with Rhaenyra Targaryen. However, Chuck is a lost cause. On top of the lost cause that Clean Jobs already is. God, Alicent should have gotten a job working for the president. “Why do you need me?”
“Because I want you,” Rhaenyra shrugs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Alicent glares at her from above her computer screen. “Alicent—it was only a matter of time. You work in communications, I’m the liaison, it’s fated. You might as well just let it happen.”
“I don’t know why any sane person would take remotely any pleasure in taking someone that absolutely abhors them out on a date—”
“Who said anything about a date?” Rhaenyra interrupts her with a furrowed brow. For a moment, Alicent can’t help but blush at her assumption. Though, Rhaenyra eventually relents, “No, I’m only joking, it would absolutely be a date, yeah. You’re just so fascinating, I want to pick your brain apart with like… an ice pick or something.”
“A lobotomy, you are describing a lobotomy,” Alicent murmurs. Seemingly, Rhaenyra is telling the truth about Barry. Which would be significantly more helpful than their only other option—an option that is about as helpful as a bullet to the brain. “How romantic.”
“You need Barry.”
“It would be a shining light on a sinking fucking ship, so really none of it matters,” Alicent drones on with a weary sigh. Despite her refusal, though, Rhaenyra is still standing there. Alicent lets her hang there for another drawn out moment before she looks her way once more. “You’re seriously telling me you would give us the single most useful thing you have ever done so long as I go on a fucking date with you like we are high schoolers?”
Rhaenyra pretends to consider it for a moment before nodding quickly. “Yeah, pretty much. We can call it a business dinner if that makes you feel better. I know you have an ego problem.”
“I have an ego problem?” Alicent scoffs, pushing her chair back so she can stand and face Rhaenyra. Even though the woman is slouching, Alicent still isn’t quite as tall as her—a fact that never fails to drive her insane. “Get the fuck out, Rhaenyra.”
“I’m not getting the fuck out until the veep tells me to get the fuck out.”
“Ah, Rhaenyra,” Gwayne comes out of his office with Mysaria trailing behind along with his personal aide, Criston Cole. “Get the fuck out.”
“Always a pleasure,” Rhaenyra says with a tight grin. She raps her knuckles against Alicent’s desk, telling her, “Friday at eight?”
Alicent stares at her for a long moment, tapping her kitten-heel-clad foot against the linoleum floor. “Fine, Friday at eight.”
Rhaenyra smiles in a way that makes Alicent wish she could punch her before leaving the office. The second she’s gone, Mysaria is in front of her. “What is happening Friday at eight?”
Alicent groans as she settles back down into her chair. “Rhaenyra can get us Barry.”
“Oh, my God, you’re selling your soul,” Mysaria comments. It wasn’t as if Rhaenyra hopelessly chasing Alicent was really kept quiet amongst this office, but it still embarrasses her slightly. She isn’t sure why Rhaenyra plays these games—because that’s all they are, games. Rhaenyra isn’t seriously attracted to her nor does she really want to take her out, she just wants to watch Alicent squirm. Alicent is just mad that it works. She wishes Rhaenyra didn’t know just how exactly to get underneath her skin, it’s nothing short of maddening.
“I’m selling my soul,” Alicent affirms with a forlorn expression on her face, “but if we get Barry, then maybe we can get Clean Jobs. I don’t know—I’m grasping at straws. We are so fucking useless.”
“Well, at least the president is one heart attack away from us being slightly less fucking useless,” Mysaria sighs before returning to her own desk with little more to console Alicent. She can’t believe she agreed to go on a fucking date with Rhaenyra. Sometimes, she thinks she needs to just quit politics altogether.
The only instructions Rhaenyra texted her prior to their date were dress nice which was entirely unhelpful. Not that she cared —if anything, she only cares because there’s a slim chance she might be photographed at some point given her status in politics. Rhaenyra almost certainly would be photographed, but if Alicent dresses too nice then people will automatically know it’s a date so really, she should go for business casual.
Except every business casual outfit makes Alicent want to rip her brains out right now. Part of her wants to test Rhaenyra’s resolve—find out how far this bit between the two of them can go. Which means she keeps eyeing her suspiciously slutty little black dress that’s currently hanging in her closet. It’s a simple enough halter with a tie that hangs down the back, creating a nice movement. If Rhaenyra wants to play this game, Alicent will almost certainly play it in return. She shrugs off the bra she had worn to work, tugging the dress over her hips and adjusting it. A good amount of her chest is on display, which is precisely how Alicent wants it. She reaches for black pumps and settles with leaving her hair down—if only because she has it up for most of her work day that her scalp almost always hurts by now and today is no exception.
