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Pundits: All's Fair in War and, Well. Mostly Just War (Rahm, Anderson, Jon, Stephen)
Somehow, I just keep sending myself to hell over and over and over again. It's like some terminal illness inspired by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evercourant. SOMEBODY PLEASE STOP ME. Disclaimer again: I DON'T KNOW THEM. I DON'T - OH GOD - WANT TO DO ANYTHING TO THEM. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME. THIS IS ALL FICTION. I PLEAD INSANITY.
Pundits/Rahm, again. Follows up from this crazy thing.
All's Fair in War and, Well. Mostly Just War
Fandom: Pundits and fakepolitics
Characters: Rahm and Anderson, with Stephen and Jon.
Rating: PG13.
Summary: Anderson really wants his friends to just get along. It's all right; Rahm will make that (censored) happen.
2192 words, and please someone shoot me in the head, it would be a mercykilling.
There's probably something to be said about the fact that Rahm's first reaction to the box that gets delivered to his home is to ask himself, has this gone through security? It irritates him to think that he's become paranoid, so he takes said box from the Fedex guy with a half-scowl-half-grunt and then slams the door in the man's face.
The box is wrapped, and rather simply. Most would call the vaguely cheerful and yet deliberately muted colours "tasteful"; Rahm calls it "annoying paper that gets in the way." He takes a penknife to it. There's a card inside, with words like "happy" and "I hope". Rahm's become more than a little intolerant to that kind of vocabulary since November the fourth, so it's understandable that his first reaction is to pick up the phone, press eight on his speed dial and say, 'What the fuck is this, Christmas?'
There's a two second pause, suffused with something that Rahm suspects is laughter. 'Yes, Rahm,' Anderson says. 'Yes it is.'
There's only one way out of this. 'I'm Jewish,' Rahm growls.
'Well then, happy Hanukkah.'
Rahm presses his fingers to the neat leather cover of the organiser that was in the box, then he tests the edge of his finger on the new set of steak knives that came with it. 'Came a little early this year,' Rahm comments.
'Not really,' Anderson says. 'Not if you've actually made note of the calendar days as they go past as opposed to living in an eternal, sleepless present.'
'I'm not taking that from you,' Rahm says pleasantly.
'I know you're not,' Anderson says agreeably.
Rahm closes the box, quietly. 'They call gifts to politicians "graft".'
Anderson, home in his apartment, lets his eyes fall shut. 'You know what I call the stuff you've given me? Bribery.' That gets him a laugh.
'Stay alive, Cooper,' Rahm tells him.
'You too, Rahmbo,' and Anderson puts down before it can get awkward.
Rahm doesn't think twice about the sound of the dial tone; he just picks up the box, and sets it to one side of his home office. There're a couple of things he needs to do; things that need to get taken out of the way if Barack's going to have anything approximating a festive season - but the world outside seems a little too bright for that, in spite of the darkness and cold. Rahm turns off his Blackberry, and slips into the living room after the children have gone to bed to sit next to Amy in silence.
She knows him, so she lets him stay that way, her fingers on the back of his neck for half an hour of absolute nothingness before she asks him, 'Who are you cheating on me with this time?'
Rahm turns his face to look at her, his eyes blunted over with fatigue and mild archness. 'I've never cheated on you with anyone.'
'It still counts even if you're only fucking with their minds, dear,' Amy tells him, and god, Rahm loves her for exactly this reason, this and so many other reasons that even he doesn't understand some days. He presses a kiss to her cheek; she laughs. 'So who is it?'
'You're fucking crazy, you know that?' he asks her affectionately. 'But just so you know, I've sworn off attaching myself to potential Presidents of the United States.'
'You and Barack broke up?' She feigns horror well. Rahm slips an arm around her waist, and squeezes.
'No, it's a younger man this time,' he says.
'Flirting with danger, Rahm?'
'By "younger", I mean "forty something and stupid", so no, not really.' He leans his chin on Amy's shoulder. 'He's just a good guy.'
She waits.
'A good, pretty-eyed, convincing guy who works for CNN and has one of the most-watched news segments in this country.'
Amy smiles. 'Invite him over to dinner sometime.'
Rahm yawns, and shakes his head. 'He's not ready yet.' Closing his eyes, he murmurs, 'But I'll get the little son of a bitch.'
