K
Kitti
Guest
I said I would write a political fanfic for the fundraiser. This is more like half since it ended up being longer than expected (hehehe). Jorick will probably convince me to finish it at some point. There's no actual sex yet, but it's going in a spoiler anyway.
The first time that they met in person, it struck Barack how little the pictures actually did the other man justice. Perhaps it was the way that his face often seemed half-cast in shadow in pictures, or the strain of trying to always appear professional. Regardless of the reason behind it, he looked almost like a different man when he extended his hand to shake, perhaps the younger brother of the man Obama had seen in pictures.
Justin Trudeau. He didn't need to introduce himself, really, though etiquette dictated that he should do it anyway. Anyone present could have pointed out who he was without effort, too important not to stand out. Gathered officials mingled, formed clusters of conversation and then dispersed to shake hands elsewhere. Without thinking about it, Barack found his eyes wandering over the sea of white shirts until he saw the silhouette that he didn't even realize he'd been looking for.
Standing tall in the tropical sunlight that washed over the city, the soft white barong emphasized his dark hair and clean features. He wasn't turned in Obama's direction, his gaze lingering instead on the rippling waters of Manila Bay. The smile he'd worn earlier was gone now, replaced by a wistful expression and he looked like a brooding hero framed as he was by the fronds and facing the placid waters.
For reasons that he couldn't quite explain even to himself, Barack felt a pang, followed by an almost overwhelming desire to catch Trudeau's attention. Before he knew what he was going to say, he'd already opened his mouth to speak.
"Feels nothing like home does in November, does it?" he motioned toward the sky, where stray clouds danced over the blue surface and the blinding light of the sun lingered in the city.
The dense air climbed past thirty degrees and everything felt humid and sticky as a result. Barack swallowed, his attention inexplicably caught by the damp strands of hair stuck to the nape of Trudeau's neck. Trudeau turned toward him, an easy grin breaking across his features.
"Yeah. I kind of miss it, though."
Not knowing what to say in response, Obama averted his eyes and instead looking across to the view that Trudeau had just been admiring. What had he been thinking, looking out across the water? Paris, perhaps? Or the agenda for the meeting. It could have been anything, impossible to tell from his casual but closed-off demeanor. He could feel Trudeau's gaze on him still, watching him quietly for another moment before he also looked away.
It hadn't taken long before someone had come to find them both and herded the group toward the convention center where the meetings would take place. The building windows sparkled underneath unforgiving brutalist concrete and the verdant foliage softened the image somewhat as they neared its doors.
The hours of discussing various facets of economics and human investment were mercifully followed by a welcome meal. It seemed only natural that Barack would find himself at Trudeau's side, both throughout the summit and after. Their countries were neighbors, after all. They spoke a common language. He reminded himself that nobody else was questioning it and he didn't need to construct arguments for why it only made good sense that the two would be practically inseparable.
The meal was a chance to unwind and to get to know one another. Listening to Trudeau speak, first about how honored he had been to be elected and then onto more personal topics, Obama was struck by the charm that the younger man exuded. In every topic, he was affable and the sort of man that felt as though you'd known one another for years. At least, that was how Barack felt. He asked question after question just to keep Trudeau speaking, those blue eyes sparkling as he talked about the feeling of returning to the home he had lived in as a child when his own father had been prime minster.
It wasn't until he felt a tap on his shoulder, an attendant reminding the men that dinner was almost finished, that Obama realized that he and Trudeau had leaned in towards one another while they talked, bodies angled toward the other to form an intimate tent of conversation between their shoulders. Straightening up, Barack acknowledged the attendant with a nod.
"It's too bad we're only here a few days. I know you said that you miss Canada but the weather here is really something else." The smile didn't come as naturally to Obama as he thought it would. It was just nice to have someone to have a conversation with who understands what it's like, he told himself. That was all. He had already begun to stand when Trudeau finally replied.
"I do. This has been nice, though. Maybe I should pay a visit to Washington next." Barack shot a glance down to Trudeau's face but the man had half-turned his head away after speaking and his lashes were lowered to fan over his cheeks, offering no insight into what he was thinking. It could have been an off-handed remark only serving to acknowledge their previously deeply involved conversation but Obama felt a small bubble of hope rising in his chest all the same.
"I'm sure that could be arranged."
There was almost no separation between the APEC summit and the trip to Paris to discuss climate concerns that followed shortly thereafter. It would have been lying to say that he wasn't excited to see him again, though they had only just parted company. Their fast friendship had even perked the interest of one of the aides, who had joked that it was as if the pair were already best friends.