“Clean Jobs,” Alicent whispers to herself in the mirror as she applies eyeliner. “He fucked over the filibuster reform, sure, whatever, it’s stuck in committee and will be for the next forty fucking years, but Clean fucking Jobs. Please be worth it.”
With that, she grabs a black shoulder bag and heads downstairs, her apartment door behind her sounding suspiciously like the lid of a coffin slamming shut.
Rhaenyra offered to pick her up—though Alicent is almost certain this is a rouse to get her address so Rhaenyra can take out a hit on her, but if she really wanted to, she could dig through employment records so Alicent appreciates that she at least asked. The car waiting for her is a sleek, black maserati though Alicent isn’t sure she expected anything less.
The driver’s side door opens and Rhaenyra steps out and, unfortunately, looks amazing. Her shirt is silk, an ivory color that shines against her fair skin, tucked into well-tailored black pants that make her look ten times more appetizing than she already does—not that Alicent often notices how attractive Rhaenyra is. Her fingers are adorned with rings and a couple of necklaces hang down against her chest. With her shirt half-unbuttoned, Alicent can see the slightest peek of a tattoo on her sternum.
Alicent straightens her shoulders and attempts to make it seem like she has not been shamelessly checking Rhaenyra out—though it hardly seems to matter considering Rhaenyra is still dragging her gaze up the long, long legs Alicent has left exposed for her this evening. She finds brief satisfaction in knowing that currently, Rhaenyra can’t take her eyes off of her.
Seeing that Rhaenyra clearly wanted to open the door for her, Alicent beats her to the chase, stepping past her to open it, but pausing before sliding into the car. “I’ve penciled an hour into my schedule for this, that’s all you have before I text the veep 9-1-1 under the table.”
“You’re never not charming,” Rhaenyra retorts as Alicent slides into the car. She slams the door shut once Alicent is settled before walking around and getting back in. As soon as the door is closed behind her, Rhaenyra is speaking, “You know, when you’re off call, you really don’t have to call him the veep. The entire country knows he’s your brother.”
“This is a work dinner,” Alicent reminds her, though they both know that’s not true. If this were a work dinner, Alicent would wear a skirt that went to her knees. Instead, her dress barely covers her ass and she is sitting in Rhaenyra’s personal car and her work phone is off. Alicent is almost certain she’ll have to put out about thirty fires the moment it’s back on, but right now, it is disturbingly off. Alicent feels as if she has snuffed out her own child in doing so.
“You dress like that for all your work dinners?” Rhaenyra comments on exactly what Alicent was hoping she wouldn’t, though Alicent notes the way her eyes seem to linger on Alicent’s thighs. She relaxes slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re gonna make me jealous.”
“Fuck off,” Alicent bites—before feeling slightly apologetic. Only slightly. “Sorry, it’s instinctual.”
Rhaenyra sighs. “You know, if you really feel like I’m holding you hostage right now, I can drop you right back off at home. Yeah, I’m doing a favor for you, but I’ve already sent the email to Barry’s team, I can turn the car around.”
The sincerity in her voice surprises Alicent, catching her off guard. She has a clear out—one Alicent knows she should take. She can’t stand Rhaenyra and the thought of sitting with her for more than thirty minutes seems absolutely miserable, yet here she is. After all, she doesn’t want to waste a perfectly good outfit. “No, I intend to hold up my end of the bargain. It’s only fair. I don’t get as far as I do in this business by reneging on the deals I make. I’m sure I can last one dinner with you without wanting to blow my brains out.”
“How romantic,” Rhaenyra retorts, repeating Alicent’s own words from earlier in the week. “You have an honor code, it’s cute.”
“It’s not an—” Alicent begins to defend herself before giving up with a sigh. “Whatever. Shouldn’t you be glad? Two years we’ve worked together and you’ve been asking me to dinner for at least half of that. This must be Christmas morning for you.”
Rhaenyra is quiet. Alicent had hoped for at least a chuckle, but instead, she gets absolutely nothing. Her shoulders tense with the silence, unsure how to handle it. After a moment, Rhaenyra finally says, “Well, in my defense, we go out to lunch all the time.”
“Lunches typically spent cursing you out.”
“It’s hot,” Rhaenyra says with a shrug. She turns a corner before pulling into a parking spot in front of one of the nicer restaurants Alicent has been to. It’s nice enough that she usually only meets senators there alongside Gwayne, never on her own accord. Alicent balks slightly at the notion that Rhaenyra would think to take Alicent to a place like this. She’s… charmed. Only a bit. Not enough to forgive Rhaenyra for the miserable two years they have been working together. Well, she supposes they are nothing if not entertaining, at the very least.
