The Sweetest Victory of All

Michael had his doubts. But they were overridden by his overwhelming, overpowering desires. For blood, flesh, for touch.

His longing piercing him with every passing day, proving to be too much for him to alleviate by simple means. Means he should stick with, he'd managed to convince himself day in day out for years. But the desire was becoming too strong, too consuming to deter. The only way he could imagine he could drive the thoughts away would be to leave and never return. Go overseas, go to Cairns... somewhere very far from Canberra, and infinitely far away from Melbourne. Only then did Michael feel he could begin to separate Peter from the tangles of his mind, from his consciousness, removing his childhood friend's face from his fantasies and becoming free from them.

But this was out of the question. Michael couldn't bear to be apart from Peter. He felt his own depressing thoughts culminate heavily within himself when he wasn't in Peter's company. A glimpse of him on television, his picture on the front of the Age swelled his heart with pleasure. To be in Peter's company physically was a treat unlike any other. He thanked the Heavens daily he had the gift of Peter's close, personal friendship. How he adored him. How he ached for his presence when he was away. How he savoured the brief matey touch of Peter's hand against his back as the pair caught up for a brisk jog around Parliament House in the early hours of the morning, rousing him into a mock of a race. He loved the serenity of these moments with his friend. Early morning, chilly Canberra, just the two of them preparing for a long day of running their respective offices. How he adored trotting alongside Peter; Lake Burley-Griffin sparkling as the early morning sunlight followed their path. However, these moments couldn't last. Peter was always far too busy. By 7.05 he'd be back in his office, or on the road to a radio station for an interview, sometimes having a quick shower before departing. Michael, having heard Peter mention his intention to grab a quick shower, would reluctantly depart from the scene, and retreat to his bathroom, picturing his blonde mate, the Federal Treasurer of Australia, washing the perspiration from his body. As he pictured this Michael would stroke himself to climax. A feeling of emptiness would envelope him upon his evaporating pleasure.

Composing himself, he’d return to his office and switch on his radio. The sound of Peter’s voice would fill the room. Michael would perch on the edge of his desk, listening to the interview. Peter’s strident and sure voice brought Michael feelings of pride and discomfort in equal measure. The feeling of pride he had for his friend, and the guilt at the filthy bodily urges he harboured for him. He then would wallow in agonised feelings of self disgust at his defiling thoughts of Peter, until his day really began, and he started to get busy with the Party tasks at hand.

It couldn’t go on. His hunger for Peter grew stronger and stronger every day, with every mention of him, every sight.

The night after the election, Peter got trashed. Or so that’s what he was told the next morning, when he found himself hungover in Michael’s bed. Peter was horrified. He didn’t get drunk. Or very rarely. He was quickly on the phone to his concerned wife, having been informed the previous evening by Michael that Peter had had a few too many, was unfit to drive, and would be spending the night at Michael’s place.

Michael was near delirious with excitement at what he’d managed to accomplish.

He’d never tell. He’d confess to his priest, one day...

And so it happened that Michael and Peter were celebrating yet another successive Coalition victory. Apprehensive murmurs gave way to ecstatic cries of joy as Peter’s seat, Higgins, was determined to have been retained. Peter gave all the necessary formalities, and enjoyed a few deserved glasses of wines with his best mate, Michael, and his lovely wife Tanya along with a few close and trusted members of the Victorian Liberal party and its supporters. After awhile Tanya took her leave, kissing her husband lovingly before departing, and giving Michael a friendly hug. Peter was inclined to depart with her, but Michael persuaded Peter to stay out a little longer. To enjoy himself a little, after working so hard on the campaign.

Peter agreed after little persuasion, happy to have one night to spend a bit of time with his best mate, and filled with pride at the efforts of his office.

Hours passed and Peter and Michael were having a blast with the rest of the Victorian Liberal crew. Glasses clinked and hands shook, phone calls were taken, and wine spilled over the edges as this was done. Laughter got louder, steps got clumsier, words got sloppier but this was all to be expected, so joyous were the group at another Coalition victory.

Another chance to improve the country, prove to the public they made the right choice in Howard, to implement all the plans formulated in the past twelve months which had been set aside by way of distraction due to the upcoming election. The election was won. At least one night could be spent celebrating, goodness knows how hard they’d been working and campaigning.

Peter was so engrossed in tipsy talk of the day’s events he barely noticed when Michael sidled up to him, handing him a fresh drink. He thanked him and began sipping at once. Content at his friend’s reaction, he disappeared to talk to other people.

Half an hour passed, and Peter was completely inebriated. Determined not to risk ill press in the coming days, Michael managed to whisk Peter away before too many people noticed his level of drunkenness. A few concerned Party members attempted to talk to Peter as the pair were exiting the party.

“Pete, you sure you’re okay mate?”

“Ehh.... m’okay.” He slurred his response severely, eyes slipping back in his head before closing.

