- Captain Invictus
- Apr 5, 2005
-
Try reading some manga!
-
Clever Betty
|
Endorph toxxed that if McCain voted No on the Skinny Repeal bill in the Senate, that they would write some fanfiction. So here you go, a work of art.
John McCain nervously adjusted his tie as he strode up the steps to Barack's home, beautiful upscale Hawaii scenery disappearing behind him. The sun setting, the ocean breeze hitting his face, worn with age and stress. More than once, he'd considering calling this whole thing off. More than once, he'd considered being a coward. Throwing his love away.
But he couldn't do that, no matter what. There were some things that John knew were too precious to give up. The process, for one. No matter how much of a maverick he liked to brand himself, he was still a politician in the United States of America. He respected the law, the systems that the founding fathers had etched in stone. But more than that, he respected himself. He was a senator. If he disrespected the rules, what would that mean for him? Disrespecting himself, after all he'd been through, was too terrible a thought to even consider.
But that was enough for now. Glancing over his shoulder for nosy reporters - 'John McCain heads to private Obama resident for top secret meeting!' - John stepped forward, tugging one last time on his tie before pressing on the door bell.
And of course, from behind it stepped him. Barack Obama. Leaving the presidency behind had done him good, John couldn't help but think. His hair was regaining some of its color, the shadows under his eyes were lightening. Idly, John wondered what he would have looked like, after four - possibly even eight - years of governing. Unlike Barack, he had never exactly been a spring chicken, even in his army days. Maybe it was for the best that things had gone the way they did.
"Nice of you to drop by, Senator," Barack said breezily, peering over John's shoulder for a moment before stepping aside. "Michelle is back on the mainland with the kids, so I'm afraid I can't offer dinner," he laughs. John knows full well that Barack's tried his hand at cooking a few times, been terrible at it every single go of it.
"No, that'll be fine, Mr..." John pauses, the words catching in his throat. How odd, to not call a man 'Mr. President' anymore.
"Mr. Obama," John tries. Barack grins.
"Please, I'm a private citizen now. Call me Barack," Barack offers, words velvety and smooth. How did it come to this, John wonders. When did he fall so madly in love with his former political rival?
The year was 2008, of course. Just after Obama's inauguration. It's only been eight years, but John is such a shamefully old man that it feels like a lifetime ago, so many aches and pains gained over those years. And Barack - he looked so young, then. So full of life, and hope.
Barack catches onto John's line of thought as he leads him inside, grins over his shoulder, perfect white teeth glinting in the afternoon light. "What was it you said to me, back then?"
"'I look forward to getting to know you even better, Mr. President.'"
"Well, I think we managed that," Barack laughs. He isn't leading John into the kitchen, of course. Or into the living room. No, he's headed right for the steps. John's heart catches in his throat, his hands clammy. No matter how old he gets, or how many times he and Barack do this, it never fails to make him feel like a giddy eighteen year old again, leading his best girl up the steps.
And that really was a lifetime ago. A different America. An America where he'd never have envisioned a black President, an America where... God, his memory really is going. He can't even remember if Hawaii was a state, back then.
Gulping down his fear, he follows Barack up the steps, momentarily freezing in place when he sees Barack turning. Lingering in the doorway of his bedroom, flirty gaze cast over his shoulder.
"Why don't you and I enjoy some bipartisan politics?" Barack jokes, and John's throat is dry.
It's only a moment later that they're onto the bed, the memories a blur in John's mind. John’s hands are roaming over his chest, eventually settling on wrapping around him and pulling him closer to the senator’s aged but still, broad body; and in comparison, Barack seems so thin and delicate. Which is surprising, John thinks. He'd always thought of Barack as a strong, well-built man, tall and handsome. Perhaps the presidency had gotten to him in ways John hadn't noticed until now.
“You can try. I'm not sure if I have the patience,” is his response – accompanied by a grind of his hips against Barack’s rear as they roll across the king-sized bed. The dark-skinned man lets out a gasp that’s clearly exaggerated (there’s a smirk on his lips, if John looks around far enough to see), but it’s enough to get John going even still.
“Oh, believe me, I’m quite familiar with how much of an... independent voice, you are."
“Rude.”
“Still, you should try it. I think we still have a lot to learn from each other, even after eight years of politics.” Barack says with a smile, leaning far back enough that John can see it this time.
"I know how you do politics," John huffs, kissing at the other man's lip. "All take, no give. Do you know how much the Republicans hated working with you?"
A long finger presses against John’s mouth, Barack dragging it down to poke against the taller man’s lip.