---
'You got a chance to send him a Christmas gift and you didn't send him anthrax?' Stephen boggles at Anderson. 'Are you stupid?'
Jon presses Stephen back down into his chair. Fishing out his wallet, he makes a beeline for the cafe's counter, but first he says, 'Andy, please don't let him bring Emanuel up before he's had his first cup of coffee.'
'Don't give me that sad, puppy-dog-on-a-fox face of yours, Anderson,' Stephen accuses. 'I'm immune to excessive displays of emotion. Your friend is an enemy of the American nation. And I'm going to call him out on it until the day he rolls over and gives his position to me.'
Anderson would really just smile and nod, except that this is the 8th shared breakfast they've had together that this has come up.
'Stephen --'
'Ah ah!' Stephen shakes his head. 'I will not listen to your propaganda.'
'Maybe if you just got to know him,' Anderson says.
'I know his voting record,' Stephen says. 'It's blue and blue and blue all over.'
---
'How do you put up with shitheads?' Anderson raves, and he's not drunk, he's not, he just had a few drinks and then a couple more and Stephen, it was Stephen, he kept laughing and making stupid comments and bad jokes, and then Jon had to, were they fighting?
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'Shitheads are stupid,' Anderson says, intelligently. 'And mean.'
'Go get your ass in bed, Cooper, and call me when you're sober.' Rahm puts down.
Anderson stares at his phone, which bleats miserably. 'But,' he says to it, blinking. 'He said you were an asshole. And that's not--'
---
FROM: Jon Stewart
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: Ignore him ignore him ignore him
BODY:
Planet Stephen is not in peril. It cannot be saved from itself. Get sleep, and also, drink lots of water.
---
Rahm doesn't have much time for hobbies these days, and he's never liked to call his friends his "past-times", but he's more than ready to admit that, sometimes, that's what they are. Managing the White House is comparable to playing five games of chess at the same time, mostly while blind; it becomes second nature to pull at strings he's sometimes not even aware are there. It translates, naturally and inevitably, to the people he shares what's left of his life with.
It's not taking advantage of people if you're not aware you're doing it, after all.
'Tired?' Rahm spins his pen around his finger and shrugs even though Anderson can't see him doing it. 'Of course I'm tired.'
'You sound tired,' Anderson states - the obvious, as usual, which makes Rahm wonder if there's any part of Cooper that actually, truly resembles a forty-odd-year-old man instead of a ten-year-old child imbued with occasional streaks of genius. 'Are they giving you a break for the season?'
'There's a hiatus being called over the long weekend,' Rahm provides, casually.
'Why don't you come down to the city?' Anderson chirps automatically. 'Lose yourself in the anonymity, blah blah blah.'
Rahm wishes it weren't this easy. 'Are you going to subject me to your friends?'
'Do you want to meet them? I was thinking, since you and Stephen--'
--
'THE ENEMY,' Stephen jumps up and points the moment Rahm walks into Anderson's apartment. It makes Jon deeply, deeply grateful that someone - anyone - had the foresight of not arranging for this meeting in a public place. 'YOU HAVE BROUGHT THE ENEMY?' Stephen's still yelling, though his tone has taken on a confused note. 'AND THE ENEMY HAS BROUGHT -- cheesecake?'
Jon peers up for a moment from behind the protective shield of his coffee mug. 'The fabled aphrodisiac,' he murmurs. 'Now hand-delivered for our mass consumption?'
'Haha,' Anderson laughs, nervously. 'Guys, you know Rahm, and Rahm, you know the guys. Have some of the cake to start. I'll be in the kitchen, getting the rest food and hiding the sharper utensils.' And he goes, privately wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea.
Rahm smiles at Stephen as Anderson flees, except that no smile should have that amount of teeth or charm. 'Mr Colbert,' he says, extending his hand.
Stephen, bound by conservative etiquette, shakes. 'Mr Emanuel,' he replies stiffly. 'The seducer of our virgin boy. You realise you are putting yourself in a position to be thoroughly investigated and relentlessly humiliated? We do not give Anderson Cooper to any homebody who leaves him morsels of ch--'
'Tasty,' Jon qualifies, covering his mouth with his hand, 'very tasty morsels of cheesecake.' He may or may not have done that just to watch Stephen glare; Rahm is only mildly sure, and Jon will never tell. Stephen glares anyway.