However, it was only a weekend and a busy weekend at that. The conversations over dinner were shorter, punctuated with interjections from other leaders who were present. It would have been disheartening were it not for the fact that, as the Indian Prime Minister jovially rejoined Trudeau's comment and cut off Barack's reply, he felt a whisper of fingers across his knee. He brushed his hand over the other man's fingers. It felt like a weight over his shoulders melted.
Too soon, however, they again had to part ways. At the end of the second day, they found a spare moment in the halls. Already, Barack could tell the difference in Justin's posture when he was actually relaxed versus the light-hearted front he normally showed. The dimples surfaced quickly.
"You'll have to come to Washington next. I think there's still a lot left for us to discuss." Obama paused, wondering if he should continue. Trudeau rested his hand on his shoulder, enough encouragement to carry on. "They say Canada and the US have a really special relationship."
It was March when he saw him next, the fruition of months of intensive planning. It was hard to say whether there would more more or less people bustling about them but this time would be different, families gathered here who would be vying for time and attention. Still, he was here. He was going to see Justin again for the first time since the talks in Paris in late November.
It felt like the moments dragged on as the plane began its slow descent. There was a group gathered to greet Trudeau on the tarmac and Obama had insisted that it was only proper that he be among them. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the plane wheels met the runway and it slid to a halt not far from the assembled welcoming party. Trudeau stepped out of the plane first, holding his son, and his eyes scanned the crowd until they met Obama's.
People surged forward as Trudeau made his way down the stairs from the plan and the clicking of cameras filled the air with frantic noise, the national anthems of both countries slowly swelling in the background. It was over an hour before the pomp and ceremony was finished, in addition to some meeting and greeting, and Trudeau could make his way to Obama's side.
"Long time, no see." Obama extended his arm to Trudeau, their hands meeting briefly in a handshake. Their fingers twined together a second longer than necessary before they pulled apart. Their eyes met, followed by a smile.
"There will be a full tour of the White House tomorrow, of course. For today, we have a lot to catch up on. I'm sure you're all tired from the flight, though. You should freshen up before your dinner tonight."
After placing the children and Sophie in the back of a sleek limousine, Obama and Trudeau climbed into a second car. Justin slid in first, followed by Barack, and for a moment the car was silent. After a few tense seconds, Trudeau's hand came to rest on Obama's knee. The touch was light, questioning, a butterfly poised to flee on a leaf. He relaxed when he found his answer, a hand come to rest a little above his knee on the thigh of his pants.
Justin Trudeau. He didn't need to introduce himself, really, though etiquette dictated that he should do it anyway. Anyone present could have pointed out who he was without effort, too important not to stand out. Gathered officials mingled, formed clusters of conversation and then dispersed to shake hands elsewhere. Without thinking about it, Barack found his eyes wandering over the sea of white shirts until he saw the silhouette that he didn't even realize he'd been looking for.
Standing tall in the tropical sunlight that washed over the city, the soft white barong emphasized his dark hair and clean features. He wasn't turned in Obama's direction, his gaze lingering instead on the rippling waters of Manila Bay. The smile he'd worn earlier was gone now, replaced by a wistful expression and he looked like a brooding hero framed as he was by the fronds and facing the placid waters.
For reasons that he couldn't quite explain even to himself, Barack felt a pang, followed by an almost overwhelming desire to catch Trudeau's attention. Before he knew what he was going to say, he'd already opened his mouth to speak.
"Feels nothing like home does in November, does it?" he motioned toward the sky, where stray clouds danced over the blue surface and the blinding light of the sun lingered in the city.
The dense air climbed past thirty degrees and everything felt humid and sticky as a result. Barack swallowed, his attention inexplicably caught by the damp strands of hair stuck to the nape of Trudeau's neck. Trudeau turned toward him, an easy grin breaking across his features.
"Yeah. I kind of miss it, though."
Not knowing what to say in response, Obama averted his eyes and instead looking across to the view that Trudeau had just been admiring. What had he been thinking, looking out across the water? Paris, perhaps? Or the agenda for the meeting. It could have been anything, impossible to tell from his casual but closed-off demeanor. He could feel Trudeau's gaze on him still, watching him quietly for another moment before he also looked away.
It hadn't taken long before someone had come to find them both and herded the group toward the convention center where the meetings would take place. The building windows sparkled underneath unforgiving brutalist concrete and the verdant foliage softened the image somewhat as they neared its doors.
