by Tal Bauer
Another hour passed.
His phone buzzed.
Ethan was alone in his cube, and he swiped his phone on and found a selfie of Jack at his desk, eyes blazing with joy, trying to hold back a smile as he took a surreptitious selfie from the vantage of his lap. Four more hours!!
[I don’t want to know what meeting you’re doing this in, do I?]
Nothing gives me more pleasure than to text you while the congressional leadership that’s lambasting me drones on and on…
[Nothing? :) ]
Well… :)
“You guys are disgusting.”
Ethan startled, spinning in his chair, and found Becker standing behind him, shaking his head and reading over Ethan’s shoulder. Becker was buttoned up in his wool overcoat and had his scarf around his neck.
“Going to lunch?” Ethan stood, pocketing his cell and reaching for his coat. It was time for him to head out as well.
“Wondered if you wanted a ride to the airport? Maybe the press won’t follow my car.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
They headed out together, Shepherd watching them both from his office like a hawk. Ethan ducked down in Becker’s front seat, and the press watched their car slip out of the parking garage. No one followed. Ethan popped up once they hit the highway, and Becker grinned. The sky was winter gray, but the snow was holding back, and they drove quickly, listening to the radio belt out Des Moines’s rock hits.
At the airport, Becker dropped Ethan at the curb, blessedly free from the media, and waved from the car. “Text me when you’re going to get back. I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks, man. Happy holidays.”
“You too. Have a good time with… you know.” Becker shrugged, smiled, and then drove off.
Ethan’s shadow appeared as he was waiting in line at the airport coffee shop, and he bought his shadow’s coffee again, throwing in a gift card for the barista to tape to his cup when he picked it up from the counter. Ethan headed for the gate, whistling under his breath, and pulled out his phone.
[You kept that Santa hat, right?]
A few minutes passed, and then Jack sent back a picture of him at his desk in the Oval Office, Santa hat perched on his head.
Ethan closed his eyes, fighting his body’s reaction and his grin. He didn’t know how to respond, so he snapped a red-faced selfie and sent it back.
I think you should wear the Santa hat when you get here.
[Okay]
And *only* the Santa hat. :)
A zing went through Ethan’s body, singeing his bones. Jack’s open desire of him―his body, his unbridled masculinity―made his world spin dizzily. There was no way anyone could ever mistake Ethan for being feminine, and Jack’s embrace of that―of who Ethan was―made him feel desired like nothing else ever had. Jack wanted him. All of him.
Grinning, Ethan typed back [Deal! :) ] as the call for boarding began. He slipped onboard first, settling into his window seat in first class, and kept joking with Jack until everyone else had boarded and they were ready for takeoff.
Jack’s last text came in before he turned off his phone. Two more hours!!!!!!!
The media, tipped off about his imminent arrival, was out in force at Dulles airport when Ethan landed. He pushed through the throng of reporters to his designated pickup location.
Scott was waiting at the curb, his hands in the pockets of his wool trench coat, stone-faced and solemn. Snow lightly fell, settling on his shoulders, and he looked, to the world, grim.
Ethan spotted the light in his eyes, though, a slight twinkle as he winked when Ethan got near. “Don’t cream yourself,” Scott muttered into Ethan’s ear as he opened the rear door for him.
Frowning, Ethan slid inside―
And found Jack sitting there, against the window and just out of sight of the hounding media, beaming. “Hi,” Jack breathed.
Scott shoved the door closed on Ethan before any of the photographers spotted Jack. Scott hopped into the front and the driver took off, all while Ethan stared speechlessly at Jack.
“What are you doing here?” he finally said, speaking around his own wide smile. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“Nothing more important than this.” Jack reached for him, sliding his hand up Ethan’s arm, cupping the back of his neck. He pulled, gently dragging Ethan across the back seat as he lunged for him.
They met in the middle, lips tangling. Ethan shucked his duffel to the floorboards and reached for Jack, threading his fingers through Jack’s hair, cradling his face and running his hands down his neck, his shoulders.
Jack moaned and grabbed Ethan’s coat. A moment later, he shoved it back, pushing it down Ethan’s shoulders.