“Well, John - why don't you show me what you have to bring to the table?” Barack doesn’t even sound exasperated at John – he’s more amused than anything. Frankly, the only frustration he’s feeling is from not being able to complete his own tacky flirt, having it so cruelly snatched from him by John’s own beautiful, incredibly kissable lips. Lips that he wants all over him; on his mouth, down his lightly-toned body, wrapped around his member--
He doesn’t normally try to think about John quite that crassly, but Barack is incredibly aware of how erect John’s been getting against his rear as they’ve been talking. He’d likely have been even harder if he’d told John what exactly was on his mind, but at the same time… well, seeing as John made time to come and see him, he’s more than willing to put his own mouth to use.
“Michelle and the kids are gone, you know,” he tells John. He knows he already knows.
“Yeah, you told me.” Barack tuts in response to this, shifting around in John’s strong arms until John gets the picture and begins to let go, hand brushing over his thigh as he does so.
“No sense of subtlety.” Well, if they were both abandoning that, Barack could live with it – he leans into John, tilting his head up a little bit so their lips meet, and almost embarrassingly, John’s arm is around the back of his shoulders, pulling him in tighter, eyes still wide open by the time Barack shuts his. Sometimes John’s lips are chapped, from age, but today they’re a little more smooth —not as soft as Barack’s, but still lovely to kiss, and the talent with which John both receives Barack taking the lead, and responds in turn, makes up for any lack of comfort Barack feels.
Barack has the feeling John has always had a certain amount of experience more than he does – rather, he more or less knows it. He’s not totally happy with that fact, honestly, but more because he absolutely can’t stand having to play catch-up to someone else. It’s simply unthinkable with anyone else, and he only lets John have this over him because, well, he’s John.
But at the same time, he can’t stand John patronising him, so as soon as the white-haired man seems to be taking control of the kiss, Barack pulls away, wiping down his lips with two errant fingers. He starts to slide his way down John’s body—but not before grabbing at the crook of his toe, tugging it off in one motion. His hands dive to . McCain's suit jacket, unbuttoning it hurriedly. To show his appreciation, he places a kiss on John’s nipple, leaving little butterfly kisses down his abs as Barack gets to his knees, face to face with John’s already bulging pants.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Barack tells him, and John just smiles at the compliment. How confident, Barack thinks – but then again, that mixture of moody complexity and headstrong determination is part of John’s charm.
And another charm, he considers as he undoes the slightly baggy pants, is John’s rather excellent dick; pulling down his underwear, Barack cups the size that he had gawped at when he’d first properly seen it hard, almost instinctively placing a kiss upon it.
“Thanks.”
“A little bit of a delay to that response,” Barack snorts.
“Call it the trade deficit,” This earns another snort from Barack, but this one is a fair bit more amused—and also a prelude to him kissing it again, and then once more, and he places his lips around the dick, and begins to suck. He has to open fairly wide, naturally; one hand goes to hold around the base of John’s shaft and stroke it, while the other helps him gain a moment of balance. It only takes a few seconds for him to figure out how to pace himself, though, and that hand finds itself slipping under the waist of Barack's pants searching out his dick and unfocusedly stroking it.
Barack’s developed a certain expertise when it comes to sucking dick, John realises. It might just be in response to how much John enjoys getting blown, or maybe it’s some kind of bipartisan synergy between the two of them, but the way the dark-skinned man looks up at him as he sucks him off is incredible – and that’s before he even thinks about how Barack slowly, surely starts to take the shaft into his mouth. He can’t get down all of it, and John absolutely doesn’t begrudge him for that, but Barack’s soft hand makes up for any ground he can’t cover anyway – and what his mouth does treat, it handles with the ultimate care. His licks are light, swirling and focusing on the head as much as he can, and when his lips start to move, it’s with a steady intensity and a quiet but consistent slurp.
“F-gently caress…” And then he catches those eyes again, Barack looking up at him like—like some kind of porn star, John realises. That makes a lot of sense. “You’re so good at this, Barack. Maybe too good.” Unfortunately, the realisation makes him already slide even closer to climax, and the only solution is thus to place a hand on Barack’s head; it’s gentle and affirming for a few minutes, but soon enough John is pushing him down, earning a somewhat irritated “Mmmph!” from Barack.
