The Scent of Passion - Donald Trump x Joe Biden

~ Chapter One ~

The brakes of Donald's father's seasoned Subaru squeak as the wheels slow into a stationary position.

Well,

Donald thinks to himself.

This is it.

Ahead of them, a beautiful two story house. The blue paint of the siding is muffled by years of direct sun and moss from the trees. The porch gives way to the sidewalk which is soon met with an aged picket fence that would benefit from some power washing. The sidewalk is cracked in some places, weeds growing from between the two slabs. The house matches the rest of the neighborhood.

"Your grandfather bought his first home in this same neighborhood." His dad breaks the silence, turning the key and shutting off the engine. The sound of gravel ticking from the tires is all that remains.

This neighborhood peaked back then, Donald can only assume. By the looks of it, this place is in need of a little TLC. He can't help but wonder if it's a primarily white neighborhood.

"Dad," He speaks up. "Where are the neighbors?"

"Inside, probably. Most of them are too old to leave their houses often. Sometimes Ole Mike sits out on his porch though. There he is right now."

As Donald and his father step out of the car, their new neighbor Mike waves from his home across the cul-de-sac. Donald's father waves back.

"Well, let's head inside, son."

He watches as his dad fumbles with the keys, trying to remember which is which.

The sound of a bicycle tickles Donald's ear, tempting him to turn his head back towards the street. And being someone who never says no to temptation, he  obliges, revealing a helmeted silhouette cruising down the asphalt in their direction.

"Dad...." He tugs at his father's sleeve. "Who's that?"

"Not now, son, I've gotta focus. Those damned possums must've locked us out again."

Donald has no choice but to watch as the mysterious figure hops off of the bike, treks it's way up their drive way, and slides it's helmet off. Now only feet away, he can see more than before. It's another boy. Around Donald's age. His ice white hair graces the top of his head like cotton candy on a bowling ball. His freckles and age-spots pepper his skin like stars in the night sky. And before Donald can even finish a single thought, the boy holds his hand out towards him and smiles warmly, forcing a burst of heat to escape Donald's core and warms his cheeks in a savory blush.

"I'm Joe Biden. I'm guessing you're our new neighbors?"

His voice, as pleasant and sweet to Donald's ears as cotton candy.

Finally, Donald's father jingles the key the right way and the door glides open. Donald's eyes dart back and forth between Joe and the door, debating whether or not he could get away from this embarrassment.

"Oh, you're the Biden boy. I've sure heard a lot about you." Donald's dad turns around and holds out his hand, giving Joe's hand a firm shake. "This is my son, Donald. We're the Trumps."

"So I've heard. We've had so many folks come by to check out this house but none have gone through with it for a couple of years. I admit, it's nice to finally see a family move on in." Joe smiles and winks at Donald from behind his shades.

"Well, we've gotta get back to moving this boxes." Donald's father finalizes, rolling up his dusty sleeves.

"Oh, would you like some help with that?" Joe offers.

Donald's eye could've burnt a hole straight through his dad's head. The way he stared so intently, trying to telepathically tell his father to PLEASE, say NO THANK YOU!