Drew Pavlou turned, cutting down another CCP agent with his katana. After his adventures being arrested by the british police in front of the Chinese Embassy in London for holding a BLANK! Sign, and returning from his undercover mission ferrying supplies to the Ukraine army, it was finally time to return to his love.
He ducked away from the spray of blood, as another of the CCPâs ninjas jumped towards him and was effortlessly decapitated. He nodded once, stoically, and began striding away from the Union complex. He passed the grassy knoll, nodding once to the Union banner erected there.
After passing under the sandstone arch into the great court, he passed by the SAlt encampment, protesting period products being allowed on campus. The Trotskites were all screaming incoherently, as was their daily ritual, in between bullying disabled kids, arguing against safe spaces, and recruiting new members to their cult.
It felt good to be home, after he had been banned for four years thanks to Chinaâs influence on UQ. They thought they had one, but little did they know, other Drew Pavlous would take his place. After all, he had a stable and genius strategy. Wasnât Drew Pavlou more of a state of mind, anyway? Regardless, it was time to reunite with the man who had always supported him. Finally, he had passed through the Great Court. He prowled down the walkway, to the leopard patterned limousine that had just pulled up. Stepping over the discarded copies of Semper on the ground, he picked one up, and smiled. At last, true literature. The door of the limousine opened, and an aged head in a white cowboy hat poked out.
âOi, Drew! Get in boy. Itâs time to party!â The man said, a twisted smile crossing his face. Drew looked at The Honorable Bob Katter Jr, and almost broke into a run as he met the man, and embraced him, wrapping his arms around Bob Katterâs leathery soldiers. The other Drew Pavlous may be running for the UQU presidency in his name, all for that sweet sweet senate seat, but only he would gain the ultimate price.
The love of the soon to be Emperor of Queensland.
Bob Katter slid over in the seat, and Drew settled in beside him, leaning his head against the manâs shoulder. He inhaled deeply, embracing the scent of the manâs aftershave, gum trees, old farms and young dogs. As the Limousine began to drive, Drew leaned over, and sensually placed his hand on Bobâs upper thigh. Bob turned, and he felt the old manâs mouth press to Drewâs neck. His lips massaged the contours of his neck, and his long tongue began to run over the skin. Instantly, the sucking began like a Wertheim 7 Series Bagged Hoover Vacuum Cleaner, he could already feel the bruise of the hickey begin to form.
Drew reached down his hand, and began to caress the hard bulge in Katterâs pants. He undid the manâs brown belt, and zipped open the fly. Obviously, the man wore no underwear. He inhaled the husky musk wafting off the now revealed manhood. It was magnificently long and turgidly erect. Cut, of course, as all good men should be, and tanned from Katterâs many days gardening nude. He bent down, and placed his mouth over the phallus, sour precum sparking against his tongue. He let out a soft moan.
He was addicted to that Bob Kattermine. A godly feeling began to burn through his body, crashing waves of golden heat washing through him. This is what he had been waiting for, all those years. Why he had fought so hard for a seat on the UQ senate. To gain the respect, and ultimately passion, of the beautiful raw instrument of manly charisma between his lips.
It turned out that he didnât need to accomplish any of that to prove himself. Just being himself was enough to deserve his love and heat.
In Bobâs words, homosexuality may just be a fashion trend, but there was no sweeter love.
âMmm, boy, it may just be that I grew up in Kennedy, but I had never seen or heard of a homosexual person until I was 50. But now, with youâĻâ Bob Katter broke into a moan, as Drew ran his tongue up the Australian parliamentâs longest actively serving member. Suddenly, there was a thump against the window of the car. Drew looked up, briefly pausing in his ministrations.
It was another CCP agent! Well, his Katana was still strapped to his back, dripping with blood, but he wouldnât need it. His many fans called him the worldâs greatest lover for a reason, although none of them had personal experience. He was strictly monogamous, and only had eyes for his Katty. Regardless, it was time, as the agent drew his silenced side arm, and began peppering the window with bullets. The bulletproof glass shook, but held firm against the onslaught. He immediately returned to Katterâs cock, and wrapped his lips around it, plunging downwards. He felt the manâs tip violate the back of his throat, and he gave a soft moan in pleasure, as he reached out his other hand to fondle the manâs leathery ballsack. After a few short moments, Bob groaned a noise he knew all too well.
Drew quickly withdrew his head, and ducked into the footwell of the limo, landing next to the formal black loafers. He threw one arm over his ear, arching out another to grip the base of Bobâs dick, aiming it at the agent still fruitlessly trying to break through the window. Drew winced as the loud boom sounded, as litres of watery dark grey cum shot out at supersonic speed. It pierced the window effortlessly, shattering it outwards and catching the assassin right in the chest. The man was blown right off the side of the car, carried through the air, before finally landing with a splash in the Brisbane river, as a spattering of Bobâs come rained down around him.
Drew looked up, as Bob leaned back, basking in the afterglow of the orgasm. He sat up, moving his head into the position to slurp the last of that sweet ânâ sour sauce off of Katterâs prodigious member. Finally, he looked up, meeting the manâs deep brown eyes, shimmering with passion.
It hadnât been long, but it was time.
âBob, I have to finally tell you. I love you. I always have.â
Drewâs breath hitched. Would the older man return his affections? It was something he had only dared to hope for in his wildest wet dreams, but it seemed like now was the time. He had taken the plunge off the metaphorical Eleanor Schonell bridge, all he could do is hope he didnât land on a passing boat.
Bob returned his smile at last, looking down at the sweet supplicant between his legs. âDrew, my boy, I love you too.â he said with his characteristic rasp. âBut, what we need to focus on IS THAT EVERY THREE MONTHS, A PERSON IS TORN TO PIECES BY A CROCODILE IN NORTHERN QUEENSLAND.â
Drew gave a sweet sigh. That was just like the man he loved. Always focused on the big picture problems. Basking in the warmth of the passion between the two of them, he laid his head on the manâs cheap chinos, and began drift off to sleep. He was at peace.