“He’s fine, just a couple too many. I’ll take him home. I’m right to drive.”

Michael covered for Peter, additionally citing exhaustion of weeks in the making for his low tolerance level to the party booze.

On the drive back to Michael’s, Peter was barely conscious. Michael kept up a constant stream of conversation, just to gauge his awareness. Peter responded with some level of comprehension at first but gradually faded further and further from the surface.

When the pair arrived at Michael’s home, conveniently empty for the evening of his family, Michael roused Peter enough for him to walk under his support up to the front door. As they entered, Peter mumbled something about not wanting to be a pain.

That was the last he said. Michael deposited Peter onto his bed. Peter’s head lolled to the side. Michael looked over him for a moment, before gingerly placing two fingers against his throat. He felt a very slow throbbing. His chest rose and fell at the same pace. Contented Peter was breathing properly, and his heart was beating in good time, Michael put any doubts he’d had aside. The medication wouldn’t harm Peter. Of course many people had used it with no trouble at all, why would this instance be any different? Peter lay motionless on Michael’s bed. Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny transparent plastic bag, holding it up to the light. Three diminutive pills were contained inside, each marked “GHB”. He placed them in his bedside cabinet, chewing his lip as he did so.

Michael gazed at his best mate, spread across his double bed, prone and vulnerable in his intoxicated state.

He carefully sank himself down on the bed beside Peter, still slightly nervous despite his obvious deep slumber. He took a closer look at Peter, his face vaguely flushed, his blonde hair falling in sweaty strands across his forehead. Michael fumbled between pouring himself another glass of wine, and starting to remove Peter’s shoes from his tired feet, thinking it might make him more comfortable. Upon accomplishing this, he took a big gulp of wine and resumed sitting beside Peter on the bed. His hands, nervous but becoming less so, were raising to gingerly stroke the face of the man who’d been a part of his life for nearly as long as he could recall, the one he’d thought only of for nearly as long. Michael’s hand stroked upward, reaching Peter’s hairline and relishing the feel of his hair tangling in his fingers, the softness thrilling him to the core.

He lowered his fingers to Peter’s neckline and caressed the skin, warm to the touch and smooth.

As his hand drew lower it reached the top button. Chewing his lip further he popped the first button open. Then gradually, the second and the third, until Peter was looking slightly more exposed than Michael had seen in some time.

Stealing fleeting glances at Peter’s face, Michael gently eased his hand inside Peter’s shirt. His eyes stayed on Peter’s face as Michael brushed his hand across his chest until he reached one of Peter’s nipples. He ran his blunt fingers across the tender flesh. It sent a shockwave of excitement through him as Michael felt the nub swelling beneath his fingers. He felt hungry to gaze upon the piece of flesh he’d managed to arouse. He withdrew his hand from Peter’s shirt, a shirt in which only hours prior he’d given several interviews to high profile radio and television stations. The shirt was peeled open fully as Michael did away with the last of the fastened buttons, and dragged Peter’s undershirt up over his chest, revealing the white skin beneath. Michael inhaled as his eyes took in a sight he’d often fantasised about privately. After he’d viewed sufficiently Peter’s chest Michael’s hands were upon him once more, more insistent this time, as he used both hands to pinch Peter’s nipples and stroke him. His hands gradually grew more daring as they descended down over Peter’s stomach, feeling the muscle lying dormant beneath the soft outer layer of his belly.

Michael kept his eyes fixed on Peter’s face at this point, watching for a reaction of any kind. His face remained motionless, having the peaceful look of one in a very deep sleep. Just the right expression for Michael to be able to imagine that Peter wanted this, that he was willing and eager for Michael to touch and explore his body, rather than having drugged him by spiking his drink some hours earlier in order to carry out his desires.

Not wanting to wait, Michael’s fingers deftly undid the button on Peter’s trousers, and unzipped his fly. Licking his lips, his fingers then crept between the open fly, to take in his first touch of Peter’s private area. Limited in how much he could reach while Peter’s pants were still on him, Michael cupped Peter as much as would allow, giving him a slight squeeze.

He thought he saw a slight change in expression flicker across Peter’s face, very tiny, as if something deep within him was physically responding to Michael’s touch. Michael drew still, and didn’t move his hand, until he was satisfied Peter was still unconscious. When he was, he moved his hand off Peter’s member, and withdrew it from his pants. Leaning back, he gave his fingers a sniff, inhaling with relish the scent he’d so often imagined. It was at this point he realised the extent of his own arousal. Glancing down at his own trousers, he saw the bulge of his hard cock. He undid his pants, removing it from his underwear. He stroked it lightly, watching Peter and surveying his increasingly naked body. As he touched himself he felt intense pleasure. He wondered if he ought to stop where he was, and simply stroke off while watching Peter in the position he was in, touching him at times, and come just by those means. The image he had of Peter at present was hugely turning him on, prone and vulnerable before him. But he couldn’t bear to not go further, such was the extent of his desires.

