#obamney

https://www.wattpad.com/story/109870064-the-president-and-his-governor-au

Alone, somewhere in the darkness of the night that had snuck upon him, a man sat. He waited. Biting at his nails, which were already short and worn from so much anxiety over the past many months, he sat on the lone bench. It was a park; one he used to come to often for giving speeches and such. Nothing special, until just three months ago. That was when he first found his feelings for the man he now waited on. And then... There. In the short distance. A lone figure, outlined in the pale moonlight, the soft chocolate skin just barely visible from this far away giving away the persons identity perfectly. That skin he so longed to caress. He couldn't exactly see the man's eyes, but he knew they were looking at each other. Slowly, but surely, the man came closer to him, and closer, until there were but a few mere feet apart. "Mitt- what are you doing here...?" The sweet, deep voice spoke first, shattering the silence. Mitt flinched under the sudden exposure to his voice. They were alone now, in the dead of night, and he found himself feeling a bit more courageous than usual. Perhaps it was the cloak of darkness that was over his face, or the suddenly overpowering urge he now felt to reach out and touch the stubble on his chin. Either way, he knew he couldn't leave himself unknown. After tonight, he would have admitted this heavy burden of a secret. "Barack... I..." He blushed like a schoolboy, feeling sheepish now. We're did that abrupt burst of courage go? Now he was beginning to regret coming out here at all. He didn't actually expect Barack to be here, after all. Half of the courage must have been from Mitt believing that this man wouldn't even show up here at all. Barack furrowed his brow in puzzlement. He cold see the intelligent gears in the mans mind working. "You... You're blushing..." Mitt touched a cool-fingered hand to his cheek, and feeling the heat, felt his rouge deepen. Mitt closed his eyes softly, letting a small sigh escape. "Barack... I need to-" Barack suddenly raised a hand- oh, God, that strong, age hand, that could do so much to him - and silenced Mitt where he was. Mitt pressed his lips together firmly, not wanting any sounds to escape that may give away his feelings before he could admit them. The complicated feelings that had churned within his chest for so long, the choices he has been forced to make in order to keep them a secret from the world. In the beginning, he hated himself for feeling this, but after time went on, and he studied the way Barack moved, spoke, breathed... He came to love the way he felt. Nothing could compare to him. "Mitt... What are you trying to say?" He asked. Barack's shoulders visibly dropped, as if he was in sudden realization. Did he know? Could he...? No. There was no possible way that Barack Obama could have feelings for him... Could there? Did he even know what he was getting into by thinking these taboo thoughts? Mitt blanched, struggling for words. This was it: his big chance. He could finally admit his feelings. This opportunity would never come again, and he knew that. This was perfect. Without a second thought, Mitt closed his eyes and exclaimed, "Will you push me on the swing, Barack?" He asked, gesturing to the swing set, flustered beyond repair. Mitt could hardly breathe, his heart throbbing in his throat, hands visibly shaking as he motioned to the play set in the park. Barack looked confused (disappointed?) and after a moment, nodded. They walked over to the set, and Mitt sat on the purple one, wrapping his calloused fingers around the chains. So small in his hands, so cold. It was a reminder that this was reality, that he was here right now, alone in this desolate park at night, with the man he so passionately longed for. His nemesis. Light of his life, fire in his loins. His souls song. So out of reach were words for Mitt then. As Barack gently pushed him on the swing, lean fingers soft as they touched his back through the lavish suit material, a million thoughts raced through Mitt's mind. What if he couldn't do it? What if the courage would, like it did at the podium in front of all America, escape him? He backed down once for Barack, how could he again? Even more frightening; how could Mitt admit love to another man when he so adamantly proclaimed it was sick and wrong? A minute passed in silence, though Mitt's head was loud with angry and agitated voices. "Tell me what you have to say." Barack spoke, breaking the silence, and Mitt flinched. Oh, that demanding voice. So powerful. Mitt would do anything if those soft brown lips ordered it. This was it. He had to do it. There was no leaving here tonight without saying it aloud. Mitt dreamed of this moment for so long, but it was so different experiencing it. His throat swelled with fear and excitement. "I feel something." He blurted, unsure how to state his emotions in words. "When I see you." "Competitive feelings?" Barack queried, a little confused, as he pushed Mitt again. Mitt shook his head, staring forward, knowing that if he looked at Barack he might fall to pieces. "No, Barack. Different feelings. Feelings I've never experienced before." He replied. "Not even with Ann." The last part was hushed, frightened. As Mitt descended back, Barack's hands did not touch him. They were gone. Mitt swung slowly forward, teetering like that. Hot tears welled in his eyes. He felt his usually austere expression melt into disparity an humiliation. Mitt cried. Suddenly, a hand touched his face. His eyes snapped open, only to see that beautiful chocolate skin, decadent in the pale moonlight, brown eyes wide an focused on Mitt's. "Bara--" "Shhh." Hushed Barack, wiping away the tears gently, like the soft caress of a lover. "Don't say a word, Mitt." He leaned closer, and Mitt's heart skipped a beat. Carefully, as if test his advancement, ask permission, Barack touched his soft lips to Mitt's eager supple ones. It was beautiful. Mitt heard the angels sing, and he could help but laugh a little in his mind at how controversial that was. "I've waited to hear you say that, Mitt." Barack laughed breathily, hand caressing his lovers face. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long." Mitt whispered.

I opened a fanfiction Wattpad account with Emily! You guys should check it out.

my friend told me to make the most american thing i could think of in photoshop and this was the glorious result