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Romans, Brothers in Arms

Summary:

Donald Trump wakes up in a strange room, with Elon Musk beside him. He tries to recall what happened the night before

this is incredibly short because if I wrote anymore, I think I would actually vomit

please excuse my shitty writing style i wrote this at like 1 am

Notes:

the tags are lying it wasn't not a dare. I asked of my own free will and one person said yes with a /j that I am choosing to ignore

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Donald sat up, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t in his room. His room was bigger than this, had a big TV on the wall. Where…he looked next to him. “Oh…Elon…,” he remembered now. Last night, with Elon and Joe, at the celebration Musk held, celebrating Donald's new term as president.

Trump bet he could drink Musk under the table. Yeah…not the best idea. Hopefully none of the press saw him go down. In the corner of his eye, he could see Biden glaring at him, swirling a martini and having a talk with Jill. She rolled her eyes and ran off. Joe made his way over to them, heels clicking on the floor. “Joerr~,” Donald slurred his words. “Com’ uner ‘ere will ya?” Elon laughed, falling on the floor. Joe raised his eyebrows but came under the table anyway. “You’ll be in trouble if anyone sees you here.” Donald grabbed him. “It don’t matter, Melanie's probably gettin t’gether with Jll a’way.” Donald put his hand on Joe's shoulder and..

What else? Don could remember snippets. In Elon's room, drinking champagne. They would die of alcohol poisoning one day. How did they get there? In the jacuzzi, laughing. Oh the paparazzi would have a field day. A pull on his tie, falling onto the mattress. Shit.

Familiar steps echoed throughout the penthouse. Donald looked over and saw Biden wiping his damp head with a towel. He flicked him. “Move over will you?” Trump looked up at him blankly but moved out of the way so Joe could sit down.

“I-I’m going to go brush my teeth,” he said in a daze, but Elon turned over and pulled on his hand. “Don’t...don't leave me,” he whispered, softly.

Joe started laughing. “Ah, going completely against what you campaigned for, a classic.” He kissed Don's hand. “Wouldn’t want to get up now, Musk might throw a fit.”

They sat there for a while. Trump lost track of the time. Joe propped up against the pillows, Don looking out the window, Elon clinging to his arm. Biden flung his legs off the bed. “I'll leave,” he says curtly, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Good luck, Mr. President. The country's yours now.”

Notes:

Thank you Ayanna