The hours of discussing various facets of economics and human investment were mercifully followed by a welcome meal. It seemed only natural that Barack would find himself at Trudeau's side, both throughout the summit and after. Their countries were neighbors, after all. They spoke a common language. He reminded himself that nobody else was questioning it and he didn't need to construct arguments for why it only made good sense that the two would be practically inseparable.
The meal was a chance to unwind and to get to know one another. Listening to Trudeau speak, first about how honored he had been to be elected and then onto more personal topics, Obama was struck by the charm that the younger man exuded. In every topic, he was affable and the sort of man that felt as though you'd known one another for years. At least, that was how Barack felt. He asked question after question just to keep Trudeau speaking, those blue eyes sparkling as he talked about the feeling of returning to the home he had lived in as a child when his own father had been prime minster.
It wasn't until he felt a tap on his shoulder, an attendant reminding the men that dinner was almost finished, that Obama realized that he and Trudeau had leaned in towards one another while they talked, bodies angled toward the other to form an intimate tent of conversation between their shoulders. Straightening up, Barack acknowledged the attendant with a nod.
"It's too bad we're only here a few days. I know you said that you miss Canada but the weather here is really something else." The smile didn't come as naturally to Obama as he thought it would. It was just nice to have someone to have a conversation with who understands what it's like, he told himself. That was all. He had already begun to stand when Trudeau finally replied.
"I do. This has been nice, though. Maybe I should pay a visit to Washington next." Barack shot a glance down to Trudeau's face but the man had half-turned his head away after speaking and his lashes were lowered to fan over his cheeks, offering no insight into what he was thinking. It could have been an off-handed remark only serving to acknowledge their previously deeply involved conversation but Obama felt a small bubble of hope rising in his chest all the same.
"I'm sure that could be arranged."
There was almost no separation between the APEC summit and the trip to Paris to discuss climate concerns that followed shortly thereafter. It would have been lying to say that he wasn't excited to see him again, though they had only just parted company. Their fast friendship had even perked the interest of one of the aides, who had joked that it was as if the pair were already best friends.
However, it was only a weekend and a busy weekend at that. The conversations over dinner were shorter, punctuated with interjections from other leaders who were present. It would have been disheartening were it not for the fact that, as the Indian Prime Minister jovially rejoined Trudeau's comment and cut off Barack's reply, he felt a whisper of fingers across his knee. He brushed his hand over the other man's fingers. It felt like a weight over his shoulders melted.
Too soon, however, they again had to part ways. At the end of the second day, they found a spare moment in the halls. Already, Barack could tell the difference in Justin's posture when he was actually relaxed versus the light-hearted front he normally showed. The dimples surfaced quickly.
"You'll have to come to Washington next. I think there's still a lot left for us to discuss." Obama paused, wondering if he should continue. Trudeau rested his hand on his shoulder, enough encouragement to carry on. "They say Canada and the US have a really special relationship."
It was March when he saw him next, the fruition of months of intensive planning. It was hard to say whether there would more more or less people bustling about them but this time would be different, families gathered here who would be vying for time and attention. Still, he was here. He was going to see Justin again for the first time since the talks in Paris in late November.
It felt like the moments dragged on as the plane began its slow descent. There was a group gathered to greet Trudeau on the tarmac and Obama had insisted that it was only proper that he be among them. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the plane wheels met the runway and it slid to a halt not far from the assembled welcoming party. Trudeau stepped out of the plane first, holding his son, and his eyes scanned the crowd until they met Obama's.
People surged forward as Trudeau made his way down the stairs from the plan and the clicking of cameras filled the air with frantic noise, the national anthems of both countries slowly swelling in the background. It was over an hour before the pomp and ceremony was finished, in addition to some meeting and greeting, and Trudeau could make his way to Obama's side.
"Long time, no see." Obama extended his arm to Trudeau, their hands meeting briefly in a handshake. Their fingers twined together a second longer than necessary before they pulled apart. Their eyes met, followed by a smile.
"There will be a full tour of the White House tomorrow, of course. For today, we have a lot to catch up on. I'm sure you're all tired from the flight, though. You should freshen up before your dinner tonight."
After placing the children and Sophie in the back of a sleek limousine, Obama and Trudeau climbed into a second car. Justin slid in first, followed by Barack, and for a moment the car was silent. After a few tense seconds, Trudeau's hand came to rest on Obama's knee. The touch was light, questioning, a butterfly poised to flee on a leaf. He relaxed when he found his answer, a hand come to rest a little above his knee on the thigh of his pants.
