Rubio x Reader meeting him at a rally?
You followed the tongs of people exiting the area by thestage into the vast hallway of the convention room. You weren’t particularlyfond of crowds, but this rally was too important to miss, at least to you itwas.
As expected, Marco was great; the content of his speech wassimilar to the ones you heard televised or watched during the debates, butseeing him in person, that was an entirely new experience, one that mediacoverage could never truly depict. You could not help but follow the wave ofhis hand as he emphasized a point, or admire the way his whole face lit up whenhe grinned. You even muttered to yourself some of his talking points that youhad memorized, and you had to restrain yourself from smiling like a fool whenhe called for the instatement of a New American Century. It was everything youthought it would be like, even better than you thought it would be.
Now that the rally was over, however, you weren’t sure whatto do with yourself. You could drive home, return to your empty apartment andstay awake all night trying to commit to memory every detail of today, or, youcould hang around the convention center and do the exact same thing.
You decided to stay in the building a little bit longer,simply relaxing and allowing the high you felt from hearing Marco speak washover you. You walked aimlessly, without purpose or direction, around the area,trailing up and down the long hallways which were now void of people. Youweren’t exactly sure where you were and was about to consider heading out when yousaw him, Marco, simply standing near the large bay window, looking out at thecity that lay before him.
Your mind was running with a thousand questions as youwatched the man, the object of you affections, the source of your desire thatlived on in fantasies and dreams-
No, you couldn’t think about that, those vulgar thoughts,right now. You pondered over the idea of walking towards him, approaching him,talking to him, possibly shaking his hand-
Abruptly, your thoughts were halted, and you were caughtstaring at him. His eyes were on you and you couldn’t think of anything else todo except stare back. A subtle upturn of lips and he was smiling at you and youjust stood there, unmoving, like a deer in headlights, as he made to walk overto you.
You flinched involuntarily; having his gaze directly on youwas startling and nearly inconceivable.
“I hope this is not too presumptuous, but I couldn’thelp but notice you looking at me.”
“I- uh, senator,” you managed to get out, a mostunimpressive greeting.
You cleared your throat and started again. “I heard youspeaking, I mean, I came here to hear you speak. Magnificent, if I maysay.”
You watched his face, the change in his expression, the slightbut noticeable coloring of his cheeks in reaction to your comment. Marco wasflattered. Flattered at your compliment. He must have heard similar variationsa thousand times over, and still, he blushed at your words.
You couldn’t help but smile.
You inquired as to why he was still at the conventionbuilding, it had been at least 30 minutes since the event ended, surely heshould be out signing autographs or huddled away in a private car.
“I have another engagement in a few hours, not too farfrom here. I told my staff that I would like some personal time for abit.”
You suddenly felt foolish, invading his personal time, timewhich was so rare for a candidate to come by. You opened your mouth as if tomake an excuse to leave or apologize. He must have picked up on the dismayedlook that spread over your countenance, and with a hand, he reached out, gentlyfalling on your shoulder as he assured you that speaking with constituents was alwaysa priority.
With a nod of his head, he beckoned for you to follow him, ameasure which you were more than happy to oblige. He lead you back over to thebay windows and then picked up a languishing pace, strolling down the corridorwith you at his right side.
Walking by his side, you felt at ease, as if you werespending time with an old friend, and yet nervousness still played at the edgeof your mind. Your voice was soft and unsteady as you spoke, relaying to himthe many things you admired about him, dating back to his time as a city commissioner,to feats he accomplished while in the senate. You couldn’t shake the feeling thatyou were wasting his time; he was bound to have hear the exact same retellingsof his career plenty of times. You were just another support, another constituentwith the same story.
You slowed your pace to a deliberate stop, uttering anoncommittal sound to alert him to your pause.
“Sir, you don’t have to be so polite, although Iappreciate the gesture. If you have more important matters to attend to,please, don’t hold up on my account. I’m sure you’ve heard everything I have tosay a million time over; if I’m wasting your time, I can just-”
He turned to face you and suddenly his gaze was directlyupon you again. You swallowed.
