“This is never going to work,” I muttered, agitated.

I was preparing for my latest show at the gallery and nothing went the way I wanted. The futuristic painting, created of many small painting pieces was fucked up by the idiots who put it up.

One of the portraits of an old client was set in a place no one was going to look, and that was one of my best pieces.

The piano guy who had to play canceled when he got the flu. I had to call my ex to show his violin skills. No one had heard of a violin player at an art gallery, but that was the least of my troubles.

I had specifically numbered all my paintings and placed the corresponding number on each part of the walls in the gallery. I couldn’t be there 24/7 to hold their hand.

Brian’s portrait was occupying most of my time. Over our weekend together, two weeks ago, I had only managed the outline. And I was trying to work with that and whatever other small sketches I had made of him.

I had only seen him one other time in between then and now, when it took me two hours to pluck the courage to call the number he had given me. Surprisingly, it was a woman's voice who answered, but I figured he had better things to do than to answer his phone. After much stumbling over words to explain who I was and why I was calling that number, I was connected to Brian. He was extremely busy. I knew that. I was up to date with the news. There was an influx of visits at the White House from foreign officials.

Brian squeezed in some time for me, which made my heart beat faster, especially when he said, “For you, I can always make time, Mr. Taylor. Drew will be with you shortly.”

My visit was brief. He sat at his desk, reading articles, ruffling through papers, browsing the Internet, while I sat on a sofa, sketching him. I caught only bad angles, or so I thought at first. Then when I got home, I noticed I had caught all the fine details, like his chiseled jaw that went for miles, the deep look in his eyes when he concentrated, the curve of his slightly crooked nose, the snarl on his lips when he shouted at the poor lady for bringing him shit coffee.

“If the puzzle painting isn’t the way I want by opening hours, I swear no one is getting paid,” I yelled at the four people trying to re-arrange the pieces the correct way.

“Easy with the claws, tiger,” Emmett called from the doorway.

“Coffee.” I rushed to his side, grabbing my mocha from his hands. “You’re a life-saver, you know that?”

“Who upset you? Tell me. I’ll set them straight.”

I giggled. “Straight as a boiled spaghetti?”

He was the epitome of gay with his flamboyant lifestyle and his love for bright colors.

“Are we going dancing after your show?”

“I suppose…”

“If you won’t go out on your birthday, then when?”

“Okay, you win. I’ve been busy with my new client’s portrait and organizing this show. I need some time for myself.”

“You really do, baby. You need to relax.” Emmett winked.

#

The show turned out to be a huge success. There were more visitors than I expected, but I guessed people had left their houses for last minute Christmas shopping and saw the fliers for my show. Whatever brought them here, I was glad they visited, even if most of them only looked.

I was in front of a small sketch of the landscape in Camp David, many trees and the setting sun—one of the best views I had there.

“That’s exquisite.”

My heart jumped in my throat when I heard the melted honey voice in my ear. Whirling around, I noticed Brian. He was under disguise, wearing a long beige trench coat with the collar up and a beanie pulled down his forehead.

“Hi.” He smiled brightly.

“Hi,” I repeated dumbstruck, glancing around. I spotted his two goonies by the doors. Daphne and Emmett were staring at us from the other side of the room. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Before you comment on my stalking tendencies, I’ll have you know that your birthday is public information.”

“Any excuse to see me, Mr. President?” I had no idea where I got the courage to tease him like that. Maybe it was the wine I had sampled earlier.

His eyes widened. “Don’t give away my secret identity,” he said playfully.

Emmett came rushing to my side, and I could see Big and Bulky watching apprehensively. Emmett clung to my arm, pressing his lips to my ear. “That’s the hot guy I told you about! The one who came into my store two weeks ago!” He pointed to Drew, not so subtly. “And I just figured out where I’d seen him before. You wouldn’t believe it!”

I caught Brian’s eye, apologizing through a look. He had angled his face away from Emmett, in case he looked too closely.

Though, Emmett was relentless and oblivious. “I saw him a couple of days ago on TV. He’s the President’s bodyguard.” He lost some of the exuberance, eyeing me thoughtfully. “What is he doing here I wonder…”

“No idea.” I shrugged, seizing Brian by the elbow. “Uh, I’ll have to cancel our plans again. Sorry, Em,” I said over my shoulder. “Hurry,” I urged Brian.

“Was that your friend?”

“He’s really wonderful, though he can get a little too…enthusiastic about things,” I explained.

“Fascinating.”

We got in the back of his Caddy.

“So why are you here? The real reason.”

“It’s my painter’s birthday. I can’t take you out to dinner, so I brought dinner to you. If you don’t mind, that is.” He looked almost shy, like a little boy.

My phone pinged in my pocket, but I ignored it. Brian sort of asked me out on a date.

