FRIENDS AND ENEMAS
A Tony Blair/Gordon Brown story
by Gillian Wendlethorp
[This is a bit more raw than my usual B/B stories! It follows on from 'Downing Street Desire' but can be read on its own. G.]
'And that is why I am convinced that this is the right course of action, and I ask this noble house to support me!'
Tony's finely-elocuted voice rang across the House of Commons. He looked magnificent as always, thought Gordon. He budged over a few inches so that when Tony sat down again their thighs would be squashed together. It gave him a thrill just to sit on the leather still warm from his buttocks.
The leader of the opposition rose to rebut.
'I yield to the right honourable member,' said Tony, sitting.
(And you'll be yielding to mine in a while, you gorgeous brute, thought Gordon wryly.)
'Good speech,' he whispered. 'The vote's in the bag.'
(And so will you be soon, my pretty.)
'Cheers Gor,' said Tony with that elfin grin that never failed to make Gordon's stomach flip over. 'Now let's go home and fuck.'
* * *
All the way back down to Downing Street Gordon felt the urgent tautness in his trousers.
'Can't you go any faster?' he grumbled to the limousine driver. Tony's car was speeding ahead of them, Tony looking out of the back window pulling tongues at him.
As they pulled up in front of No. 11 Tony was already putting the key in the door of No. 10.
'See you tomorrow, Gordon,' he called for the benefit of the pressmen with a wink.
'Yes, goodnight, Prime Minister,' said Gordon gruffly as he entered his own abode.
He flung his briefcase down in the hall and raced upstairs. Every second's delay was agony. Thank God for the secret connecting passage they'd built between No. 11 and No. 10. Little did anyone know it ran from the Chancellor's bedroom to that of the Prime Minister.
When he got there Tony was already naked apart from his socks and lying on his bed swinging one foot pertly.
'What kept you?' he said saucily. 'Get your pants off, fatty.'
And then there was nothing but sweaty, animal sex and grunts and moans of bliss.
* * *
Later, Gordon's head cradled on Tony's naked chest, they talked drowsily.
Gordon liked this part of it almost as much as the sex: just the two of them, together, planning the destiny of the nation.
'Darling,' said Tony wheedlingly, stroking Gordon's tousled hair, 'I need you to give me more money.'
Gordon instinctively moved away. Damn it, this wasn't fair! Tony was taking advantage of his post-coital mellowness again.
'What is it this time?' he said, struggling to be cold and resolute.
'It's this damned Iraqi war,' murmured Tony, nibbling Gordon's ear. 'It's going to be costly, you know.'
'That again! Are you so sure it's the right thing?'
'I am, my dumpling.' He reached round to cup Gordon's balls.
The Scotsman writhed as he struggled inwardly with lust, principle, and his innate close-handedness.
'I can see your reasoning,' he temporized. 'It's just...£40,000 for a cruise missile...And you fire off dozens of the wee buggers like they were fireworks...Och, you're so profligate...Could we not drop large rocks on the Iraqis? I see plenty of large rocks on my travels, just lying around idle...'
'Meanie.' Tony pouted and turned away. 'You never give me anything.'
'Oh, don't be like that,' Gordon pleaded. He reached out to touch Tony's shoulder.
'No, fuck off, Gordon,' snapped Tony, shrugging him off. 'I can see this relationship is all one way.'
Gordon crumbled. 'Very well,' he sighed. 'You can have your money. I can refuse you nothing, my bonny wee boy,' he smiled indulgently.
'That didn't hurt now, did it?' Tony laughed, turning and hugging him. 'Honestly, darling, you're such a penny-pincher sometimes. Now roll over,' he commanded with a wicked grin, pushing Gordon onto his belly, 'and let's find out just how tight-arsed you really are.'
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