Kennedy Drabbles

Hi! Welcome to my side blog, I follow from @vixen-in-my-dreams. Feel free to call me Lexi if you’d like. My ask box is always open for requests or if you’d just like to chat.

REQUESTS

RULES

MASTERLIST

A/N: Good evening, my angels! This is not a request, it’s just a little fluff piece that I dreamed up because I haven’t written Bobby for a long while. I hope that this is enjoyable, and I will be starting work on the requests I have next. I set this in the 1950’s but you can imagine it whenever you desire.

Summary: You help your anxious husband fix his tie.

Warnings: I think it’s pretty clean.

Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of historical fiction/Alternate Universe. All events and character interpretations are entirely fictional and are not presented as factual accounts.

~*~

The bedroom was illuminated by a reddish-golden glow from the multicolored Tiffany lamp on the bedside table. You stood in front of the mirror, securing your pearl earring, the sound of your husband’s manic energy—manifested in frenzied pacing—mixed with the velvet tones of Tony Bennett playing on the hi-fi. He had been tightly wound like a cheap watch for at least forty-five minutes, caught in a war between his fierce sense of duty and a sudden, desperate urge to chuck the whole evening.

"I just don't understand why we have to go to this specific dinner," Bobby muttered, finally halting his frantic steps to run a frustrated hand through his mussed hair. He paced from the edge of the mattress to the window and back again. His dress shirt was half-unbuttoned and slightly translucent from anxious sweat, the tails hanging loose over his worsted wool trousers.

"It's a Tuesday. It’s going to be nothing but lobbyists and a half-dozen senators pretending they actually read the labor bill I drafted. I should be at the kitchen table reviewing those subpoenas."

Watching him lament from your spot in front of the mirror, you fought the smile threatening to curve your lips upward. He was always so impossibly handsome when he worked himself into a lather. To you, he looked less like an imposing political figure and more like a little orange kitten hissing at its own reflection.

Tonight, however, the absolute force of nature—the brilliant legal mind who could dismantle a mob boss on the witness stand—looked entirely defeated by a strip of black silk. He yanked at his tie, managing only to pull the knot into a lopsided, hopeless snarl. He narrowed his eyes at the mirror, his chest rising and falling at a steady clip.

“Bobby…” you began gently, pausing with the golden tube of lipstick halfway to your pillowy lips before setting it down. Your eyes gleaming as you admired his well-muscled shoulders, your heart skipping a beat from the sheer, undeniable magnetism he was radiating.

"I'm just saying, I could send an aide. Or Jack. Jack eats these things up. He’d probably speak French to the ambassador for an hour, and they’d completely forget I wasn't there because they’d be so incredibly charmed." He let out a sharp sigh, dropping his arms to his sides as he glared down at the fouled-up tie. "Dammit."

Standing, you smoothed your skirt and let a soft chuckle escape as you crossed the room. The sound immediately drew his attention, causing his eyes to narrow even further. He pointed at you, trying to maintain his righteous indignation as if you were a hostile witness on the stand. But ultimately, the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward.

"Are you razzing me? The American labor system is on the brink of collapse, I am being strangled by my own necktie, and you find this amusing?" He advanced toward you, putting on his best severe courtroom voice.

You shook your head, grinning as he stepped into your space. The lawyer act vanished the second his chest brushed yours and his hands settled firmly on your waist.

“Nuh-uh, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you murmured, your hands sliding up his chest to drape your arms around his neck. The crisp, citrus scent of his aftershave made your stomach twist in pleasant anticipation.

“It’s just…” You bit your lip, chuckling softly before your eyes met his piercing blue gaze, kicking your heartbeat up a notch. Goosebumps prickled your skin beneath the silky fabric of your dress as his thumb began drawing slow, absentminded circles at your waist.