And then Ethan shoved Jack’s suit jacket off and tugged at his tie, and Jack melted back on the black leather seat, his legs spreading. Ethan followed, pressing his body against Jack’s until they were a mess of arms and legs and an endless kiss, humping each other as they frantically worked at buttons and zippers, trying to get hands on skin.
Jack wrapped his hand around Ethan’s cock first, and Ethan groaned into Jack’s neck as Jack pumped him hard and fast. He had the top buttons of Jack’s shirt undone, but not his tie, and he pressed kisses around the yellow silk as he humped Jack’s hand and thigh.
He bumped Jack’s hand off, though, and fumbled at Jack’s fly until he had his hard cock out and in his hands. Ethan folded himself down, ass almost pressed to the blacked-out window as he kneeled on the seat and swallowed Jack’s cock.
Jack cursed and slapped a hand against the privacy glass partition separating them from the front, and Scott and his driver. The other threaded through Ethan’s hair.
Jack let him suck for a few minutes. He tugged at Ethan’s shoulders, pulling him back up until they were awkwardly pressed together, legs crammed in the floorboards and on the seats, hips rocking, jackets tangled on their arms, ties askew and shirts partially unbuttoned. Their hips met, and their cocks, and both moaned as they pressed together, kissing and never stopping as the SUV zoomed back to the White House.
Until the intercom overhead buzzed and Scott’s voice broke through the SUV. “We’re arriving in two minutes, Mr. President.”
They froze. Ethan stared down at Jack―lips swollen and red, hair fucked beyond belief, clothes more off than on, cock raging hard and dark purple, rising from his suit pants.
Jack grinned. He thrust his hips up once, rolling into Ethan. Ethan shuddered. Jack reached for the intercom switch. “Take us to the underground entrance, Agent Collard. If you please.”
A long, silent moment. Jack watched Ethan as Ethan counted down the seconds until they were back at the White House.
“Respectfully, Mr. President,” Scott buzzed back. “No shit.”
Jack burst out laughing. Ethan leaned down, biting his nipple through his undershirt as Jack shouted, and then the SUV turned down a ramp, into the White House garage. They finally sat up and tried to sort out their clothes and hair as Scott’s driver made the slowest approach ever to the underground entrance.
When Scott opened the back door, Ethan slid out, holding his duffel in front of his lap. His tie was loose, the top of his shirt partially unbuttoned, and he’d lost his jacket. Scott snorted.
Jack followed, and Scott turned purple trying to hold back his laughter. Jack’s hair was standing straight up, his shirt was untucked and mostly unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt, his tie was undone and hanging in a long line around his neck, and he had Ethan’s jacket folded over his arms, hanging in front of his crotch and hiding his cock.
He also had the most innocent expression on his face, something sweet and simple, which made the whole thing ten times worse.
The agents holding post at the entrance chuckled as Ethan and Jack breezed past and onto the service elevator that would take them straight to the Residence, bypassing the public spaces of the White House.
Ethan and Jack stood side b
y side, three feet apart, and waited for the elevator doors to close.
Jack smiled serenely, as if nothing were amiss. Ethan coughed. Outside the elevator, Scott grinned at them both, shaking his head.
The doors shut.
Ethan dropped his duffel like it was on fire. Jack flung his jacket to the ground. They crashed into each other, meeting in the middle of the elevator, but Ethan backed Jack up until he hit the wall, his hands running over Jack’s body. Moaning, Jack tipped his head back, and he snaked one leg around Ethan’s.
Ethan kneaded Jack’s ass. Jack shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around Ethan’s neck and jumped, both legs going around Ethan’s hips. Ethan pressed him against the elevator wall, driving his hard cock against Jack’s, grinding them together. Jack’s thighs squeezed, and his fingers ran through Ethan’s hair.
“Can you carry me like this?” Jack breathed into his ear.
“Fuck yes,” Ethan nipped at Jack’s jaw. His hands squeezed Jack’s ass again.
