With only a few more weeks left in what might be the end of his term as Prime Minister, Anthony should have been thinking about anything other than the Opposition Leader, staring back at him from the other end of the chamber. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true… thinking about the opposition seems to be in the job description, but these thoughts? No one would authorise such tender feelings of yearning for someone so forbidden. Peter glanced back and met Anthony’s eyes, and as if they were the only two people in this crowded room, Anthony felt the last shred of his dignity cave under his want.
He tried to shake off the feeling curdling in his chest — he really did — and focus on the literal life-changing matters being discussed. Matters that were still his responsibility to fix, matters that his once-lover insisted on making worse. It was a good reminder why they would never work (in every unprofessional sense of the word) — they were simply too star-crossed. Adam Bandt, the perfect-on-paper boyfriend, was making his speech. Something important probably, undermining one of the major parties. Which one, exactly, did not matter, even Anthony could recognise that they were one and the same. With so much tangled history, so much lust shared and love lost, how could Liberal and Labor not find their politics intertwining?
Peter wasn’t wrong to say that Anthony would jump in bed with the Greens if it meant staying in parliament. With his brilliant smile and left-leaning politics, Adam should have been the obvious choice for Anthony. But behind the closed chamber doors, it was a Liberal man he longed for.
The meeting adjourned with Anthony not registering a word. How was a Prime Minister supposed to get anything done when his love life was so complicated? When the man of his dreams was sitting across from him, miles away and out of reach, while his (current) lover had no idea that he longed for another man.
MPs filed out of the room, laughing as though they hadn’t just ruined the lives of millions of Australians, as if they hadn’t just yelled and fought over their different values. Adam walked to Anthony, greeting him with a smile and a kiss.
Anthony leaned into Adam’s soft kiss, which was just so… nice. He told himself that this was what love was meant to feel like, until he almost believed it. But he couldn’t help but open his eyes, and notice that Peter hadn’t left the room. He stood at his desk, packing his files away; unmoving, unwavering, as he glared at Anthony and Adam with simultaneous desire and resentment. Anthony felt himself deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into Adam’s open mouth, never once taking his eyes away from Peters’. That was the love Anthony remembered and craved so deeply — passionate, fiery, burning up like the Australian economic landscape.
Adam broke the kiss abruptly, lips chapped and parted. He gave a shy smile, wiping his thumb across the remaining wetness at the corner of his mouth, before righting himself. He left the room, allowing Anthony and Peter to be alone together, once again.
Anthony grabbed the back of Peter’s bald, shiny head. The slightly scratchy stubble-like hairs, rather than Adam’s luscious locks, made his fingers feel like they were on fire. They stood for a moment, Anthony leaning slightly on the centre table in the House of Representatives, his eyes throwing daggers from how much he wanted to resist this kiss. Eventually, he can’t anymore. Peter leaned in, his toad-like tongue darting between the slight gap of Anthony’s mouth. Anthony sucked on Peter’s tongue like spaghetti, the Italian pouncing at the chance to relinquish himself to this choice.
It was a bad choice, ‘the wrong choice’, he thought to himself. Anthony closed his eyes and tried to picture Adam’s face, but his brain had gone fuzzy. All he was aware of was the hot hunk of masculinity pressing into him. Peter, his forbidden fruit, whose knee rubbed against Anthony’s ever-enlarging bulge as if alerting a parliamentary member to an upcoming vote. Except this time, it was Anthony’s own member springing to action.
Peter pulled away suddenly, his overly wet lips schmacking loudly as he panted. “Anthony, we can’t do this here. What if someone walks in? What if Adam walks in?”
Anthony paused, then pulled his phone out of his pocket. He calls someone. “This is the Italian Stallion. Lock down all entrances to the House of Representatives. Don’t let anyone in, or out, until I say so.” He turns his phone down on the table, then hoisted himself onto it, slowly undoing his tie.
“Stallion, eh? Is he willing to take me for a ride?” Peter winked deliciously at Anthony, a challenge burning in his eyes. Then, with one hand, he pulled Anthony in by the tie, bringing him into a kiss. With the other hand, Peter roughly palmed Anthony’s crotch. He felt the outline of Anthony’s appendage throb between his thumb and pointer finger, and he pinched it slightly. “This certainly feels like a hung parliament.”
Peter leaned into Anthony’s neck, licked a line up his neck, then whispered, “When was the last time Adam had you as rock-hard as a coal mine?” Anthony growls, knowing it’s been too long. Longer than the time it took the Labor party to backtrack on the Carbon Tax reforms of the 2010s.
But that was no excuse. “Please don’t say his name. Please just be here, now. I can’t think about…” Anthony’s face dropped slightly.
Peter pulled back, then grabbed Anthony’s chins between his fingers. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I need you to say yes to whatever we do. Anthony, do you want this?”
Anthony looked into the distance. He saw the bench in the middle row where Adam sat, saw his timid, eager outline, and the dull sadness that crawls onto the image he has of Adam. Perfect, perfect Adam. Perfect, boring Adam. He looked back to Peter, and as their eyes met, a shiver went down his spine. It wasn’t just osteoporosis. He thought this might truly be love.
“Yes. I want you to take me. Here, now, I want you to—”
Peter pounced on Anthony, their mouths engulfed like the Gulf of Mexico, and they leaned back on the table. Peter’s heavy limbs weighed upon Anthony, a heft that dissipated all of the stress and guilt held in his Prime Ministerial body. Their tongues waged war with each other, before Anthony flipped Peter over, their hands almost knocking over the Parliamentary Mace.
Anthony pinned Peter’s wrists on the table above his head. He didn’t know, truly, who was going to take the next election. What he knew, right there, right then, was that he was in control, and he would be taking Peter right there, right then. He leaned in to kiss Peter, but when Peter pulled his neck upwards, Anthony pulled away, swiping his tongue at Peter’s nose.
Peter glared at Anthony. “Oh, you’re such a tease. You’re as bad as when we tell first home buyers we might give them financial subsidies.”
Anthony flinched, remembering the person beneath him. Despite their political oppositions, they were still pulled together like magnets. Dirty, shameful, lustful magnets.
In this moment of weakness, Peter flipped Anthony again, placing himself on top of the Prime Minister. Peter ground his bony butt down on Anthony’s mound, constrained under his tailored suit pants. “The only flag I raise, apart from the true Australian flag, is yours Anthony.”
Yes, Anthony thought, yes you do. Peter slipped off the edge of the table onto his knees. Anthony sat up and cradled Peter’s face.
Peter started unzipping Anthony’s fly, beaming at the man above him, before gripping Anthony’s unleashed member like he was preparing to make a mildly racist comment at the lectern.
Anthony gazed at the mint walls surrounding them, taking in the last four years. Everything he had achieved. He recalled the memory of when he was sworn in, of when he walked down the aisle of the House of Representatives hand in hand with his partner, Adam Bandt. The first queer power couple in Parliament, but not the only queer lovers in these walls. Anthony looked down at Peter’s shiny forehead, and he knew he was a goner. ‘He may be a potato, but he’s my potato’, he thinks, as Peter finally took Anthony into his mouth. Finally, after months of campaigning and years of longing glances, he discovered bliss.