The President asked me out.

Me.

Justin Taylor.

When my phone kept beeping like crazy, Brian started laughing. “Someone lost you.”

“Ugh. I bet it’s Emmett. Give me a sec.”

I focused on my phone where I found an influx of messages on WhatsApp.

Where did u go?

HOLY SHIT! Baby, way to go!

That was HIM, right?

I need deets!

Then there was Daphne.

You cunt! You’re abandoning us for the first piece of hot ass!

OMG! Emmett just told me.

No way! You didn’t! The President?... Really?

And to make the whole thing complete, Ethan had written me too.

I thought we had plans together.

Can I drop by your place later after your trick leaves?

Brian’s gasp confirmed my suspicious that he was reading over my shoulder.

“I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Me! A trick?”

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized profusely.

“I’m never the trick! Tell him, Ben. I have tricks, but I am never the trick!”

As he kept talking I could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, then his words sank into my head.

“Uh, you have…tricks…sir?”

“Oh, like you haven’t figured it out yourself by now. I’m queer.”

With the corner of my eye, I could see Ben cringing, but my sole focus was on Brian admitting his sexuality.

“It all makes sense,” I mumbled to myself.

“Now you understand why I keep my private life as secret as possible?” He eyed me fearfully.

“You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone…and I will have a talk with my friends to keep their mouths shut too. Your secret is safe with me, Brian.” I squeezed his hand reassuringly.

He cracked a small smile. “I hope you like Thai. That’s what I ordered.”

I realized we pulled up in front of my building.

I panicked, knowing what a mess was inside. “Uh, maybe we should go to a hotel….I mean, you should stay at a hotel.”

“Is there enough space to sit on the couch?”

“I guess.”

“Good. I’m coming in. You two can go to the hotel. I’ll be fine.”

I saw both Ben and Drew about to protest, but they thought better of it.

My night was going to end wonderfully. I already knew what was going to happen when we reached my condo.

“I apologize in advance for the mess,” I said, unlocking the door.

When I stepped inside I was shocked by how clean my place was. For a wild second I feared I got in the wrong apartment, then I saw Bran’s smirk.

“I’m not sure whether to punch you or kiss you.”

“Judging by the fact that uh...Big and Burly, was it?...could kill you with a snap of his fingers, I’d choose the second option. That’s a win-win.”

“Bulky,” I blurted out automatically.

“Sorry?” Brian frowned, opening the bags of food sitting on the table in the kitchen.

“Big and Bulky, not Burly.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a twat?”

“Not especially.”

“Well, you are. Now join me. I have a feeling we’re going to need the strength.”

“Is that so, Mr. President?”

He responded by pinning me to the wall next to the kitchen door and shoving his tongue down my throat. All rational thoughts flew from my mind.

I tugged the beanie from his head, throwing it away, before grabbing two fistfuls of his hair. I had wanted to do that from moment one. It was just as soft as I had predicted.

His fingers deftly unbuttoned my dress pants, going for the gold. When I felt his slightly cold hand on my dick, I bucked into him, moaning into his mouth. He stroked me slowly, mirroring his hand actions with his tongue.

I was going to lose my mind. “Brian,” I breathed against his lips.

He pulled away, resting his forehead on mine. “My name has never sounded better on anyone else's lips.”

“That's so corny, Mr. President.”

“Are you going to drop the mocking, Painter Boy?”

“I've only just begun.” I stroked his hair, smiling. “I have to admit, you're an excellent kisser.”

“You're not so bad yourself.” He caught my lips in another searing kiss. “I don't always indulge in dessert, but when I do, I prefer it before the main course.”

I giggled, unable to stop the sound from exploding out of me. The euphoria of being in the President's arms, kissing him, being invited to bed by him, it was too much.

“Bedroom is that way.” I pointed with a shaky finger to the spiral staircase leading to the upper floor.

Interlacing our fingers, he pulled me up the stairs. I stumbled a lot, and nearly took him down with me when my foot slipped off a step.

Upstairs where was my bedroom and studio, and the bathroom, I let him look around for a moment to take in the room.

“Is that bed sturdy enough?”

I snorted in laughter. “It is.”

“Did you test it?”

“That's highly inappropriate. I'm not going to tell you about my former lovers who visited that bed.”

“Lovers? As in plural?” Brian looked impressed.

“Do I look like a virgin boy to you?” I huffed.

As soon as I uttered the words, I realized I had just lied. I was sure Brian was a Top, and I hadn't given my ass to anyone yet.

“Problem, Painter Boy? Drowning in your little lies?” Brian smirked, closing the gap between us. “Don't worry, I promise to be gentle.”

