Building Our Love (Donald Trump x Bob The Builder)

Foundations

(Skip this whole splurge if you don't care about anything but the story)

Ok quickly gonna say
thank you for all the support for this story! Wow! I started writing this as kinda just a one shot gag thing, thinking it was gonna get like five reads. But to my surprise I was wrong! Anyway thanks! I'm not good at writing at all so don't expect updates ever and let it be a surprise if I do. Now on with the story!

Oh also!

My friend PshychoButler has been helping me out with this. He worked on part of chapter one, so go and follow him. He doesn't have any works of his own yet, but he's in the process, so check him out! (He wrote that whole blurb)

Oh, sorry it's so short. We have shit going on in real life, so yeah. Sorry.

You stood there motionless for a second waiting for an answer. Seamed more like an eternity. Then Bob twirled around and made the choice that would change his life forever. "I would love to, Donald!"

You were felt with the most hot you had ever felt in your life! Just maybe if you played your money right, you could win his heart for it to forever be yours. You yelled back at him with a cheerful voice, "Make sure to be there at 7:00, I'll send my TRUMP jet to come by and pick you up!"

"Can't wait!" He flashed a quick smile, and then continued to walk back to the wall to build some more.

You then skipped joyfully back to the jet as the recently renamed slant eye (sakura) blossoms fell from the sky. You were gonna make this the best damn dinner this great country had ever seen.

The table is nearly set, and 7:00 is nearly upon you. Everything had to be perfect here. The table was set, adorned with white and that goldish bronze, the colour of your gorgeous hair. The small Mexican labourers who had been selected to cook the delicious trump steaks to be served as the main course had been killed, and their bodies laid upon the wall as a message for all other illegals who dared even to gaze at new neo-america. And the dining room had been perfumed with your favourite fragrence- Rosie O'Donnells rotting corpse.

You sit at the head of the table, your body tense with homoerotic excitement. He was probably straight, but who could blame you? He was just so dreamy. And he probably hated Muslims as much as you do! What could go wrong? After all, you are YOU. You, The Donald. The best president and lover god could ever create.

The knock resounded throughout the chamber, and through your chest cavity so you felt.

The builder- Bob. Pure White Caucasian, so Trump knew he was worthy of trust. And maybe love.

Maybe

His strong firm build, sauntered carefree into the room, a simple and gorgeous look on his face, complimented by the chimes of the toolbelt on his waist. Sounded like the chimes of the Mexican children he had fattened up and bleached and dressed as Eros, just for this occasion. Of course, he could kill them and use their fat for yankee candles later, but for now, they were cherubs.

"H-Hello Lord Trump. It-It's me, Bob, y'know, the builder? I'm here f-f-for the wall job you spoke of?"

"AH yes, Bobby, my friend! Here, pull up a seat, they're the best Mexican leather"

"Mexican leather?"

"Their skins, Bob, their skins!"

"Oh, of course, so s-s-sorry sir"

"Please, call me The Donald. Now get over here. We have much to discuss"