Chapter Text
Trump: “Your in heat aren’t you,”*he growled lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest as he looked around.* “You smell delicious…”
Biden: “Y-yes Trump-kun…its just that I forgot my suppressants,”*he mumbled sheepishly, his downturned gaze cast upwards at the dominant alpha. He felt a blush spreading across his cheeks, skin burning at the sight of his virile mate.*
Trump: “I can tell—bet all the other alphas at the Outback Steakhouse can too Joe-Chan. Fuck…your trying to make me jealous on purpose aren’t you sleepy princess,”*I groaned lowly, nostrils flaring as he took in the delicate musk that emanated from Biden. It made his groin throb with anticipation, rising like a proud American flag on a steel pole. Patriotic, an unstoppable force that was threatening to burst out of his khakis at any moment.*
Biden: “I hope not, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt protecting me,”*he whispered, biting his lip as Trump’s own scent caught his senses. Making the omega’s heat worsen significantly, waves of arousal shooting down his spine making it arch down into his fertile Mesopotamian core. Eager to receive his beloved ex-presidents attentions. Scooting closer to him, he gripped his mint chip milkshake trying to hold in his lustful thoughts.*
Trump: “Please Joe don’t lie to me—I know you’d like that seeing me protect you,”*he purred, wrapping a muscular fake-tanned arm around Biden’s back and stroking his arm sending shivers down the submissive’s spine.* “Maybe I should just shove the steaks off the table and claim you…no breed you in front of everyone so they know their place,”*he smirked devilishly, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the other tables. Other alphas eyeing Biden hungrily, especially Obama-kun who looked like he wanted to pounce. Trump tightening his grip on Biden possessively at the sight of the thirsty dominants. Biden was his after all…only his to take and have young with.*
Trump: “I see how they look at you sleepy—I’ll make them know that your mine.”*He suddenly cupped his chin, cradling it in his palm and wiping the whipping cream off his cheek with a confident expression. Glancing one last time at the thin camisole Joe had donned specifically for him. His pale purplish rosebuds ripe and stiff against the silken fabric as if calling for Trump to suckle and taste. That was enough to set him off and take things a step further.*