I tugged him to the bed, sliding his coat off his shoulders. It was beyond me how we were still dressed for outside. Brian draped his coat on the back of a chair, taking his boots off. I followed his lead, before pushing him on the mattress and crawling up his body.

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, then unzipped his pants. I burrowed my nose in his boxer briefs, inhaling his scent, wrapping my lips around the tip of his dick through the fabric. He shifted under me, and I took it as a sign to help him out of his clothes. Each article of clothing flew over my shoulder until we were both naked.

God, he had a body to die for.

Who would have thought our President had a beautiful six-pack? Or that he was hiding a nine inch dick in his pants? Or that for some crazy reason he wanted me?

Brian laid me on my back, taking the lube and condoms from the drawer I pointed out.

He sat straddling one of my legs, tugging at my dick, eyeing me amused.

“Are you a Top?”

“Does it make a difference now?” I knew he was going to fuck me. And for once in my life, the thought of having a dick up my ass didn't scare me.

“So you're a Bottom?”

“Both,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So you're versatile.” He smirked.

“And ambidextrous.”

“Really?”

“I can punch you with both hands if you don't get your dick in me pronto!”

“Shall I call Big and Bulky?” he teased.

I grabbed his dick, squeezing hard. “I don't want to make it on the news for being the guy who killed the President.”

“Hmm...maybe Ben was right, after all.”

“Brian, can you stop teasing? If you keep stroking me like that I'm going to come like an inexperienced teenage kid!” I barely finished talking when my toes curled and I painted his chest in cum. “Shit.”

He wiped a dollop of cum off his abs, before sucking on his fingers. “Well, that was unexpected,” he commented.

I tugged the pillow over my red face.

Brian lifted the pillow, kissing me slowly. “You taste delicious.”

My dick jerked back to life at the compliment.

I wanted to reciprocate, or even blow him, but then Brian retook his position between my legs, one lube-coated finger probing my entrance.

“Yess.”

“You're so tight,” he said, surprised. “Tell me, Painter Boy, has really no one else been here?”

I nodded jerkily, breathing through the slight pain for another finger joining his first. “Only a fake dick. Much smaller than....” I gestured to his cock.

He grinned, slowly stretching me, all the while stroking my dick, bringing it back to full mast.

I had never come twice during sex. Before, it was either a hand job, or blow job, or fucking. Not both.

When he ripped the foil, my heart jumped in my throat.

He was so beautiful, focused on rolling the latex on his dick, his tongue peeking out of his mouth.

“Put your legs on my shoulders.”

I did as instructed, which brought us impossibly close.

Carefully, Brian pushed into me, breaching me slowly. I could feel my face scrunched up in pain.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It hurt.

“Does it always hurt?” I gasped out, squeezing my eyes shut.

“It gets better. You have to relax,” he instructed softly.

A few pushes and pulls later, I relaxed enough to enjoy the feeling of him moving inside me. His eyes stayed on mine, wide and dilated, filled with lust. Then he braced on his elbows on either side of my head and started fucking me the way I knew he wanted, the way I needed.

I had been an idiot to deny myself this pleasure. Having a hard dick up my ass was possibly the best thing about being gay...and I had missed out because I was too scared of hurting.

Though, if I thought about it, none of my former lovers could come even close as being called a Top, and maybe, subconsciously I was saving this for the best. Brian was the best.

I arched my back, meeting him thrust for thrust. He reached to grab the headboard, plowing into me. The friction between our bodies was enough to have my dick erupt between us, once again taking me by surprise. It was a night of firsts on so many levels.

With an inhuman growl, Brian came, slumping on top of me. He lay there for a few seconds, settling his breathing, before he pulled out, taking the condom off and heading into my bathroom.

When he returned, he pulled his boxer briefs on, searching his pants pockets.

For a wild second, I thought he was going to pull the wallet out, mistaking me with one of his tricks. Then I noticed a box of weed.

“Do you mind?”

“No...” I rolled out of the bed, tugging a pair of sweatpants on. “I'm kinda hungry, though.”

“We worked out an appetite there.”

It was then when I understood he wasn't into sentimental bullshit. He was into fucking. Just that. Getting off.

I led the way downstairs, blinded by my tears.

I shared something very important to me with him. And he took it for granted, not even asking if I liked it. That was a given, but still, the thought would have counted.

While Brian rolled a joint, I heated our food.

We took it to the living room where we sat on the floor on the plush carpet.

Eating Thai and smoking pot was a deadly combination. Too soon, we were both high as a kite.

I was currently on my back, grinning at the ceiling. Brian had hilarious stories from where he had traveled.