'I'm a married man, Mr Colbert,' Rahm points out genially, stripping out of his coat.
'That never stopped anybody,' Stephen says, waggling an eyebrow. 'And nothing can stop anybody from attempting to, at least once and often twice, get into Anderson Cooper's pants.'
There's no sound of anything breaking from the kitchen, which Jon quietly applauds Anderson for He watches Rahm, who hasn't turned any shade other than smug since he first walked into the room, and decides that this - as with many of Stephen's battles - is not for him to fight just yet. The rest of the cheesecake beckons. Jon has no problems with that.
'Do you not deny that your actions are reprehensible, sir?' Stephen demands. 'Do you have nothing to say?'
'Hm,' Rahm hums. 'I should say that I think Cooper has fine friends.'
'We-' Stephen pauses. 'Well, thank you.'
'And that I look forward to watching your reaction to the new administration's decisions over the next four years,' Rahm continues pleasantly. 'You put politics in a very unique light, Mr Colbert.'
'Well,' Stephen says, demure and crumbling. 'All right, yes, yes I do.'
'And that if you ever try to act like you're Anderson Cooper's keeper ever again?' Rahm grins. 'I will personally cut you down to size for thinking that you own him. I will fit you in my fucking pocket.'
Jon disguises his laughter as an abrupt coughing fit.
'Are you going to fight me for that right, sir?' Stephen's voice has gone up a half-octave. It's very impressive.
'I already have,' Rahm laughs. 'It was called the 2008 elections, and my people won.'
Logic, Jon thinks. It's always going to be logic that sinks Stephen.
---
'The cheesecake is passable,' Stephen says, stiffly. 'Your conversation is adequate. Your treatment of Anderson Cooper tolerable. Your manners and vocabulary sufficient.'
'Barack's been thinking that it's time for some lighter coverage about the first dog,' Rahm says. 'He doesn't want news channels like Fox or CNN talking about a dog like it's a major executive decision. But people've vested some insane inordinate interest in the pooch, so it's got to get out one fucking way or another.' Rahm plays with the handle of his mug and catches Anderson's eye over the rim when he says, 'Would the Report like to get involved?'
'Your style and mannerism are impeccable and, now, can I get down on my knees and worship you in a way that adequately expresses my gratitude?' Stephen says swiftly. 'I am very good.'
'Down, boy,' Rahm murmurs, and tilts his mug in salute to Anderson's grin.
---
Anderson sends Rahm's kids cards (and presents), which astonishes them because most of the time their father's friends don't even dare to look them in the eye.
Amy pastes the cards up on their wall; they're the first ones there this year. Rahm keeps catching sight of them when he opens the door to the house at four in the morning. They chase away a cold that has nothing to do with winter.
---
Two days later, in Anderson Cooper's email:
FROM: Stephen Colbert
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: APPROVAL HAS BEEN GIVEN
BODY:
EMANUEL NOW HAS MY PERMISSION TO CONSECRATE YOU AND DEFLOWER YOU IN FRONT OF A NATIONAL TELEVISION AUDIENCE, JUST IN CASE YOU'RE STILL AFRAID OF COMING OUT FOR MY SAKE. IT'S ALL RIGHT, KID. HE'S NOT A BAD MAN. HE WILL PROBABLY TOUCH YOU IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES. JUST MAKE SURE I'M THE FIRST ONE WHO GETS TO INTERVIEW YOU WHEN HE'S DONE.
Also:
FROM: Jon Stewart
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: Ignore everything he says
BODY:
Yeah, just, see above, man.
And in Rahm Emanuel's private email:
FROM: Anderson Cooper
TO: Rahm Emanuel
SUBJECT: ...
BODY:
Did you do something to Stephen while I was in the kitchen? He's been acting oddly lately. Like he's... happy.
---
"And now we check in on our good friend Stephen Colbert at the Colbert Report; Stephen! Is it true that you're going into rehab after waking up to discover you painted your apartment blue in your sleep?"
--
'Rahm?' Amy says. 'You do know it's impolite to buy over other people's friends just to get in their good books.'
