Justin Trudeau could feel his hands shaking as he stood outside the mahogany door. He pressed his palms to the front of his immaculate suit jacket, felt the smooth, expensive silk, and reminded himself he was the Prime Minister of a great nation. He had been elected by the people, and he was here as their mouthpiece. Not as a man, but as a representative.
And yet, somehow he still felt like a little boy being summoned to the headmaster’s office. He had grown up son to a famous, perhaps even great, politician, and yet something about Barack Obama made him… star-struck. That was the only word for it.
The secret service man beside him suddenly spoke.
“He’ll see you now.”
Justin felt his mouth dry, and he gave the guard a good approximation of his usual winning smile. His whole body tingled with anticipation as he entered. The door gently thudded shut behind him, leaving him alone with the President of the United States.
Obama was standing with his back to Justin, illuminated by the final rays of the dying sun. He cut an impressive figure, tall and serene. Yet there was also something powerful, and perhaps weary in the way he held himself. This was a man of hope, but also a cautious man, who had seen much of the world. A man who had faced great challenges, and seen great evil.
He turned, just as the last of the sunlight disappeared under the horizon. His tie was slightly loosened, and after seeing Justin, he smiled.
“Please, we’re all heads of state here. Call me Barack.” His deep voice made it a command, even though his tone was light. Justin felt his heart flutter slightly, but he didn’t let it show in his face.
“Of course… Barack. I’m glad you could make time for us to meet before the official visit. I know it’s late.”
Barack a grin, and for a moment his teeth were the brightest thing in the room, as he walked over and took Justin’s hand.
“I was happy to make the time, for you.” They walked over to the desk, which the older man leaned back on slightly, still talking. “It’s important we get to know each other better. Our nations are intimately tied… economically.”
“One could argue the most important way,” Justin said coyly. “Many of your fellow Americans would.”
Barack gave him an amused, appraising look, before pouring two drinks from the crystal tumbler on his desk. He hadn’t asked if Justin wanted one, but he didn’t refuse it when it was placed in his hand.
“So what can I help the new Canadian Prime Minister with tonight?”
“I was hoping we could discuss this pipeline, just you and me. I think we can agree that the jobs-“
He was interrupted by the President raising his hand ever so slightly. His gesture was subtle, but its meaning was clear, and he obeyed without thinking about it.
“Please, Justin, we can talk politics tomorrow. I was never impressed by your predecessor’s constant need to push an agenda.”
Justin felt his head draw back slightly, and the sting of criticism coloured his cheeks slightly. But it was hard to react angrily, looking into Barack’s dark, kind eyes. Instead of looking away, or raising his drink, he deepened his stare.
“Well then, what can I do to… impress you?”
Handsome face unreadable, the President placed his untouched brandy on the table behind him, and allowed his weight to settle further onto the desk. There was a rich, silent moment where nothing in the decadent office made the slightest sound. Then the slim desktop computer, hidden by an ornately framed picture, hummed slightly.
“I don’t know Justin. Surprise me.”
For a second, Justin’s thoughts raced meaninglessly, like static on an unclaimed radio frequency. What did the President expect from him, mere hours after his evening flight had landed in DC? How do you surprise someone whose watchful gaze seemed to calculate your every move before you played it? Then, instinct took over, and something within him seemed to whisper the answer.
He took a step closer, the carpet absorbing the noise of his Italian shoes. He reached one hand out, and before he was able to hesitate, drew it slowly down Barack’s cheek. His skin was warm, and smooth, with only the slightest touch of stubble. He wondered, briefly, if when it grew it would be grey like the steely patches around his temples.
Barack didn’t flinch away from his touch, but he didn’t lean into it. Instead he simply continued to watch, waiting for Justin’s answer. His gaze could stare down Vladimir Putin across a boardroom table and come away looking in charge, and his patience could stand up to the Congress. If he was going to be impressed, it wouldn’t be by something simple.
Justin drifted the back of his hand down the President’s surprisingly firm chest, lowering his gaze to the other man’s body. He studied the lanky frame as he deftly undid the button on his own suit jacket. Then, he dropped to his knees. The plush floor absorbed the impact, and so easily, painlessly, he was now looking directly at the belt buckle of one of the powerful people in the world.
He raised his hand, and placed it just above Barack’s knee. Then, he looked up through his lush eyelashes. Asking permission with his eyes.
Barack gave a slow, single nod.
Justin reached up, past the now visibly bulging crotch, and undid the belt buckle, willing his hand not to shake. It didn’t, and so he undid the pants’ button, and slowly pulled down the fly’s zipper. The zipper was invented by a Canadian, he thought automatically. His next thought was that the President wears black briefs, and before he had time to think anything else, he pulled down the elastic waistband to reveal Barack’s cock.
