Elizabeth looks at her husband with a slightly amused expression. He's embarrassed. His cheeks are red, and his head is hung. And she can't believe that her forward-thinking, non-toxic-masculinity husband is not only upset but embarrassed about something so trivial. She knew something was off yesterday. He ran on the treadmill in the White House gym in the morning like he always does. But when she saw him last night, he had been pouting ever so slightly. This morning, he had insisted on a run outside. The Secret Service threw a fit as they do anytime one of them wants to go somewhere. But Elizabeth reminded them it was Sunday morning, and no one could say no to a Presidential order. She could feel that Henry needed a real run. She hadn't known why until he got back to the residence sweaty and red and looking as if he'd shit himself in public.
"I lost thirty-seven seconds on my mile." He mumbles, "Thirty-seven seconds over military standard."
"What?" She puts her iPad down. She reads the PDB on Sundays if nothing catastrophic is happening.
"I wasn't sure. You can't accurately track mile time on a treadmill, but I was right. I lost thirty-seven seconds." His arms cross over his defined chest as he falls onto the bench at the foot of their bed.
"And this embarrasses you?" She questions slowly, almost in disbelief. She knows Henry prides himself on his physicality. The Marine Corps trains that into a person hard. Since she took office, they have both put extra effort into taking care of themselves. She is the leader of the free world and believes she should be healthy, but there is the part of her that also doesn't want to hear the comments about the office aging her. She tries to ignore the internalized misogyny, though.
Her husband nods. He doesn't lift his head.
"Seriously?" She tries to keep the smile off her face.
"It's not funny." He pouts. He's pouting, and Elizabeth can't help but find it endearing. She gets up from her chair and kneels in front of him. He won't look at her.
"So you can't run a mile as fast as you could thirty years ago, so what?" she says, gently resting her hands on his biceps.
"I'm out of shape." He says, shaking his head. Though he's not looking at her, Elizabeth gives him a harder look. If he is out of shape, there is not a single person on earth who is in shape. His body is still solid, functional muscle. The only thing different about him is that he's a little less defined. She knows him, though. This isn't about not being able to run. This is about getting older. She cups his face and forces him to meet her eyes.
"You know it doesn't matter." She pecks his lips, "It was thirty-seven seconds," she whispers against his lips, and his face is warm and flushed.
"Thirty-seven seconds," He sighs, and the words come out almost as a whimper. She shakes her head slightly and then decides to change tactics.
"You know, what you're still really good at?" She whispers huskily, running her hands from his cheeks to his neck and arms and finally holding his hands in hers.
"What's that?" He asks with a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Well, there are some activities in which lasting longer is much appreciated." She whispers in his ear. She feels his hands squeeze hers.
"Oh, is that so?" He whispers back, his voice low and rumbling.
"Yeah," She says before kissing him. Her lips are warm and insistent.
"Hmm," he hums, wrapping his arms around her. "And what are those activities?" He teases.
"Oh, like..." She kisses his lips. "Let's see." She leans in so close her breath on his neck sends goosebumps to his core, "Fucking me." She breathes in his ear.
"Fuck." He groans as his wife climbs into his lap. Her legs straddle his hips.
"Is this what you had in mind when you came in her pouting?" She asks innocently. He grabs her hips and presses his hardness against her. She giggles and then nibbles at his neck lightly. She never gets tired of his salty post-workout skin. He is still breathing heavily from his run. His heart rate is skyrocketing as she bites his ear and sucks on his pulse point.
"I don't know." He gasps. He truly did not, but he figures that no longer matters. Not when she's sitting on his lap, her knees are on either side of his hips, and his hand is resting under her Frampton t-shirt on the bare skin of her lower back. He pulls her closer and kisses her. He never gets tired of the taste of her. He has only kissed her for the last thirty-seven years, and every time is as thrilling and exciting as the first.
"We can make this part of the new workout plan," She says, grinding her hips down onto him. She smirks when she feels him growing hard beneath her. He groans as she grinds down again.
