If Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's visit to Washington has taught us anything, it's that the thirst for Trubama is so real.
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."
"So, congratulations again on your election. I've been impressed by your progress these first few months," said Obama.Trudeau blushed. "Oh—thank you, you too!" The flush in his cheeks deepened as he went to correct himself. "I mean, not you too, because you were elected ages ago, but —well, not that I'm not impressed by you, but-" he laughed nervously and looked away, cringing inwardly at how badly he'd already messed up this first impression.
They head to one of the guest apartments on the third floor and Justin locks the door behind him, smiling conspiringly at his companion. He heads to the mantel and pulls out a lighter and a reasonably sized joint from a drawer."How'd you get that in?"Justin shrugs.
"Oh my God!" sighed Barack. "You're so left wing Justin! Don't stop, please, don't stop!" At this point they were both scribbling furiously in their agendas, never breaking eye contact."Your turn," smirked Trudeau. "Tell me your fantasy. Tell me your dirtiest, most liberal fantasies for America. Don't hold back."
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.
He doesn't really waste time thinking. He opens his lips by instinct, and in a second Barack's angling his head just so to kiss him back. Justin's hands grab onto the lapels of the President's suit jacket, and he reels him in.
"Well you know what, Barack?" Trudeau whispered. "I am doing that. I'm letting 20,000 Syrian refugees into Canada.""Oh my God Justin, YES! Take it! Take it! Take those Syrian refugees I'm politically unable to!"
And the President of the United States is no rookie. He is, right now, all the passion in a larger than life man assaulting Justin's senses. He tastes like smoke and the lemon cake they had for dessert. And he kisses and kisses until the Prime Minister groans from how intense it is.
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.
"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.
A sharp knock on the door springs them apart."Prime Minister Trudeau, President Obama. I'm sorry to interrupt-"They're still staring at each other, a little out of breath. Justin wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
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."
Are you okay? We're not okay.
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