“Do it.” Jack tugged at Ethan’s tie, pulling it off, throwing it on the floor. His fingers worked the buttons of Ethan’s shirt as he rolled his hips into Ethan’s. “Take me to bed. I want you. Ethan―”
Ethan’s lips found Jack’s just as the elevator door opened to the Residence. Ethan carried Jack down the hall as Jack cupped his face, kissing him nonstop until Ethan laid Jack on the bed and knelt on all fours over him.
They stripped in record time, clothes and shoes flying every which way. Ethan kissed down Jack’s body as each piece came off, swallowing Jack when his cock was free.
Jack kicked out of his pants and boxers and spread his legs wide.
“Lower, Ethan,” Jack breathed.
Ethan froze. His eyes darted up. Met Jack’s gaze.
Jack swallowed. “Please. I want―” His voice broke off.
Never. Never before had they gone near Jack’s ass. It had been a no-go zone, his entrance something Ethan―and Jack―had shied away from. Jack seemed to enjoy topping, and Ethan had finally understood what he’d heard for years: that, somewhere, there was a top who could convince him to be a bottom.
What was this, then?
There was something lining Jack’s eyes, buried in his gaze as he stared down at Ethan. Hunger, lust, and need, but also determination. And―just faintly―uncertainty. Fear, even.
Slow. Ethan had always said slow to Jack. And he’d meant it, every word, every time. If Jack wanted to explore more, go further with his own body, then they’d go slow there, too.
Ethan pressed his hands to Jack’s thighs, gently holding him back, and leaned in. He held Jack’s stare until he couldn’t, and with the first press of his lips, of his tongue lower than Jack’s balls, Jack flung one arm over his face and moaned.
Ethan nudged one of Jack’s legs farther up until it was against Jack’s chest and pressed his tongue over Jack’s hole, and then inside.
Jack’s head hit the mattress, his back arching, his muscles going rigid. Ethan kept up, soft nibbles and gentle sucks mixed with the long press and stroke of his tongue. He moaned, vibrating against Jack as he pressed deeper, stroking, and he ended up twisting Jack’s hips and diving deeper until his face was buried almost entirely between his ass cheeks. One thumb kept stroking just behind Jack’s balls, steady pressure against his prostate. Jack finally relaxed completely beneath Ethan. He reached down for him, fingers trembling as they stroked through Ethan’s hair.
Everything about Jack was shivering, a quivering, raw nerve, and Ethan’s world was nothing but a static-filled hum, Jack’s pants, his whispered pleas, and the taste of his body. Musk, sweat, and Jack, something that Ethan could never describe. Just him.
“Ethan,” Jack breathed. His back bowed, arching taut, and his fingers gripped Ethan’s hair. “What’s― What are you―”
He pressed behind Jack’s balls and slipped his tongue inside him, as far as it could go, and felt Jack fly apart. Jack screamed, shuddering beneath Ethan’s fingers, his mouth, coming hard, his whole body jerking as long lines of come roped over his chest. One hand flew to his cock, grabbing and stroking himself through the aftershocks.
Ethan was up on his knees in an instant, jerking himself furiously as he hovered over Jack and leaned in, kissing him like he wouldn’t ever stop. In moments, his come painted Jack’s stomach and chest as Jack’s trembling hands stroked up his sides and over his shoulders.
He collapsed after, face-planting into Jack’s shoulder and the mattress.
Jack panted, but then chuckled and stared down at his come-covered body.
“Wow,” Jack breathed. “That was…”
Ethan swallowed. Too much? Had he gone too far? “Okay?” Ethan kissed Jack’s neck and his pounding pulse.
“Beyond okay. Way, way beyond okay.” Jack rolled, wrapping his arms and legs around Ethan and nuzzled his cheek, grinning. “Let’s do that again.”
13
White House
They were late for their own Christmas Ball later that evening.
Scott hollered from the landing for Ethan to quit delaying the president as Ethan helped fix Jack’s tux and retie his bowtie. Jack was trying to style his hair again, mussed by Ethan’s hands after pushing Jack up on the bathroom counter and blowing him in his tux.
Jack kissed Ethan hard and then jogged down the main hall to join Scott at the top of the Grand Staircase while Ethan headed down the hall in the other direction, back toward the service elevator.