"Yes, I like the sound of that." He moans. His hands slip to her ass, pulling her hips as close as he can. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him. Their lips move against each other in a familiar rhythm. She plays with the short hair at the nape of his neck as he runs his hands up her back, trying to encourage the shirt off her body. She obliges and throws the shirt to the side. His hands cup her breasts. She sighs against his mouth as he kneads her flesh skillfully.
"Seeing the President of the United States breasts never gets old," he says. It's not often her job gets referenced when they're alone together, but every once in a while, he seems to remember how much it turns him on. Henry always feels a weird surge of masculinity when he knows he's the only person who gets the leader of the free world like this. Naked and vulnerable and exposed. Sure, there is something to be said about possessiveness, but there is also something to be said about trust. Elizabeth trusts him, and that's sexier than anything. He reaches around her to unclasp her bra, and he pulls it off her shoulders, his fingertips running lightly over her arms as he goes. Her body trembles, and she can feel her arousal building. He leans forward and licks one of her nipples, and then sucks it into his mouth. His hand pinches the other one, and she feels his cock twitch underneath her.
Henry," She whimpers, and he flicks his tongue over her nipple.
She can feel him growing harder under her, and she starts to rock her hips. He moans, and the sound vibrates against her skin. He expertly and gently maneuvers them to the floor. Elizabeth lies on the rug and pulls him to her, kissing him. She can taste the salt of his sweat, and his weight is on her as his hands roam her body. Henry gets his hands on her wrists, and soon enough, they are above her head. Their eyes meet in an intense gaze, and he smirks at her.
"Hi," he whispers.
"Hi," she says, and her hips buck against him, wanting some friction. He chuckles and moves to kiss her neck.
"Someone's impatient," He smiles, "Should we tell the world how impatient the President gets when she wants fucked?" He kisses her, and it's a sloppy, wet kiss, and she whimpers against his mouth.
"Please, Henry," Her voice is full of want and desperation, and it only spurs him on. There is something about her desperation that always makes him want to draw it out, so he kisses her neck and pulls her earlobe into his mouth, sucking for a few moments.
"Tell me what you want," He whispers.
She can't help the way she whines and squirms beneath him, "I need you, baby," she pants, and she's rubbing herself against him. She makes every single decision for the country, sometimes for the world. But when she's with him, there is little better than the feeling of being at his mercy.
"That's my girl," he smiles. He sits up on his knees and helps her pull her leggings and underwear off. His thumbs massage her hip bones, and he loves the way she whimpers. "I love it when you beg." He kisses her.
"Please, I'm begging you, fuck me." Her words are barely audible, and she can feel the wetness pooling in her panties. She has never been ashamed of her sex drive or her enjoyment of sex. And she is not afraid to ask for what she wants. But Henry's teasing is enough to drive her wild.
"You're begging, huh?" He slides her pants down her legs, "The President of the United States is begging me to fuck her." He continues to tease. His voice is light, and his hand runs down the valley between her breasts, "Tell me what you want. I need to hear you say it." He leans down to suck on the skin right below her belly button.
"Fuck, baby." She whines. He kisses the line of skin just above where her sweatpants rest.
"That's not what I asked." His hands grip her thighs, and his nails bite into her skin. And then rush up to pull her sweats and panties down in one swift go. Her legs spread of their own volition, and his mouth is on her knee, sucking and nipping.
"Please," her voice breaks.
"Use your words." He commands. He runs his tongue up the inside of her thigh. She can feel the wetness seeping out of her. His breath is warm and it's driving her crazy. He nips at her thighs, the only place he can safely leave marks nowadays. She's writhing beneath him, and he knows exactly what he's doing, slowing time down for her and, in turn, with every moan and whimper, with every word out of her, building his ego back up.
"Baby, please." She begs, "Fuck me." She's not above begging.
"Hmm," he hums against her skin, and she feels his breath on her. He runs his tongue painfully slow over her slit, and her breath hitches. He does it again and again. Each time, he teases her more. Going just into her folds and then going back to her thighs.
"More, please." She whines. She is trying not to beg, but it's getting harder to focus on anything except her husband's mouth and her throbbing pussy. "God, please." She groans.