“I can assure you, talking to you is not a waste of mytime. I mean that.”
You studied the slight furrow of his eyebrows, noting theseriousness in his pointed look as he confirmed to you a staunch objection toyou claim.
He looked sincere and you could help yourself but to believehim, you wanted to believe him.
Together you both walked on, sharing random thoughts aboutthe election, about yourselves, heck, you even started ranting about insurmountabletraffic on the Palmetto Expressway and the construction on I-95 which Marcowholeheartedly agreed seemed never-ending.
You had reached the end of the winding hallway, stopping bya secluded window nook.
“Well, it has been a pleasure talking to you,” hestated and you nodded, unable to suppress the distinct look of sadness washingover you at the realization that thiswas probably going to be the first and last time you ever enjoyed his company.
“Ah, don’t look so depressed,” Marco joked.“I was wondering if you would be interested in actively joining mycampaign? Perhaps assisting in our Miami location if you would be soinclined.”
You had offhandedly mentioned to him of you own politicalambitions and eagerness to continue the fight to restore economic prosperitythrough conservative principals. You hadn’t thought he would think anything offit. He probably spoke to many young and ambitious people during his tenure assenator, people far more overachieving and with more impressive records thanyourself. Yet he choice to extend this offer to you.
You were speechless, unable to articulate a sound, let alongexpress your undying gratitude.
“That is, of course, if you would be amicable to such aposition,” he said as an afterthought.
“I- yes! Of course I would be, I just- wow.” Youprobably sounded like a giddy schoolboy but you couldn’t quench your excitementat this new prospect that lay before you.
“Excellent!” he declared, “I would love tohave a mind like you on my staff.”
In a flurry of moment, Marco pulled out a small notepad fromhis pocket, scribbled down something, and promptly tarred the little sheet out,offering it to you.
“Here’s all the contact information you will need aswell as the address. Tell them I sent you, although I will send out an email tothe secretary to let them know to be expecting you. You can come intomorrow?”
You nodded profusely, taking the slip of paper and tuckingit into your pocket. There would be plenty of time to study it and analyze theminute details of Marco’s scribbled penmanship later.
With a shake of the hand and a farewell smile, Marco wasoff, you standing for just another moment to watch the elegance of hisretreating form, you hand absentmindedly moving to touch the pocket encasing thepaper.
You couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
Alright, my plan for this, having secured a position onMarco’s staff, would be that eventually the two of you form a secret romance,him being impressed by your skills and the quality of assistance you’ve broughtto his campaign.
It would probably happen something like this: Marco comes to the Miami campaign headquarters one day (it’s a frequent stop for him when he’s travelling different cities). Everything he comes, the two of you exchange words, perhaps he has even bought you a drink once from the cafe next door. He seems you in the break room. It’s a Monday evening and most of the staff if gone already. The break room is empty aside from you, lounging on the couch with a cup of tea, half listening to C-SPAN. He walks in and surprises you with a cheerful greeting. You hadn’t heard that he was coming today. You move over on to make room for him on the couch, placing your drink down on the coffee table. You talk a bit, mostly small chat, inquires how things are going and somehow you end up talking about the stress he’s feeling over the campaign, over his personal life. He drops his elbows to his knees and rests his head in his hands. You move closer, ready to comfort him, placing a reassuring hand on his back, rubbing his neck gently, your thighs are touching. He lifts his head up to look at you after a moment, taking in your open expression. Your hand slides down to rest against his side and suddenly his lips are on yours in a soft kiss. The pounding of your heart drowns out the sound of Paul Ryan presiding over the House on the television, drowning out whatever legislation he’s trying to speak about in simplest terms. Nothing but the sound of Marco’s kisses and the feel of his hot breath on you face are the only things you register. This is wrong. He knows it. You know it. But right now, it’s the only thing that matters.
(a note: this would most likely take place during his presentsenate campaign as it would be easier to meet with him and see him often thanif it was presidential, but that’s not really all too important.)