'Mmhm,' Rahm murmurs, rolling over and settling down, content. 'But it's really, really fucking effective.'
evercourant. SOMEBODY PLEASE STOP ME. Disclaimer again: I DON'T KNOW THEM. I DON'T - OH GOD - WANT TO DO ANYTHING TO THEM. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME. THIS IS ALL FICTION. I PLEAD INSANITY. Pundits/Rahm, again. Follows up from this crazy thing.
All's Fair in War and, Well. Mostly Just War
Fandom: Pundits and fakepolitics
Characters: Rahm and Anderson, with Stephen and Jon.
Rating: PG13.
Summary: Anderson really wants his friends to just get along. It's all right; Rahm will make that (censored) happen.
2192 words, and please someone shoot me in the head, it would be a mercykilling.
There's probably something to be said about the fact that Rahm's first reaction to the box that gets delivered to his home is to ask himself, has this gone through security? It irritates him to think that he's become paranoid, so he takes said box from the Fedex guy with a half-scowl-half-grunt and then slams the door in the man's face.
The box is wrapped, and rather simply. Most would call the vaguely cheerful and yet deliberately muted colours "tasteful"; Rahm calls it "annoying paper that gets in the way." He takes a penknife to it. There's a card inside, with words like "happy" and "I hope". Rahm's become more than a little intolerant to that kind of vocabulary since November the fourth, so it's understandable that his first reaction is to pick up the phone, press eight on his speed dial and say, 'What the fuck is this, Christmas?'
There's a two second pause, suffused with something that Rahm suspects is laughter. 'Yes, Rahm,' Anderson says. 'Yes it is.'
There's only one way out of this. 'I'm Jewish,' Rahm growls.
'Well then, happy Hanukkah.'
Rahm presses his fingers to the neat leather cover of the organiser that was in the box, then he tests the edge of his finger on the new set of steak knives that came with it. 'Came a little early this year,' Rahm comments.
'Not really,' Anderson says. 'Not if you've actually made note of the calendar days as they go past as opposed to living in an eternal, sleepless present.'
'I'm not taking that from you,' Rahm says pleasantly.
'I know you're not,' Anderson says agreeably.
Rahm closes the box, quietly. 'They call gifts to politicians "graft".'
Anderson, home in his apartment, lets his eyes fall shut. 'You know what I call the stuff you've given me? Bribery.' That gets him a laugh.
'Stay alive, Cooper,' Rahm tells him.
'You too, Rahmbo,' and Anderson puts down before it can get awkward.
Rahm doesn't think twice about the sound of the dial tone; he just picks up the box, and sets it to one side of his home office. There're a couple of things he needs to do; things that need to get taken out of the way if Barack's going to have anything approximating a festive season - but the world outside seems a little too bright for that, in spite of the darkness and cold. Rahm turns off his Blackberry, and slips into the living room after the children have gone to bed to sit next to Amy in silence.
She knows him, so she lets him stay that way, her fingers on the back of his neck for half an hour of absolute nothingness before she asks him, 'Who are you cheating on me with this time?'
Rahm turns his face to look at her, his eyes blunted over with fatigue and mild archness. 'I've never cheated on you with anyone.'
'It still counts even if you're only fucking with their minds, dear,' Amy tells him, and god, Rahm loves her for exactly this reason, this and so many other reasons that even he doesn't understand some days. He presses a kiss to her cheek; she laughs. 'So who is it?'
'You're fucking crazy, you know that?' he asks her affectionately. 'But just so you know, I've sworn off attaching myself to potential Presidents of the United States.'
'You and Barack broke up?' She feigns horror well. Rahm slips an arm around her waist, and squeezes.
'No, it's a younger man this time,' he says.
'Flirting with danger, Rahm?'
'By "younger", I mean "forty something and stupid", so no, not really.' He leans his chin on Amy's shoulder. 'He's just a good guy.'
She waits.
'A good, pretty-eyed, convincing guy who works for CNN and has one of the most-watched news segments in this country.'
Amy smiles. 'Invite him over to dinner sometime.'
Rahm yawns, and shakes his head. 'He's not ready yet.' Closing his eyes, he murmurs, 'But I'll get the little son of a bitch.'
---
'You got a chance to send him a Christmas gift and you didn't send him anthrax?' Stephen boggles at Anderson. 'Are you stupid?'