She doesn’t realize she was staring until Rhaenyra comes around to open the door for her, offering her a hand. Alicent wants to slight her, but she finds herself taking it anyway and letting Rhaenyra help her from the car. Alicent lets go of Rhaenyra’s hand quickly as if she has been burned, desperate to create space between the two of them.
Rhaenyra seems to get the memo, shoving her hands in her pocket and following Alicent into the restaurant. As soon as Rhaenyra says her last name, the hostess lights up and happily takes the two of them to their table, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes when her gaze lands on Alicent. Being in D.C, everyone knows politicians, even the little guys, yet sometimes, Alicent yearns to be in a place where she is not so seen.
The table is quiet when they get there, neither of them seeming to know how to start a conversation. Eventually, though, Alicent finds herself surprised to be the one breaking the silence. “This is a nice place. I’m almost inclined to say you have good taste, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were simply stalking my Google calendar.”
“They pay me too much to stalk your Google calendar,” Rhaenyra says with a smile, eyes still on her menu. “I have my secretary do it.”
“You do not have a fucking secretary.”
“You’d have to step foot in the West Wing to know that,” Rhaenyra reminds her and Alicent rolls her eyes. “You know, if you weren’t so loyal to your brother, you’d probably do really well with us.”
Alicent scoffs, wishing the waiter would hurry up with the bottle of wine they ordered. “Don’t tell me the whole reason you’re doing this is because you want to fucking poach me. Gwayne and I have our issues, but I wouldn’t abandon him.”
“He has Mysaria.”
“Rhaenyra.” Alicent glares sternly across the table.
Rhaenyra only chuckles softly, a condescending noise, though Alicent is far too used to those from her. “I’m kidding. I’d at least wait until midterms to poach you. No, Alicent, this dinner is happening because I think you’re so attractive it’s frankly unfair to those around you and I wanted to take you out to dinner. You can call it a work dinner all you like, but with you in that dress, I am not thinking about work.”
Alicent opens her mouth to say something, but finds herself at a loss for words. When she can’t find them, Rhaenyra fills in for her, “Sorry to play my cards so early, but—oh, the wine, thank God.”
Alicent shares the sentiment as the waiter opens the bottle and pours two glasses for them, leaving the bottle on the table. Alicent happily takes a sip almost before the man’s back is even turned, grateful for the slight reprieve in the conversation. It gives her a second to collect herself before speaking once more. “So, you had to blackmail me instead of asking me out like a normal person?”
“I asked you out like a normal person two years ago, but you ignored me, so I figured this was my only shot.”
“You what?” Alicent pales. She remembers no such thing. And Alicent remembers everything. She has never forgotten a thing in her life, certainly not pertaining to Rhaenyra.
“I asked you to coffee like two days after we met,” Rhaenyra explains, sounding almost annoyed that Alicent doesn’t remember. “You looked right past me and started talking to someone else, so I figured it was moot. But the foolish little girl in me didn’t quite give up hope and now, I’ve gotten you Barry and cursed you to a dinner with me.”
Alicent settles with the information. Clearly, she hadn’t heard Rhaenyra. If she had heard Rhaenyra, would she have said yes? She hardly remembers how she felt about Rhaenyra two years ago, but it probably was with slightly less annoyance than she now harbors for her. Maybe Rhaenyra would have stood a chance. “I didn’t hear you. I apologize.”
Rhaenyra looks caught off guard by the apology, but in a flash of a moment, the same nonchalant expression is back on her face. She simply raises her glass, “Well, I’ve got you now.”
Alicent finds herself blushing, but she’ll blame it on the wine. “And what, do tell, are you going to do with me?”
The last thing Alicent expected to end this dinner with was straddling Rhaenyra’s lap in the backseat of her stupid fucking beautiful car. Truthfully, Alicent wasn’t sure what happened. They dropped the work talk, Alicent thought it might be fun to flirt (the glass of wine she had thought it might be fun to flirt) and one thing led to another until Rhaenyra was practically flagging down the waitress for the check and they were speed walking to the car.
Rhaenyra’s hands find her waist as she drags Alicent where she wants her, bracketing her legs with her thighs. Alicent pants as Rhaenyra’s lips find her neck, trailing up her jaw and almost going for her lips, but Alicent pushes her away, gripping her chin with one beautifully-manicured hand. “I do not like you. I don’t kiss people I don’t like.”
Rhaenyra watches her breathlessly, a relaxed grin on her face as she asks, “How’ll we pass the time, then?”