It was long, and shone slightly in the low light, twitching with its new freedom. Justin felt his own arousal freshly pressing against his skinny suit pants, but paid it no mind. Instead, he moved his hand to Barack’s hip, and leaned forward to lick the very tip of his cock. It flexed appreciatively, and he looked back up. Barack’s expression was still the same authoritative mystery, but now he had a faint flush which wasn’t coming from any sunset.
Without breaking their eye contact, he moved in and took him into his mouth, and was rewarded by a slight intake of breath. He began with small movements back and forth, reminding himself not to hurry, carefully tasting the salty tang on his mouth. He felt warm all over, unsure of what was going on, but totally certain in what he was doing.
When he began to establish a rhythm of movement, he reached up with his other hand and began to work the part of the cock which was not in his mouth. He could feel it grow and firm against his tongue, now fully hard, but he didn’t speed up from his deliberate pace, only tightening his lips slightly. His jaw was being tested by the size, but not enough to bother him.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the pulsing heat now racing through both their bodies. Then he pushed his mouth open wider, and took in another inch, not changing his pace.
From above, he heard a deep moan, and suddenly felt a hand in his hair. At first, Barack only ran his long fingers down Justin’s scalp, but when Justin tightened his grip on the base of Barack’s length, pumping, they tightened in his hair, pulling it into patterns.
He could taste pre-cum now, and some of it leaked from his lips. He was now uncomfortably hard, but Barack gave another throaty sigh, and he knew that he couldn’t give into his own pleasure now.
Instead, he did the hardest thing he could think of, and drew back, leaving his mouth free.
“Am I impressing you yet, Barack?”
He could see the pain in the other man’s eyes, but the President only moistened his parted lips and said, “Not if you’re stopping now.”
Justin accepted the challenge, and slowly began sucking his dick again. But he noticed how Barack’s left knuckles were white where they were gripping the edge of the desk, and how his hips rose the meet Justin this time.
Now he became slightly ambitious, pushing more and more of the President deep into his throat, while moving his tongue in a way which had once made one of his private school friends call him a devil before coming back for more every night for the following month. Before long, Barack was grinding his hips into him, and he was having a harder and harder time keeping the gradual pace he’d set.
He made a small noise, despite himself, which sounded high-pitched and needy. He felt Barack’s hand return to his hair, stroking.
“That is…“ a short, heavy breath “good.”
But Justin Trudeau wasn’t the sort of person to be satisfied with ‘good’. He was here to represent his country, and prove himself to an important political ally. He wasn’t just going to be good enough, he was going to be fucking fantastic.
With new determination, he brought both hands to Barack’s hips, and pulled his whole cock into his mouth. His nose tickled against the immaculately trimmed bush, and he hummed with satisfaction. He took a moment to simply stay there, getting himself used to the size of it. Then, making sure that his teeth didn’t scrape against the tender skin, he began to move, gradually increasing his pace.
By now, Barack was making more and more small noises, but Justin was totally concentrated on his task. He ignored everything except the flesh sliding in and out of his mouth, giving all his energy to the sensation of its movement.
“Please… you’re…” A bitten-off moan. “I’m… close. Justin. Please…”
Then, suddenly, a rush of warmth filled his mouth. He swallowed, inhaling deeply as he flexed his tongue one last time. The hand in his hair became a grasping fist, and Barack’s hips jerked back and forth as he lost control. He sucked diligently until he felt the last spurt, then stood up to survey his handiwork.
Barack Obama was now collapsed backward against the desk, gasping for air. His shirt was untucked, and his cock was giving a few last, small spasms. He was staring at Justin not like a President, but like a man, raw with shock and desire. Now it was his slender fingers that shook slightly.
Justin slicked back his ruffled hair with one hand, then took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. He redid his suit button.
“Thank you for meeting me, Barack. That was… educational.”
He turned on one heel, and walked towards the door.
Barack had recovered enough to call out, his deep voice once again steady and presidential. “I look forwards to hearing your opinions on Keystone tomorrow.”
Justin didn’t pause.
He left, and felt the door close behind him with a satisfying click. Seeing the secret service agent he had passed on the way in, he smiled, this time with the full force of his considerable charm. Somehow, the hallway looked brighter, more welcoming, than when he had entered. He walked down it, past dozens of imposing looking doorways. He didn’t look to either side, instead, he focused his gaze ahead of him.
He was the Canadian Prime Minister, representing his nation, and he was here to get things done.