He smiles as he wraps his arms around her thigh and presses down on her pelvis with his hands, locking her in place.
"I've got you," He promises. And then he dives into her, eating her out with the same precision and care he has shown the world. His tongue laps her up, and she writhes and whimpers under him. His lips latch around her clit, and his tongue works magic over the sensitive nerves. She gasps, and her fingers tangle in his hair.
"Fuck, Henry," she pants, and she's already feeling the pleasure coiling in her belly. Henry knows her body so well that he can choose the exact amount of time it will take to get her off. He can do it in five minutes or twenty-five, or he can drag it out for hours. He can get her to beg him to stop because the pleasure is too much. And today, he chooses to drag it out. Her hands are in his hair, tugging and pulling, and his tongue is everywhere, and then right before she falls over the edge, he stops. She lets out a sound that is a mixture of a whine and groan.
"Remember when you said this wasn't a hobby?" He asks, his voice reeking with mischief. He loves to bring that up to her every chance he gets, especially now that she's POTUS and it is the only hobby she has anymore. He knows she loves the way he fucks her, and he likes to tease her. He's still between her legs, his lips swollen and wet. She tries to catch her breath, and he looks at her with a smirk. "How're you feeling about that now?"
"Are you serious right now?" she groans and tries to buck her hips trying to buck back to his mouth, but he was prepared for that, and his arms tightened around her thighs.
He shrugs and runs his tongue over her entrance, teasing the idea of what she wants. "Tell me what you want, Elizabeth," He whispers against her center, his eyes locked on hers.
"I want you," She pants, "I need you."
"And what is it I can give you?" He asks. He's waiting for her to get annoyed and quit playing along, and then he'll give her what she wants. But right now, the power dynamic is turning him on, and he's getting a high watching her squirm.
"You're the worst," She groans and lets her head fall back onto the rug. He crawls up her body so his face is directly above hers. He kisses her deeply, his tongue massaging hers. She loves tasting herself on him, and he knows this. He kisses her until her brain is fuzzy, and then he pulls back.
"What was that?" He whispers.
"Oh, come on, babe," she whimpers. She can feel his erection big and hard against her pelvis.
"If you don't want this, I'll go." He whispers, pressing his hips against hers slightly. "So tell me exactly what it is you want." He says. Forcing his WASPy wife into explicit language is one of his favorite pastimes.
"Fine." She groans, and his hips buck. "I want your cock." She pants.
"Mhmm," he hums, "There it is. The only question now is, am I going to give it to you?" He pecks her lips, and she tangles her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. Her tongue is demanding, and he lets her dominate the kiss. His hand slides up her torso and cups her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
"I love you." He tells her as he pulls away, and his hand is between them, and his fingers are inside her, and her entire body jerks, and her back arches off the ground.
"Fuck," She moans, and she's clenching around his fingers. He curls them up and slowly fucks her with them.
"God, you're so hot." He mumbles into her shoulder. His thumb presses into her clit, and she's moaning again.
"Please, babe," she pleads, "So close."
He reads her body. He feels the way she clenches around his fingers and the way her hips try to fuck his hand, and he pulls out.
"Not yet." He whispers, and her head rolls to the side. She is a mess of arousal and sweat, and her chest is heaving. He knows she's aching for him. He can see the desperation as her eyes open, trying to give him a hard stare. It comes out as a pout instead.
"You're the worst," She huffs.
"I can live with that." He says as he kisses her jaw, and his fingers are teasing her entrance again. She sighs, and her hips move to meet him. He's got her pinned. She's trapped between the floor and his weight, and the sensation is both exciting and terrifying. "How badly do you want it, Elizabeth?" He asks his tone a mix between teasing and lust. He circles her clit lightly only once.
"Desperately," Her voice is shaking, and he rubs another light circle. She can't help but finally give all the way in. "Please give me your cock, baby," she's whining, and he can't resist that. He can't resist her.