Jon presses Stephen back down into his chair. Fishing out his wallet, he makes a beeline for the cafe's counter, but first he says, 'Andy, please don't let him bring Emanuel up before he's had his first cup of coffee.'
'Don't give me that sad, puppy-dog-on-a-fox face of yours, Anderson,' Stephen accuses. 'I'm immune to excessive displays of emotion. Your friend is an enemy of the American nation. And I'm going to call him out on it until the day he rolls over and gives his position to me.'
Anderson would really just smile and nod, except that this is the 8th shared breakfast they've had together that this has come up.
'Stephen --'
'Ah ah!' Stephen shakes his head. 'I will not listen to your propaganda.'
'Maybe if you just got to know him,' Anderson says.
'I know his voting record,' Stephen says. 'It's blue and blue and blue all over.'
---
'How do you put up with shitheads?' Anderson raves, and he's not drunk, he's not, he just had a few drinks and then a couple more and Stephen, it was Stephen, he kept laughing and making stupid comments and bad jokes, and then Jon had to, were they fighting?
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'Shitheads are stupid,' Anderson says, intelligently. 'And mean.'
'Go get your ass in bed, Cooper, and call me when you're sober.' Rahm puts down.
Anderson stares at his phone, which bleats miserably. 'But,' he says to it, blinking. 'He said you were an asshole. And that's not--'
---
FROM: Jon Stewart
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: Ignore him ignore him ignore him
BODY:
Planet Stephen is not in peril. It cannot be saved from itself. Get sleep, and also, drink lots of water.
---
Rahm doesn't have much time for hobbies these days, and he's never liked to call his friends his "past-times", but he's more than ready to admit that, sometimes, that's what they are. Managing the White House is comparable to playing five games of chess at the same time, mostly while blind; it becomes second nature to pull at strings he's sometimes not even aware are there. It translates, naturally and inevitably, to the people he shares what's left of his life with.
It's not taking advantage of people if you're not aware you're doing it, after all.
'Tired?' Rahm spins his pen around his finger and shrugs even though Anderson can't see him doing it. 'Of course I'm tired.'
'You sound tired,' Anderson states - the obvious, as usual, which makes Rahm wonder if there's any part of Cooper that actually, truly resembles a forty-odd-year-old man instead of a ten-year-old child imbued with occasional streaks of genius. 'Are they giving you a break for the season?'
'There's a hiatus being called over the long weekend,' Rahm provides, casually.
'Why don't you come down to the city?' Anderson chirps automatically. 'Lose yourself in the anonymity, blah blah blah.'
Rahm wishes it weren't this easy. 'Are you going to subject me to your friends?'
'Do you want to meet them? I was thinking, since you and Stephen--'
--
'THE ENEMY,' Stephen jumps up and points the moment Rahm walks into Anderson's apartment. It makes Jon deeply, deeply grateful that someone - anyone - had the foresight of not arranging for this meeting in a public place. 'YOU HAVE BROUGHT THE ENEMY?' Stephen's still yelling, though his tone has taken on a confused note. 'AND THE ENEMY HAS BROUGHT -- cheesecake?'
Jon peers up for a moment from behind the protective shield of his coffee mug. 'The fabled aphrodisiac,' he murmurs. 'Now hand-delivered for our mass consumption?'
'Haha,' Anderson laughs, nervously. 'Guys, you know Rahm, and Rahm, you know the guys. Have some of the cake to start. I'll be in the kitchen, getting the rest food and hiding the sharper utensils.' And he goes, privately wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea.
Rahm smiles at Stephen as Anderson flees, except that no smile should have that amount of teeth or charm. 'Mr Colbert,' he says, extending his hand.
Stephen, bound by conservative etiquette, shakes. 'Mr Emanuel,' he replies stiffly. 'The seducer of our virgin boy. You realise you are putting yourself in a position to be thoroughly investigated and relentlessly humiliated? We do not give Anderson Cooper to any homebody who leaves him morsels of ch--'
'Tasty,' Jon qualifies, covering his mouth with his hand, 'very tasty morsels of cheesecake.' He may or may not have done that just to watch Stephen glare; Rahm is only mildly sure, and Jon will never tell. Stephen glares anyway.