But if John’s going to do something as mean as that, Barack’s going to respond in turn – the hand so far focused on his own dick, a little lubricated from his own precum, crawls up the inside of John’s thigh, briefly cupping his balls before running along his taint and going far enough back to reach his rear entrance, at which point Barack unceremoniously sticks his finger in, his long slender digit able to slide easily between the toned cheeks of John’s rear. Now this makes John tense up, his butt already tightening and the hand on Barack’s head shaking, the mental unspoken battle of wills ending in John pulling his hand off Barack’s head and letting the president get to work--
Which he does, his head moving furiously, and John wishes he had something to grab onto or lean behind him, because the way Barack treats him almost makes his knees weak. The eye contact is unceasing and intense, and it only takes a few more seconds for Barack to get his way.
“Barack! Gonna… cum!” And Barack’s never one to make a mess if he can avoid it (or, well, if he’s thinking straight enough to), so his lips remain firmly locked around John’s cock, hand jerking the lower half of it off as he waits for John to finish in his mouth. He’s not going to pull his finger out of John’s rear until he does, for that matter. It comes soon, though, and Barack’s mouth is filled with his semen, a couple of gulps necessary as John climaxes—but when the flow lessens, he slides himself off the shaft (and withdraws his finger from the anus), a little clear string connecting his mouth and the dick. Opening wide, he shows John exactly what just got pumped into his mouth, briefly stirring it before swallowing it with one final, confident gulp, demurely wiping down his mouth afterwards.
“Ah. I think why you're so big,” Barack purrs, and his face is so smug and filled with self-satisfaction that John’s almost scared to hear whatever terrible remark or obnoxious pun Barack has in mind. He doesn’t even bother giving Barack a verbal response in the end, just fixing his gaze on him, nodding reluctantly in time with his breaths. That’s permission enough for Barack. “You're that big because you really are a maverick,"
John groans, and it’s not even a sexy one this time. Barack’s clearly expecting a reply, but John is deeply not wanting to give him one, and the silence continues for a few moments until John finally kneels down to meet Barack’s gaze.
“Get on your back.”
“Shall I, now?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t just leave as soon as you said that last thing.”
“Oh, come on. It was hardly that awful.” Barack’s almost huffing. He demands some respect in his own home.
“…well, yeah, no, but it was pretty bad.”
“Then show me something better.” A broad question, but one with a very simple, easy answer from John’s perspective—he pushes Barack a little, the man showing little resistance beyond a mock-frown as he collapses onto his back, John already crawling forwards to shift his pants out of the way only to be immediately faced with Barack’s shaft, very erect, and completely unconcealed by any underwear.
“…is this some kind of traditional Hawaiian thing?”
“…what? No. I just didn’t want to waste any time with you trying to impress me by pulling my underwear off with your teeth again.” The memory stings. John wants to argue back, but he also admits that spell of incompetence on his part was the most awkward three minutes of their sex life, even if Barack’s dick suddenly springing out of his shorts and hitting John in the face was weirdly arousing for both of them.
“Seriously, you need to stop being so rude.”
“Oh, as if you can talk!” They glare a little at each other, but it soon turns into a shared laugh, John pushing down his trousers a little further as he gets between Barack’s already-spread legs, lifting up Barack’s hips and pressing his head against the young man’s entrance. It’ll fit, he’s already decided. It normally does.
“So, are you ready?”
“…I’m amazed at how little it takes to get you hard again.”
“Call it a blessing and a curse.”
“You know, you’re ruining all my plans tonight. I was so ready to undress myself a little, point my rear at you, and tell you that tonight I wanted you inside me, and yet you find it appropriate to take charge of the whole situation? You should really remember who won the presidency - Johhhhnnnn!” The older man's reaction to Barack’s speech, delivered in that same high, hopeful voice as when he’s lecturing at colleges or giving speeches before thousands, is simply to spread Barack’s legs a little further, and thrust his dick in. If it was what Barack wanted, then he might as well give it to him right away. “I-I don’t think I’ve ever been so offended in my life, John… Mm, please, just—wait a moment…”
“And when I voted no on Obamacare?"
“…c-could you not?” Barack isn’t quite in the mood to suffer two great offences in one night, and he’s also much more in the mood to have John thoroughly gently caress his rear instead, even if John’s size means that the sudden insertion has left him a little shocked. Still, he wasn’t one to disappoint his lover. “You can start moving now… probably. Control yourself, if you can.”
“Hard to do that when I’m around you, Barack.” And with that, John begins to move his hips, managing to hold himself back surprisingly well – clearly Barack appreciates it, considering the gentle way he looks up at John, clearly enjoying having the well-built older man's thick cock inside of him, Barack’s own slender yet lengthy shaft bouncing with every one of John’s thrusts.
“Well, you don’t have to control yourself—too much.” John’s dick throbs at the statement, and Barack’s rear squeezes down on him in response.