Ethan heard Jack ask Scott, “How do I look?” and Scott sigh in response.
Outside the elevator, Ethan’s duffel, jacket, and tie lay, delivered to them from where they’d left it all behind. Ethan’s cheeks burned as he stepped over the pile. If he had to guess, it would have been Scott. His friend had probably waited at the elevator in the underground garage, checking to make sure they hadn’t done exactly what they had done.
Jack came down the stairs and made his solo entrance for the media while Ethan met up with Hanier and Caldwell in the basement. Both were grinning, and Ethan’s face burned again. He’d almost forgotten how fast the White House gossip chain moved. No doubt, every agent on the detail had heard of their arrival. It was probably screen-capped from the security videos, too, and posted down in Horsepower.
They waited awhile, chatting in the basement before winding their way up the rear steps and slipping into the East Room after Jack’s photo line had begun. This was his second and last photo line for the year, the first having been at the Hanukkah Festival of Lights Jack had hosted the week before while Ethan was in Chicago.
Guests stretched in a long line, waiting for their turn with Jack in front of the glittering Christmas tree beside the gold-bedecked mantel. Secret Service agents flanked Jack on all sides, one holding purses and phones for the guests while they stepped up to Jack for handshakes and smiling photos. Daniels shepherded the people through, and Scott stayed just off Jack’s shoulder, watching everyone and everything. Welby hung back, and another, younger agent ran water and the occasional glass of champagne for Jack. Marine Corps guards in full dress rounded out the tableau.
Ethan stayed on the other side of the East Room, sipping his own champagne and listening to the band play soft big-band-style Christmas carols. A few couples were dancing, and others who had already had their photo with Jack were milling around the banquet stations. Waiters mingled with glasses of champagne and wine. Secret Service agents dotted the walls and exits. Ethan hung back, chatting with Keifer and Beech while the photo line wore on.
It was the first time he had ever been a guest at the Christmas Ball. Usually he was standing side by side with Scott, ushering people through the photo line and slipping the president―before Jack, at least―some vodka tonics. It was strange―and a little bit lonely―to be across the room with no official duty, just watching Jack.
Jack sought him out, though, sending Ethan a wink.
Candles were lit along the walls, flickering off sconces and reflecting in the huge mirrors han
ging on the brocade walls. Golden light spun from the decorations, twinkling over the room. Silver snowflakes twirled lazily overhead, and spruce and cranberry hung in the air.
Ethan nearly broke his champagne flute when the next person in the photo line stepped up to Jack. He watched Jack’s spine straighten, his shoulders clench, but Jack pasted on his polite smile and posed for a photo. He held his hands clasped in front of him, though.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Beech leaned in. “Who shows up to these things.”
Ethan grunted, his eyes glaring daggers into Senator Stephen Allen, the self-proclaimed leader of the Republicans in Congress mounting political―and increasingly personal―attacks against Jack.
Jack nodded to the senator and Daniels ushered him away before Senator Allen could get his hand out for a handshake. Ethan caught Jack flash a quick glance his way, a quirk of his eyebrows, before he welcomed the next guests, a family of four with two little girls in matching red velvet dresses.
His heart clenched as he watched Jack kneel down and talk with the young girls. They were five, maybe six years old. Adorable, with round, dark cheeks and springy curls and shy smiles. Jack laughed as one hid behind her mother’s gold dress, and then he posed with the family and shook both the mom and dad’s hands.
Did Jack want children? Had he ever wanted that for himself? Ethan had never given children a second thought. Would Jack want a family, though? Was that something that could, eventually, pull Jack away―
Enough. Ethan gulped down more champagne and turned back to watching the crowds. More people were dancing and the din in the room had grown.
He got lost talking to some of the other agents and a few White House staffers he had known and befriended. He skirted the press and the photographers who kept trying to get near.
Suddenly, Jack was speaking into his ear. “Hey beautiful.”
Ethan spun, almost dropping his champagne flute. He was hiding out by the windows and the third Christmas tree, and he hadn’t seen Jack approach. Beyond, Scott and Welby were keeping a slight distance to give them some privacy.
