Work Text:
Hello everyone, after reading about this situation more clearly after going through the files that were released to the public I decided to no longer write about this situation, no further docs will be posted about these individuals. I will not be deleting this fic as I see it as a piece of history and nothing that is history should be censored or removed, rather we should learn from it to do better in the future. Instead I will orphan it, you can remember me by the tag Author06 for future crack posts, and if anyone joins in and also starts using the tag then it will be a group effort and I welcome everyone with open arms.
Fic was posted in 2025 9th December
Clinton couldn't sleep that night.
The bed felt way too cold and empty, the space beside him reminding him of how lonely he really was. That indent in the matress where Trump usually slept was now entirely forgotten, the only thing left behind except multiple broken springs, was a big orange stain from Donald's self-tanner.
He traced the edges of the blotch, he could never bring himself to sleep on that side of the bed again.
Despite the hatered he felt for Trump at that moment, he also couldn't deny the love and sexual thoughts that still haunted him every day and night. No one could suck him off like he could.
As he stroked his own ass he could feel a little painful lump on it, after quickly changing the sheets, and taking a quick whiff of the shrimp print left behind he made his way to the bathroom.
Bill leaned over the toilet, ass out like a good boy ready to take it, phone in hand on selfie mode, ready to take a medical nude, just to see what that lump actually was.
It was one of those vulnerable moments in the night, where you think you're completely alone and you can relax. No one there to force a smile for, your real personality on full display.
It was so quiet in fact, that the sound of a notification was enough to startle him, which in turn made him drop his phone straight into the water below.
He wasn't expecting the notification sound to be turned on, he usually had his phone on vibrate, as he was known to mix business with pleasure. Clinton quickly dropped to his knees in front of the porcelain, plunging his hand straight into the bowl to retreat his phone. Looking at the screen he was met with a single text from Putin.
[Vladimir Putin it out shared a video]:
After clicking on the notification he was met with a video of himself, and Trump. He was sitting on the couch with his pants dropped down past his knees. Trump in between his thighs, choking out moans while his dick filled his throat.
He had seen enough, dropping his phone back down into the toilet his eyes filled with tears, that was the moment they broke up... and Putin filmed the whole thing, then as if the bastard was still hungry for drama, he sent the video to their group chat.
For half an hour he sat on the bathroom floor, curled up against the bath and crying with his head buried in his knees, ass cheeks flush with the cold white tile of the small bathroom.
Bill remembered it like it was yesterday, how they broke up over something as stupid as a nickname, if only Donald kept his mouth shut, he would have never known.
Though he couldn't help but wonder if that would have been better, to live in a happy lie like that, never knowing the truth behind that name. "Bubba"
---
Almost everyone had a drink in hand, the smell of booze was present in almost every room of the house, the only time it wasn't was because it was overpowered by the smell of puke.
It was the biggest party of the month, the music was loud, the lights were flashing, leaders were boozing, on days like these leaders like him should have been burning in hell.
While Clinton sat on the couch talking to Putin, he could see a orange mass of lard slowly moving towards him on all fours, he couldn't lie, it was a massive turn on to see those folds of his rubbing up against the carpet and leaving an orange snail trail. As soon as he was in front of Clinton, he quickly unbuckled his belt and forced his pants down to his knees in one swift motion, he clearly had experience with this.
The only thing that seemed to disturb him was the position, he quickly asked Bill if he could lean on the table in front of them, he obliged. Standing up and throwing aside multiple red cups meticulously set up for a game of beer pong, he laid himself chest down on the table as Donald sat on his knees under it.
For Clinton it felt like everyone else in the room disappeared and left room for just them two, every sense of his was overwhelmed by pleasure, he couldn't see Donald's figure from his current position, he just wished he could see all those rolls jiggling like a water bed as he threw his neck up, then down.
After what felt like hours of slobbering on that hog, Trump had to pull away to breathe, and as he kissed his top he couldn't help but let a few words escape his lips.
"You're doing so good for me Bubba"
•••
A cold sweat washed over him in an instant, those were not the words he expected to hear from him, those were not the words he wanted to hear...
The conversation he had a while back with Vladimir came rushing back into his mind, he didn't want to believe it back then, but every detail points to it being true.
Clinton remembers Putin telling him that the name "Bubba" was not meant for him, it was just a slip of the tongue, that he was just using him to get over Kirk.
At the time he thought that Putin was just trying to get under his skin and ruin the one good thing his life, though now he knew that it was a warning.
The quickly backed away from trump, and pulled his pants back up and over his shrimp, then in a moment of blind rage he threw the table that was covering trump, away.
"Who the fuck Is bubba?!"
He yelled with enough force to turn the living room as quiet as a river in june. Trump could only stared at him wide eyed, with a dumbfounded expression and with cum dropping from his mouth.
Clinton yelled again "who's Bubba?!"
---
After he calmed down Clinton was finally able to pull himself off of the bathroom floor, he had no more tears left to cry.
He leaned over the sink and let out the contents of his stomach in absolute disgust, the only light in the bathroom being the phone in the toilet bowl, was not enough to illuminate his red face, stained with tears that glistened with each drop.
He still couldn't believe he let that Mr. Hands wannabe get his stained lips around him.
He dried his phone off, set it to vibrate, and made his way back into his bedroom, then turned his mattress upside down so Trumps indent turned into a pump that resembled a person. As he hugged if for comfort he could hear his phone vibrate with another text, it was hard to read what it said through teary eyes but he pushed through.
[Vladimir Putin it out sent a message]:
"I told you Bubba was a horse."