"God, I love you," he says, and he's got his dick in his hand, and he's running the tip through her folds. He smirks as she meets his eyes, and she's nodding. He pushes in, and he's so painfully hard. She's wet and slick and hot, and the warmth envelopes him. She's whimpering beneath him, and his mouth is on hers, and he can't get enough. He rests his forehead on hers as he pounds into her, creating a wonderful dichotomy between the gentle softness of his head on hers and the rough thrusts. She's moaning, and her hands are on his biceps. He's hitting her in all the right places, and he's making her feel so good. Her eyes flutter closed, and her hips buck against him.
She can feel the pleasure of building and building once more. She loves this moment, all of these moments. There is her and him, and nothing else exists. Just two souls connected.
"Henry," she cries, and his hips stutter.
"Babe," he groans, and her hands are clawing at his back, and he can't stop the grunts and the groans. Her hips work, meeting his thrust for thrust as she grinds against his pelvis. She's so close.
"Oh, God," she cries, and he's slamming into her. Her legs wrap around his waist, and she's clinging to him, and she's crying out his name, and he's right there with her. And he feels her claw into his back as she buries a scream into his neck. Her walls spasm around him, and she mumbles incoherently as she rides a few aftershocks.
"Fuck," he groans, and he can feel himself pulsing. His fingers dig into her hips, his face is pressed into her neck, and her arms are wrapped around him. And he takes what he needs to get there. He comes hard and deep. His entire body is trembling.
"Mmm, baby," She murmurs, her hand rubbing his back as they both struggle to catch their breath. She runs her fingers through his hair, and he peppers her neck with light kisses.
"I love you." She whispers, and she's tracing circles on his back. He's lying on her, and he's a dead weight, and she's still trembling. And the moment is so wonderfully slow and relaxed.
"I love you, too. So much," He says, pecking her lips before pulling out of her and flopping down next to her. She snuggles into his chest, and his arms wrap around her.
"Well, how was that for adding to your workout?" She laughs, and he pulls her close. She tucks her body against his, and his hand strokes her hair.
"I'm glad I can still be useful." He mumbles. She's a little taken aback by his words.
"Hey, are you okay?" She asks, sitting up on her elbow and looking at him. His face is back to the way it looked when he walked into the residence. She knows him well enough to know when he is thinking too hard about something. "Talk to me." She whispers.
He shrugs, and he's quiet.
"I feel useless." He finally admits, "My wife is the President of the United States, and what do I do? I can't even run anymore,"
She takes a breath. He can run, just not as fast as he used to. And she's always wondered when her job would start to weigh on him, but it hasn't until now. She sits up, and her hand is resting on his chest, and she can feel his heart pounding.
"Henry, listen to me," She says. "Your value is not measured by how fast you can run a mile. You're not useless. I love you, and if it wasn't for you... All your support and all your love. Your pep talks and those moments you remind me to be compassionate. I couldn't do this without you." She leans over and kisses him. "I need you, okay? We're partners in this. Our marriage keeps me sane. I can't imagine doing this without you. You keep me grounded, and you make me a better person. So you are far from useless. I never want to hear you say that again." She kisses him softly. It's not often that she is the one who needs to reassure him, and she realizes just how much she appreciates his strength, his calmness, and his confidence.
"Besides, if you're really mad about being supposedly less than other men. Just think, there is not a man in this country who isn't jealous of the fact that the most powerful woman in the world gets on her knees for you." She kisses him again, and this time, it's a hungry kiss.
He wraps his arms around her and holds her close.
"I love you," He murmurs into her hair, and she snuggles closer to him, "And I'm holding you to that blow job later," He says.
She laughs and nods, "Anything to keep my First Gentleman happy."
"That is your only job." He jokes, barely able to keep his face straight.
"Well, that and being the President and trying to keep the world order from imploding."
"I think you've got it all handled." He tells her. They lay together for a few minutes, and she's enjoying the silence and the peace. Neither of them get enough of it anymore. They can wrap themselves in this little bubble of domesticity, and it is a luxury they do not take for granted. The day will start soon, as her job doesn't have any true days off, and the world is constantly spinning. She sighs, kisses him one more time, and sits up.
"I love you," She says, "But duty calls."
"I love you too, baby. Give them hell." He watches her walk toward the bathroom and wonders how the hell he got so lucky.