“You can just say you want it harder.”
“I could say many things, if I wanted to.” Barack ends on a little smirk, a tiny peek of his tongue emerging from between his lips as he comes to lick them, but once John starts to move in earnest, he finds it a little difficult to say anything at all – rather, he moves his sleeve over his mouth, biting down on the expensive suit and rolling his eyes a little as he gets once again used to the overwhelming sensation of the shaft inside his butt. His legs can’t help but tremble, just a little.
“Hey. No. Don’t do that,” chides John, his hand going to grasp Barack’s, pulling it away from his mouth along with the sleeve
“John, at least l-let me--” John doesn’t let him do anything, planting a hand by his shoulder and leaning down to kiss him once again—even more deeply than at the start, a few moments of hesitation from Barack quickly dropping once John starts pressing against his mouth, the caress of John’s lips and the insisting way his tongue pushes against Barack causing the man under him to quickly relent. Only when the kiss breaks does Barack look a little unsure.
“Can’t you… taste yourself on me…?”
“Yeah, but… mn, Barack.” He buries his head in Barack’s hair for a little, lifting up Barack’s hips a little further so his cock can really get into his rear end, letting out a grunt as he sinks a little deeper. He feels like he might almost all be in there, which is… possible, but kind of insane to consider. “I like Hawaiian food,"
This time it’s Barack’s turn to groan through the panting – though John likes to think it sounds a little more pleasured than his own did. (Barack might admit he’s right, too.)
“And I like you too,” he continues. His hips are pounding Barack now, one of his hands gripping Barack’s bicep and pinning it to the bed—and then his hand comes slowly sliding down, fumbling around to grip onto Barack’s hand; and Barack squeezes it tight in return. “I l-love you. So much.”
“I do too, but I wish you’d… mn, John, that’s—good, right there… hn.”
“You wish I’d what?” John asks him, mouth still right by Barack’s ear. He has an inkling that it’s something a little more profound than ‘I wish you’d gently caress me harder’, though he hates that was the first thing that came to mind (mostly because he’d really like Barack saying that to him now).
“O-oh, no, never mind. Keep doing me like that, John--”
“Tell me.”
“Later… please? I want your--” Barack swallows for a second, preparing himself for abandoning any of that subtlety he claimed to enjoy. “I want your… thick cock to... gently caress… aaah.”
Barack gives up, halfway to moving his sleeve over his mouth to bite at it again out of sheer embarrassment at himself, but John just freezes. Barack’s always sexy, whether he’s laying his hands over John’s back, gently pulling on his wispy white hair, or slowly but firmly pounding the senator’s toned rear end into the futon, or riding atop John’s hips, back turned to his secret lover and looking over at him with a substantial amount of confident smugness– but rarely does he speak quite that straightforwardly to John. It’s quite probably the most sexy thing he’s ever heard.
“I definitely can’t hold back now, Barack…”
He lifts his head up, going in for another kiss with Barack—but with how much he’s moving both of their bodies with every thrust into Barack’s rear end, it’s hard to keep their lips and tongues together, his mouth moving to kissing at the dark-skinned man’s chin and at his lips; in the end, he straightens his back, strong body providing the leverage to push Barack’s body up with him. Looking Barack right in the eyes as they do it is so much better, John thinks, and while Barack continues to hold his right hand, his left goes to pin the other man’s free wrist, the firm hold letting him get just that perfect angle, the one that makes Barack moan and his back arch, John managing to shift the other man's suit off with his chin, his shoulders.
There’s a sudden feeling of emptiness around John’s hand – Barack’s let go of him to reach up and touch at his face, green eyes clouded with heady lust, and more than that, utter affection for his favorite senator.
“I’m going to… c-cum, John...” Those words send a shiver down John’s spine, too, and frankly Barack’s just proud he was able to say it.
“Y-yeah…? I’m not far behind you, so… cum for me, Barack. You’ve already told me how much you liked this…” Both of them are so utterly craving release and each other that Barack doesn’t even mock his wording, a few more strokes into his rear leading to him finally climaxing, a thick load of his cum firing from his rapidly twitching cock both onto John – who flinches a little bit at the sensation as Barack’s cum coats his abs, but quickly adapts to the feeling of warmth – and himself, staining both his skin and somewhat more importantly his expensive suit with his seed.
Not that either of them notice or care about that right now, John starting to bend back down over Barack again, arms moving to embrace him, hold him tight, and squeeze him as—
“Barack, I’m… I’m there… nnh!” At last, John reaches his own climax, Barack’s face red, flushed and looking somewhat exhausted as John holds him close and fills him up, the somewhat—odd, but ultimately warming sensation of John’s cum inside his rear end perhaps the ultimate happiness in the world to him right now.
