My Dearest : Putin x Obama

Hi hi I understand that it's 2018 and President Trump is, well, the president now. I just really wanted to create this as it's my ultimate OTP. I can not sTAND Trump and Putin. Poo-Poo deserves better and Obama meets those qualities. Also some of the things I type might be idk "offensive" (?) to some so if you see something you dislike leave while you can.

Sighing, Obama rested his right plush cheek upon his soft right palm. Normally he would be active in the conversation, but he hardly had any sleep the previous night and quite frankly didn't care about what they were saying. "They" being other world leaders of course. Yes, he was in another meeting. This time they were all seated at a round dark oak table that had been polished days before they arrived. Usually they'd all be sitting at a long rectangle table but they were in Russia and everything was different in Russia.

They had fallen off track of the original topic like usual and went on to talk about silly unimportant things like health care that's actually affordable and America's rocky relationship with other countries who were on the verge of starting a war (possibly because of Americans and their so called "oil obsession" but us freedom folks tend to haha push that topic away like an unwanted child and *just recently* those pesky spicy beans wearing sombreros).

His eyelids began to droop, and the warm room made it worse, embracing his body in a welcoming hug, whispering promises of a nice rest in his ears. He scanned the room pretending to pay attention so he wouldn't be called out by the others. That is, until something caught his eyes whilst looking. That something being the whitest man on the entire planet. Obama whipped his head around to face the figure just to make sure his plump luscious eyes weren't playing tricks. He couldn't help but stare in awe at the tall ice sickle. Hell, the man could've been mistaken for a ghost if he hadn't looked twice!

Obama couldn't help but let his eyes roam over to the man's rump, and oh was it glorious!! His tight elastic jeans put those round puppies on a display case just for him, and the light hit his muscular body just right. His wooden chair that he was sitting on pushed those mouthwatering mountain of cheeks up. The man leaned closer to the table and flexed his arms, oblivious to Obama's intense stares. He licked his lips, dampening those perfect juicy kissable devices. Obama started to drool and glanced at his name tag. It displayed a name; Putin.

"Putin..." Obama thought outloud.

The name rolled over his tongue as he shut his eyes closed, not wanting to ruin the moment. His pants began to restrict, forcing him to shift in his chair. Unfortunately, Putin heard him and tilted his head at the American leader. Obama's eyes fluttered open and blushed when he saw the sexy man looking back at him. He gave a short wave as an attempt to cover up his embarrassment, and it worked. The Russian nodded back and looked down at his notes. All went back to normal. Or so he thought. He didn't notice the Ruski sneaking glances at him, examing his body and day dreaming of how good he'd look in a thong.

After hours of boring conversations about those damn starving kids in Africa, they all took a 5 minute break to stretch. Obama yawned, covering his mouth his his right hand and leaned back in the chair. After he had finished, Obama examined the hand that had covered up his yawn. He smiled, as he loved this hand dearly. He did everything with it. Played tennis with it, bowled with it, wrote with it, jacked off with it, he did everything possible with it! And just recently he received a pleasurable manicure.

His grabby devices often got dry and of course, it made it harder to do things like carefully opening the mail and gracefully fapping under the desk. He was a man of many proud achievements, and he's got to say, his proudest was when he got off during a huge public ceremony when he met up with a powerful leader. No one ever heard, saw, or smelt anything. And that last one was especially hard for him.