Joe Biden x Donald Trump Fanfic

One Shot

Donald Trump shuffled toward the entrance of his suite with considerable effort, swiping at his brow and rubbing his fingers together in vexation.

All he could think about was Joe Biden's clever, biting remarks about his person and his dress shirt, which has gotten too small for him over the course of a month and now chafed uncomfortably around his shoulders and his stomach.

Surely he had won the debate, he thought as he tightened himself around the plug that his wife had wedged inside of him; he was louder than good ol' Sleepy Joe, and if that is not an indication of winning, then nothing is.

He stopped just outside of his room and attempted to fish out his key card from his breast pocket, resisting a strong urge to tear out his hair in vexation as he realized that he had forgotten the damned thing in the room.

His secret agents stopped a couple respectful feet behind him, the silence felt almost mocking.

He turned around.

"What is your name again, Demetri? Surely you have a copy?" He said, the strength in his words petered out as he scrutinized the expressionless faces of the men before him.

Though they were dressed impeccably, Don could not find Demetri – or whatever that secret fanfiction poster's name was – among the men before him.

Odd.

Did they give him a memo regarding this change?

He almost stumbled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Startled, he spun around and found himself face to face with Joe Biden.

Oh, the bastard's followed him all the way up here.

Don began. "Listen, mister, I don't know what you are doing following me to my room, and if you don't stop my man will...."

Joe laughed.

"Men, stand down and stand by," Joe said with a drawl.

Don's tiny pig eyes widened with surprise, but he swallowed all insults and protests bubbling at the back of his throat as soon as he felt something resembling the muzzle of a handgun wedged under his collar and into the back of his neck.

Don dared not to yell and merely gasped as he felt Joe's perspiring hand crept up his wrinkly auburn neck, tugging at his tie.

Speechless at the scene unfolding before him, he squeezed his eyes shut as his remaining braincell struggle to come up with something, anything that can make Joe stop.

Joe handed his gun to the nearest agent. "Keep your eyes on him, folks."

Don almost sagged in relief, but tensed at another hand tracing a careful line from his trembling chest to his half-awakened member and froze as he sensed Joe nuzzling into the top of Don's head, burying his nose into Don's flowing blonde curls.

Joe sighed and sniffed at his hair; it was a harsh, rattling sound that made Don quiver and whimper.

"Will you shut up, man?" Joe said, tilting his head up and crushing his lips into Don's with such a passion that made Don's knees weak with desire, a lust that crackles at the point of contact and shots down to his groin, a rippling pleasure unlike any he had felt before in his senile spine.

He moaned into the kiss and lifted a tiny orange hand, carding his sausage fingers in Joe's hair as the kiss deepens, eagerly drinking in the taste of his biggest political rival— peppermint, moth balls, and something that is so deliciously and uniquely Joe that made him shudder at every flick and twirl of Joe's tongue.