'I'm a married man, Mr Colbert,' Rahm points out genially, stripping out of his coat.
'That never stopped anybody,' Stephen says, waggling an eyebrow. 'And nothing can stop anybody from attempting to, at least once and often twice, get into Anderson Cooper's pants.'
There's no sound of anything breaking from the kitchen, which Jon quietly applauds Anderson for He watches Rahm, who hasn't turned any shade other than smug since he first walked into the room, and decides that this - as with many of Stephen's battles - is not for him to fight just yet. The rest of the cheesecake beckons. Jon has no problems with that.
'Do you not deny that your actions are reprehensible, sir?' Stephen demands. 'Do you have nothing to say?'
'Hm,' Rahm hums. 'I should say that I think Cooper has fine friends.'
'We-' Stephen pauses. 'Well, thank you.'
'And that I look forward to watching your reaction to the new administration's decisions over the next four years,' Rahm continues pleasantly. 'You put politics in a very unique light, Mr Colbert.'
'Well,' Stephen says, demure and crumbling. 'All right, yes, yes I do.'
'And that if you ever try to act like you're Anderson Cooper's keeper ever again?' Rahm grins. 'I will personally cut you down to size for thinking that you own him. I will fit you in my fucking pocket.'
Jon disguises his laughter as an abrupt coughing fit.
'Are you going to fight me for that right, sir?' Stephen's voice has gone up a half-octave. It's very impressive.
'I already have,' Rahm laughs. 'It was called the 2008 elections, and my people won.'
Logic, Jon thinks. It's always going to be logic that sinks Stephen.
---
'The cheesecake is passable,' Stephen says, stiffly. 'Your conversation is adequate. Your treatment of Anderson Cooper tolerable. Your manners and vocabulary sufficient.'
'Barack's been thinking that it's time for some lighter coverage about the first dog,' Rahm says. 'He doesn't want news channels like Fox or CNN talking about a dog like it's a major executive decision. But people've vested some insane inordinate interest in the pooch, so it's got to get out one fucking way or another.' Rahm plays with the handle of his mug and catches Anderson's eye over the rim when he says, 'Would the Report like to get involved?'
'Your style and mannerism are impeccable and, now, can I get down on my knees and worship you in a way that adequately expresses my gratitude?' Stephen says swiftly. 'I am very good.'
'Down, boy,' Rahm murmurs, and tilts his mug in salute to Anderson's grin.
---
Anderson sends Rahm's kids cards (and presents), which astonishes them because most of the time their father's friends don't even dare to look them in the eye.
Amy pastes the cards up on their wall; they're the first ones there this year. Rahm keeps catching sight of them when he opens the door to the house at four in the morning. They chase away a cold that has nothing to do with winter.
---
Two days later, in Anderson Cooper's email:
FROM: Stephen Colbert
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: APPROVAL HAS BEEN GIVEN
BODY:
EMANUEL NOW HAS MY PERMISSION TO CONSECRATE YOU AND DEFLOWER YOU IN FRONT OF A NATIONAL TELEVISION AUDIENCE, JUST IN CASE YOU'RE STILL AFRAID OF COMING OUT FOR MY SAKE. IT'S ALL RIGHT, KID. HE'S NOT A BAD MAN. HE WILL PROBABLY TOUCH YOU IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES. JUST MAKE SURE I'M THE FIRST ONE WHO GETS TO INTERVIEW YOU WHEN HE'S DONE.
Also:
FROM: Jon Stewart
TO: Anderson Cooper
SUBJECT: Ignore everything he says
BODY:
Yeah, just, see above, man.
And in Rahm Emanuel's private email:
FROM: Anderson Cooper
TO: Rahm Emanuel
SUBJECT: ...
BODY:
Did you do something to Stephen while I was in the kitchen? He's been acting oddly lately. Like he's... happy.
---
"And now we check in on our good friend Stephen Colbert at the Colbert Report; Stephen! Is it true that you're going into rehab after waking up to discover you painted your apartment blue in your sleep?"
--
'Rahm?' Amy says. 'You do know it's impolite to buy over other people's friends just to get in their good books.'
'Mmhm,' Rahm murmurs, rolling over and settling down, content. 'But it's really, really fucking effective.'