The crowd roared as Mason's name was called out. After a long campaign, his life long dream had finally come true. All that remained was his thank you speech, one that he had prepared years ago, still valid, still true today.
Walking up to the podium, clad in a charcoal suit fit to perfection, he beamed at the crowd, proud of them for making the right choice, the choice that would lead to prosperity. His opponents had dogged him every step of the way, condemning him, and his supporters, for putting their faith and trust in a deviant. He'd held his integrity throughout, something very few people would have done. His supporters had seen him for what he truly was. A man determined to empower the masses, to destroy poverty and inequality.
He'd surrounded himself with like-minded people, ones that shared his dream and determination, and was lucky to have found one to share the rest of his life with.
The dark, wooden podium concealed the lower half of his body, which gave Mason some semblance of safety and security. He placed the wrinkled sheet of paper gently on the top and smoothed it out. He knew those words by heart, knew that he wouldn't have to look down for one single second.
As the din of the audience slowly began to die down, something, or someone, touched him... down there.
Nerves of steel prevented him from crying out, so those people closest to him saw only his serene facial expression. He took half a step back and glanced down without lowering his head.
The wide, toothy grin that greeted him shouldn't have surprised him at all. In fact, he should have expected it. As it was, he began to break out into a sweat, and heat flushed his body, before pooling in the place he'd been touched.
"Why now!" he exclaimed silently, trying to suppress the giddy laughter fighting to escape.
Just like that, he was hard as steel, throbbing and leaking. The piece of wrinkled paper on the podium took on a whole new meaning to him. Stepping quickly back into place, he took a deep breath, and gripped the sides of the podium.
When this was all safely over, he prayed, he would strangle his husband into an orgasm.
He felt Wade's touch again, slow and sensual, and he could spare one soft moan before the crowd was silent, waiting for him to make his speech.
A second later he felt a hard squeeze.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed without meaning to.
Quick witted, he continued on as if all was well.
"Thank God we could be here today, to celebrate this auspicious, humbling moment."
The crowd applauded, and all the while Mason could feel his zipper slowly being pulled down.
"Is he using his teeth?" he wondered for a fleeting moment.
He must have been, because both hands were holding onto his thighs. He could also feel the quick, warm breath seeping through the fabric onto his erection. Excitement coursed through him, ending in a quick twitch of his cock.
The crowd was quiet again, and all Mason could see was a large blurry mass of movement before him. He looked down instead, and began to read from the paper, the words from memory gone, replaced by the sensation of a cool hand reaching into his pants and gripping his cock.
Wade's always had rough hands, he thought as he recited from the page.
"Our home has gone through a great struggle, before, and after the years of racial separation, and emerged victorious..."
His cock was free of its stifling confines. Wade's breath was hot against the head, which he knew was already wet and flowing.
Then Wade's tongue twirled around the sensitive head.
"Yes!" he cried.
The crowd was oblivious, thinking this was all part of his speech,
Mason had no choice but to adlib. He was, of course, good at playing pretend.
"Yes, we have worked hard to remove the stigma of the past, the memories that overwhelmed and influenced our previous leaders..."