He just had to see more. Giving his straining cock a last tug, he leaned atop the bed and carefully, slowly eased Peter’s open trousers down over his legs, not stopping til he’d had them pulled all the way to his ankles, and then with a final tug, had them completely off.

Peter’s face showed no change. Michael raised his fingers to his throat once more. Still he felt the thudding of his slow but steady pulse. Michael placed his hands on Peter’s thighs, rubbing them back and forward and between them, as if to tease Peter. Peter’s penis looked tempting in his underwear. Not erect, but still large. Michael couldn’t wait to see that cock. He placed his fingers in either side of the waistband and gently dragged the underwear down so that Peter’s privates were exposed. Michael gazed at the genitals before him. As he looked at the ample cock he practically salivated. He’d spent many nights dreaming of placing Peter’s cock in his mouth. His own cock strained at the thought of it. His hand fell to his cock and he stroked it a few times, then not being able to wait any longer took Peter’s cock in his hand. Unnerving Michael at the surprise, yet thrilling him to the core, he felt the cock grow hard beneath his fingers. He again looked to Peter’s face for any signs of registering what was happening. He didn’t appear that way. Michael also felt reassured at the idea that if Peter were to wake, it would be very gradual, not sudden. Not taking his eyes from Peter’s face, Michael tested him by giving his cock a gentle squeeze. It grew harder beneath his hand. He started pulling up and down in a light rhythm, over the tip and down to the base. After a few more of these tugs, Michael bent over Peter and gave the head of his cock a lick. Pre-come had begun leaking from the tip. Michael delighted at the salty taste, getting more turned on by the second. He lightly took the tip into his mouth, stroking the penis at the same time. He took more of it into his mouth until he was sucking it in earnest.

Michael cupped Peter’s balls, the curly blonde hair growing on them tickling his fingers exquisitely. As Michael sucked his best friend’s cock, thoughts flew through his mind of all the years they’d known one another, how badly he’d wanted to do this, what a deviant he must be for doing this, and what it would be like to see Peter’s come spurt out of his hard cock, how it would feel squirting into his mouth, on his lips. The thoughts turned him on further. He couldn’t bear to have his own cock ignored. He loved Peter, his mind was racing a million miles per second. He felt intoxicated with lust. He made up his mind very quickly. He stood up, pulled Peter’s undies down and pulled them right off him. He looked around him until he located the appropriate item. He found it on his night stand. He picked up the tube of body lotion and squeezed a generous amount onto his hand. He stroked his cock with it, making sure it was super slippery and wet. Then he climbed onto the bed.

He manoeuvred himself between Peter’s bare legs, either of them on each side of him. He picked them up and raised them gently. His cock was slick enough to provide lubricant for Peter, too. Michael’s cock was so hard it was like a knife in butter. He didn’t waste time inching forward, he simply pushed in. The angle of Peter must have been good; he met minimal resistance. It was as though it was a fantasy. Only better. Michael pushed in and out of Peter, feeling he could come at any moment. He took Peter’s cock in his hand and pulled it. Before long he felt himself reaching orgasm. Suddenly he felt movement beneath his hand, then the white liquid shot from Peter’s spasming cock. That sent Michael over. He quickly withdrew his cock and jerked his own orgasm out, rubbing Peter’s sperm into his own. After his orgasm subsided, Michael looked at Peter. His face looked flushed, and there was come on his stomach, but apart from that and his missing clothes nothing was amiss. Composing himself to work quickly, Michael wiped his own hands on a towel, then wiped down Peter’s belly and cock. He prised his legs apart once more, worried all of a sudden about whether Peter would experience pain from the anal sex. He pushed Peter’s legs closed and held them for a few moments, as if hoping to seal or tighten any enlarged holes. Thinking there was nothing to be done about it, Michael figured Peter wouldn’t suspect, and once he was satisfied Peter was clean of spunk, began replacing his clothes. Once Michael had Peter back to his original appearance, he placed a clean blanket over him. He did a final check on Peter’s breathing and left the room.

Outside in the living room Michael sat down on his couch, disbelief surrounding him. Had all that really just taken place? Had he really just had sex with Peter? Had he really drugged him to do so? Had he really gotten away with it? Exhaustion crept over him. He wasn’t prepared to contemplate it further, preferring to enjoy the warm glow he felt at the fact he had had sex with Peter, something he’d wanted very badly to do for a long time. And he did think he’d gone undetected. Peter would be none the wiser, Michael was sure. Contented at these thoughts, he lay down on his couch and pulled his spare blanket over him, falling asleep with the Coalition victory and Peter’s gorgeous body on his mind, something that would play in his thoughts for some time to come.

The End.

Hope you enjoyed my story :) please review if you like, thanks so much!