“I almost got caught once,” he confessed. “I was in London. The man who took me places to visit their touristic attractions was a total hottie. So we ended our tour in my bed at the hotel.” He glanced at me. “You have to know I always kick my tricks after fucking them. We were both too drunk after visiting a bar, so we fell asleep. I woke up next morning with the Prime Minister at my door, checking if I was okay since I had missed our breakfast date. Lucky, Jamie was dressed by the time the Prime Minister pushed his way into my room. I gave him some lame excuse that I was talking with Jamie about my schedule for the day.”

“I bet he bought your explanation...what it with you rolled out of the bed.”

“You have a point, but the man is a diplomat. He'd never say anything.”

“I'm sure it's difficult to keep this a secret,” I said thoughtfully.

“You have no idea. I used to be quite the player in college. It took a lot of dough to keep all my tricks quiet.”

I burst out laughing. “I have this image of a long line of hot guys and you handing them packs of money, threatening to cut their balls off if they said anything about your adventures from college.”

“You're not very far off,” he joked.

I stretched, sighing heavily. “So how is it? To be the President of the U.S.A.?”

He scrubbed at his face. “Don't get me started. The excitement died down three hours after I was installed into the White House. It was around four in the morning when I got the call about Stockwell's death and all that shit was dumped on my head. I had no idea about half of what was going on.”

“Oh, I remember that. The Chief of Police in D.C., right?”

“The one and only. I dug deep to solve the case and keep the country's faith in police. The fucking idiot was so deep in the black market of drugs and prostitution, I still have no idea how that case was solved.”

“You know there was a dead kid in the dumpster behind the diner on Liberty Avenue? His murder was later on linked to Stockwell's friend, Keith or Roger or whatever...a police officer from Pittsburgh. He committed suicide when Horvath, the actual Chief, went to arrest him.”

Brian rolled on his side, working on another joint. He lit it up, handing it to me. “I had no idea, but now that you say it, I remember reading somewhere that Stockwell had a friend in the Pitts.”

“And...you know his friend was into twinks? He picked them from a bar, used them, then dumped them...literally.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

“I worked at the diner as a bus boy, then...since Horvath sort of started dating Debbie, my boss, though they started on the wrong foot, I got involved. I befriended one of the hookers and went with him to that bar. He pointed out the cop and I worked my magic.”

Brian choked on his smoke. “Did you fuck the cop? The one who killed twinks? Were you dropped on the head a lot as a baby?”

“My intention was to fuck the cop, but Hunter, the guy who brought me there, came after us...and the cop ditched me for him. Next thing I know is Hunter giving Horvath a sample of DNA...cum. That's when Debbie and Michael, her son, started coddling the little shit. Eventually, he turned out all right, when he stopped whoring around.”

“Where were you three years ago when I needed this info?”

“Trying to help as best as I could,” I answered cheekily.

Brian puffed from the smoke. “And this is why I should be closer to the people. Such little things...small town heroes like yourself...should be appreciated publicly.”

“Uh, please don't. Yeah, maybe some of those who do good deeds on a regular basis would appreciate to be noticed by someone higher than them, especially by you, but not me.”

“It could be a very intimate award ceremony.”

I smirked, snuggling into his side. “Like, me servicing you on my knees.”

“You're the one being awarded.”

“No way! You'd kneel before me?” I gasped.

“Who said anything about kneeling?” Placing the roach between my lips, he slid down my body, pushing my pants down and engulfing my cock in his mouth.

“This is a story to tell my grandchildren. The President went down on me.”

“If you want to scare them to death, sure.”

“And he's a dope.”

“Hey, now! Be nice to the guy blowing you.”

“If you bite me, Ben will have a real reason to hate me.”

He laughed, taking me back in his mouth and sucking with vigor. It was the laziest and hottest blow job I ever got. Brian stopped every time I was on the brink, pouting his lips so I pressed the joint to them, then he returned to driving me crazy.

I was so turned on that I pointed him out to the sofa where I had condoms and lube hidden under the cushions.

Our second round of sex had nothing gentle about it, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I screamed so loudly I expected my neighbors to call the police.

When I came, white blinding light flashed before my eyes and I collapsed back on the soft carpet. Brian lay on his back next to me, grinning like a fool.

“One could get used to this.”

I watched as he lazily scratched his stomach, before turning to meet my eyes, raising a brow.

“Oh, I should answer to your statement?” I teased.

“I think I'll want another painting.”

“The current one isn't even done. But it's catching shape. It looks more like a portrait every day.”

“And I still can't see it?”

I nodded in confirmation. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Whatever you say, Picasso.” He stood, heading upstairs.

He looked too at ease in my home, like he had been there all his life. It made a warm feeling spread through my body.

A knock on the door startled me. I wasn't expecting anyone, but figuring it was one of Brian's goonies, I tugged my sweatpants on and went to answer.

I was assaulted by an inebriated Ethan, clinging to me and saying he missed me.