"It's just what?" he murmured, the question a low, gravelly demand. "You can't lead a witness right up to the edge of a confession and then clam up, darling." He stepped closer until his nose brushed your temple, sending a jolt of pure electricity through you. You bit your lip again, your eyes locking with his.

“It’s just, when you get all wound up…” you began tenderly, your heart fluttering against your ribs, “you remind me of a little kitten hissing at its own reflection.”

The exact moment the words registered hit his face like a flashbulb—especially the word kitten. He stared at you in absolute, stunned silence for three seconds, processing the sheer audacity of the comment. He was the Chief Counsel of a Senate committee. He made grown men sweat through their suits on the Hill.

“Bobby—” you started, only to be cut off by his scoff as he desperately tried to salvage his terrifying reputation. His hands tightened on your waist, his expression attempting deep offense. But that trademark, toothy, boyish Kennedy smile broke through, completely ruining the glare.

"I am highly intimidating," he argued, though his low tone was thick with amusement. "I am a very dangerous man to cross. You should be quaking in your evening shoes right now instead of insulting my dignity."

You laughed again, twisting your arms tighter around his neck to pull him down just a fraction.

“It’s not an insult; a kitten is a beloved household pet.”

A quiet, breathless beat of silence settled over the room. For a second, he just stared down at you, those icy blue eyes searching your face as if hunting for a loophole in your argument. Just as you began to worry you’d actually bruised his ego, the last remaining trace of the fearsome Chief Counsel melted away.

A low, rich chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, reverberating against yours. He let his head drop, pressing his face into the curve of your neck with a heavy, dramatic sigh of total defeat. His warm breath fanned across your skin, carrying the scent of black coffee and that tangy citrus aftershave.

"You are an absolute menace to the Select Committee on Improper Activities in the Labor or Management Field," he mumbled against your collarbone, the heat of his mouth causing you to press against him closer.

When he lifted his head again, the fierce intensity in his eyes had softened into something heavy and completely devoted. One of his large hands slid up from your waist, his thumb gently tracing your jawline before his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck. The sensation made your breath catch; you closed your eyes, melting into his embrace.

He didn't rush. He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted of quiet surrender. It wasn't the frantic kiss of a man trying to escape his life—it was the deep, grounding kiss of a man finding his anchor in the middle of a storm. He poured all his exhaustion, his affection, and his quiet exasperation into the gentle pressure of his mouth moving against yours.

A soft sound of satisfaction escaped your lips. Your fingertips trailed up the back of his neck, threading into his thick hair. You pressed back with gentle fervor, coaxing a smile against his lips as he delicately caught your pillowy bottom lip between his teeth.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breathing a fraction uneven, and rested his forehead heavily against yours. He stayed there for a long moment, soaking in the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom before reality inevitably tapped him on the shoulder. You pressed a few soft pecks along his jawline, your heart rate elevated and in no rush to end the tender moment.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, dropping his hands to gesture vaguely at the tangled black silk around his neck.

"Fix my tie, darling," he murmured, his voice a gravelly, affectionate whisper. "If I have to go listen to these lobbyists pretend to care about the labor unions, the least you can do is make sure I look terrifying while I do it."

Your hands moved to the tie, deftly looping and knotting the silk, your fingers easily undoing the chaotic snarl he had created, the simple action causing warmth to blossom in your chest. He stood perfectly still as you flipped the fabric over itself, the smooth, methodical slide of the material seemingly soothing the last of his tension.

"Terrifying. Right," you agreed playfully, giving the crisp, perfect knot a gentle tug against his collar before smoothing your palms flat against his chest. You pressed one last, lingering kiss to his lips and gave his shoulder a firm, affectionate pat before you stepped back. "I’m sure the lobbyists will be absolutely quaking."

Bobby reached over to the edge of the mattress, grabbing his tailored suit jacket and shrugging it on in one fluid motion. He shot his cuffs, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with that familiar, dangerously confident spark fully reignited. The boyish, toothy smile returned, but this time, it was all polished armor.