Perhaps even greater a joy than Obamacare passing, though Barack refuses to feed John’s ego by telling him as much.
It takes a few moments of breathless sweet nothings, heavily panting, and a brief crisis about how to resolve the dirty suit issue, before John finally rolls off Barack, the former president pulling over John’s strong arm and using his firm bicep as a pillow.
“So what was that thing earlier?” John asks, and from how Barack fidgets when he asks, he guesses it really must be something serious.
“That thing?”
“The thing you didn’t want to discuss.”
“I didn’t want to discuss it.” Barack is clearly visibly a little skittish about the topic, now, and that only makes John push harder.
“Yeah, which means we’re discussing it.”
“…fine,” Barack sighs, a hand running through his now slightly sweaty hair. “It’s, ah, about the thing you said before that.” John pauses for a second to remember what he did say, and then hums. This really does seem serious.
“Me loving you?”
“Yes.”
“I do. Want me to stop?” Barack’s eyes shoot wide upon and he shakes his head with the fury of a possessed man, almost. Frankly, he seems terrified by the idea, and, well, John’s pretty happy he reacted like that.
“No! Never! What an awful thing to say!” John reaches over and pats Barack’s head – anything to get him to calm down and reassure him a bit, and this seems to work. “All it is is, well, I… I wish you would tell me that more when we’re not loving.” Barack’s absolutely serious, as much as he’d wish to not bring the mood down—but it was hard not to reply completely truthfully with John panting into his ear like that.
“…you’re not much better,” John whispers back to him, and Barack has no simple retort to that, other than to pause, think about it, and consider how to best handle the situation.
“You have a point.”
“Yeah. We’re both kind of terrible at that.” Terrible at communicating. Terrible at getting through to the other. Terrible at keeping properly in touch for so long. They’re still kind of terrible at a lot of it. Barack’s vaguely aware he didn’t even reply properly to John saying it the first time, even, so he might as well make up for it now.
“I love you, John McCain. More than anything, and more than anyone,” says Barack, a thoroughly exhausted, but utterly happy, smile upon his face.
“Same.” –or maybe that’s not enough, John realises, on seeing Barack’s thin brows furrow in response. “…I love you too.”
“And John?"
"Mm?"
"Vote no on Repeal. Do it for me."
"... Only if you give me another go," John grins, hands already going to Obama's sides - who hastily swats them away, face flushed. "Maybe... later tonight, John."
"After the Diamondbacks game?"
"Mm."
"Actually... maybe there's something I can do for you."
"John!?"
Barack gasps as John suddenly shifts to his knees in front of him, hands going back to his pants - Barack had put on simple sweatpants, once he'd set the suit aside for later drycleaning.
John's hands tug it down, still finding no underway in the way of Barack's frankly adorable cock. Quickly, he kisses at the shaft of it, hands going up to cup Barack's balls. His reaction is, frankly, adorable, glancing over his shoulder and anywhere but John's face.
"Now you know how I feel when you look up at me, you adorable dicksucker," John groans, tough guy dirty talk that makes Barack feel embarrassed.
Slowly, John's lips wrap around Barack's shaft, completely enveloping it in his warm throat. Barack groans as John begins to bob his head, tongue tapping along the bottom of it as Barack shifts his hips, up and down.
It's something their wives would never understand - this complete *need* for one another. They both love their wives, yes, but... their wives are partners. John and Barack are soulmates. Destined to be together. Not party lines, not Sarah Palin, and not the Freedom Caucus could change that.
"I'm cumming, John...!" Barack gasps, and John doesn't pull away for a second, taking every last inch of Barack's shaft into his mouth to eagerly await the cumshot, hands gently massaging the younger man's balls, trying to get every last shot of cum out of him.
It really does feel like it - John is properly coughing when he finally pulls away - but he eagerly swallows all of it. Barack collapses back onto the bed, completely spent, arm draped across his forehead in such a sexy way that John would be up for yet another go, if he didn't feel exhausted himself.
"John?"
"Yes, Barack?"
"... Vote no on Repeal. Please."
John hesitates for a moment, wondering if he truly could... but when he sees Barack's face, exhausted and sweaty and slightly teary-eyed, he has no choice but to nod. He leans in, wrapping his arms around his lover, the former president.
"Of course. It's the right thing to do," John says.
And so, the two lean into one another - content in the stability of the United States of America.
And also some Undertale for good measure.
|
#
?
Jul 30, 2017 03:24
