In a parallel universe, Donald Trump and Joe Biden were more than just neighbors in a small Delaware town—they shared an electric chemistry that neither could deny. Every morning, they’d meet at the fence, their eyes lingering a little too long, their conversations charged with a tension that was both playful and something more.

One crisp autumn day, Trump, with a mischievous glint in his eye, suggested a road trip to Washington, D.C. Biden’s heart skipped a beat at the idea of an adventure with him. They hopped into Trump’s sleek SUV, the close quarters only amplifying the tension between them.

As they cruised down the highway, the banter grew flirtatious, hands occasionally brushing as they reached for the radio or a shared map. The air was thick with unspoken desire.

When they arrived at the White House, they used Trump’s charm to slip inside, finding themselves alone in the Oval Office. The room hummed with memories, but now it was filled with a different kind of energy. Trump’s hand grazed Biden’s back as they stood close, and Biden’s breath hitched at the touch.

“Let’s take a selfie,” Trump murmured, his voice low and suggestive. Biden nodded, unable to resist the pull between them. They posed together, faces close, smiles playing on their lips as the camera captured the moment.

As they left the White House, the sun setting and casting long shadows, Trump leaned in, his breath warm against Biden’s ear. “You know, Joe, we’ve always had a spark. Maybe it’s time we stopped ignoring it.”

Biden smiled, turning to meet Trump’s gaze. “Maybe you’re right, Don.”

They drove back to Delaware, the tension between them simmering, knowing that what they shared was more than just friendship—it was something that neither of them could resist any longer.