Alicent hikes up the already short fabric of her skirt until Rhaenyra gets the idea, hands squeezing her thighs. Alicent can’t believe how turned on she is—Rhaenyra will never let her live this down as she grinds her hips against Rhaenyra’s, desperate for her touch. Her lips find Alicent’s neck once more, careful not to linger too long lest any marks be left in her wake considering they have to be at work in the morning. Her hands find Rhaenyra’s shoulders, digging into the soft fabric of her shirt as Rhaenyra reaches up and begins to tug her rings off of her fingers. It’s a sight Alicent should not find as hot as she does, but unfortunately, she’s practically salivating.
With her jewelry tossed aside onto the leather seats and into the depths of the car, Rhaenyra brings a hand between Alicent’s legs with haste, a stifled moan falling from Alicent’s lips as Rhaenyra’s knuckles brush against where her aching wetness as soaked through her underwear. Alicent shudders as Rhaenyra teases her, her head falling against the woman’s shoulder as her hips continue to grind down on her, aching for more of her touch.
Giving into her desperation, Rhaenyra shoves Alicent’s underwear aside and dips her fingers into her wetness. Alicent moans, resisting the urge to sink her teeth into Rhaenyra’s neck. Instead, she lingers on her shoulder, biting down through the fabric as Rhaenyra pushes two fingers into her. Rhaenyra’s free hand grips her hips tightly, keeping Alicent from moving as much as she would like, fucking into her far too slowly for how little time they have.
Alicent groans, burying her face in Rhaenyra’s neck as she speeds up, pumping two fingers in and out of her, spreading them out with each inward press. Her hand comes up to tangle in Rhaenyra’s short hair, tugging at her scalp and relishing the feeling of fullness each pump of Rhaenyra’s fingers.
“Can you please fuck me like you mean it?” Alicent asks, desperate to feel the burn of deeper pleasure.
Rhaenyra scoffs, “I should have known you’d be bossy.”
“Yeah?” Alicent’s voice is completely breathless, making her lose some of the edge she wishes she had over Rhaenyra. “You’ve thought about this?”
Rhaenyra adds a third finger and picks up the pace, working a strangled moan out of Alicent. “How could I not? Have you looked at yourself?”
“Don’t give me more of an ego than I already have—oh, right there, Jesus, fuck,” Alicent curses, pressing her hips down against Rhaenyra’s fingers as she fucks herself on Rhaenyra’s fingers. “Fuck, Rhaenyra.”
Her nerves are alight as Rhaenyra fucks her without mercy, the two of them working in tandem now in a way that has Alicent gasping. She can barely get words out as Rhaenyra gives her little room to breathe. Alicent can feel her orgasm creeping up on her, her stomach tangled up in knots as she chases her pleasure desperately. Rhaenyra continues fucking into her deeply, hitting every nerve that has her legs practically twitching. God, Alicent hates that Rhaenyra is good at this. Of course, she’d be good at this.
She shudders as her orgasm rattles through her, feeling her body relax against Rhaenyra as the woman’s pace begins to slow. Alicent groans, hands digging into Rhaenyra’s shoulders as she comes down. Looking at Rhaenyra in the dim light, realization sets in. The worst part of it all is that Rhaenyra looks absolutely beautiful. Alicent has always known she was hot, it was the sort of thing that demanded to be seen, but here, illuminated in street lights, she’s breathtaking. This is bad, this is so, very bad.
Rhaenyra pulls out of her gently, letting her underwear fall back into place as the two of them catch their breath. After a moment, Rhaenyra breaks the tense first. “Can I drive you home?”
Alicent sighs, still not moving from Rhaenyra’s lap as she reaches for her phone and turns it back on. The first thing she sees is a voicemail from Gwayne.
“I should probably just get a car. I have to go to the residence,” Alicent sighs, running a hand through her hair. Rhaenyra’s hands still rest on her hips and neither of them seem to want to move. “Fuck—I—Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”
With that, she finally lets herself get off of Rhaenyra’s lap, immediately missing the warmth. Rhaenyra clears her throat, reaching over and opening the door for her. Alicent wishes there was a better way to end this—part of her wants to let Rhaenyra drive her home and figure out what else they can get up to—but duty calls.
She gets out of the car, leaning down with one arm on the edge of the door as she looks at Rhaenyra. “If anyone asks, this never happened.”
“Scout’s honor,” Rhaenyra does a mock salute. Alicent rolls her eyes, slamming the door shut behind her.
No more than two minutes later, her car pulls up and Alicent gets in it before she can see Rhaenyra drive away. She’s made a lot of mistakes in her career, but this may very well be the worst. Even so, she can’t stop thinking about it. God, she’s screwed.