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The Lancer Flirts With The Eagle

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All of this felt so surreal to Bill.

Here he was, newly inaugurated, and finally considered an equal to the men that now stood before him. Nixon, Ford, Carter, Bush, every former president that was currently walking the earth was here. Though each of them held the title of president, Bill still felt somewhat awkward around his predecessors. It probably didn’t help that he had just unseated one of them. Or that the majority of them were from his opposing party. Or that he and the sole president that was from the same party as him had an uneasy history stemming from the missteps that that president had made during Bill’s time as a governor. Despite the awkwardness, Bill did appreciate that all of the other presidents had come to check in on him after his first month in the White House. It made all of this seem more real to him, it made him feel more at home in this new role of his.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t there be one more of us?” Bill wondered aloud. There were only five of them here; wasn’t there supposed to be a sixth president accompanying them?

“Ah, yes!” Bush exclaimed. “He must be running late.”

“Probably traffic.” Ford surmised. “No one knows how to drive in DC, especially when it snows.” A light dusting of snow had fallen earlier, and though it was just a dusting it was stalling traffic all over the city.

“Oh, there’s his motorcade.” Carter noted, pointing off into the distance. The president’s limo was approaching the White House, flanked by several armored cars that presumably contained his security detail.

“Damn, I was kind of hoping that he wouldn’t show…” Nixon groused. The limo pulled up to all of them, and some Secret Service agents exited. One of the agents held open the passenger door to allow the president out. Bill felt as if his heart had stopped when he saw just who it was who emerged, because the heart of the man that now stood before him had stopped beating almost thirty years ago. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and glanced to his side to see Bush staring at him, a look of concern in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Bill?” Bush asked him in a hushed tone. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I think I may have, actually!” Bill replied. “George… President Kennedy’s dead! He’s supposed to be dead!” John F. Kennedy had stepped out from the limo, looking just as he did on that truly tragic day in Dallas almost thirty years ago as he shook hands with Carter and Ford and gave a polite nod to Nixon. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have been here. Bush raised an eyebrow at Bill.

“Kennedy’s dead?” He repeated, confused. “Bill, that’s ridiculous. He’s right here, and he’s perfectly fine. Nice to see you again, Jack! It’s been a while.” Bill jumped a little bit upon noticing that Kennedy had approached the two of them. Kennedy smiled and shook Bush’s hand as if nothing was wrong.

“Good to see you as well, George!” Kennedy replied. “How’s the family?” Bill shivered slightly at the sound of that Boston accent, shivered upon hearing the unmistakable voice of a man who was supposed to be long dead.

“Family’s fine, thanks!” Said George. “My oldest boy is talking about running for governor of Texas next year!” The two men started talking while Bill stood there, frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening. He was transfixed upon Kennedy. The president’s head was unscathed, no sign of trauma at all, and despite having supposedly been alive for the past thirty years, he didn’t look at all like a man who was supposed to be the ripe old age of seventy-five. Now that he got a better look at him Bill could see that Kennedy didn’t look quite exactly as he had in 1963. There was some definite aging that had occurred, but not nearly as much as Bill would’ve expected from someone who was closer to his predecessors’ ages than his own. Nixon had just turned eighty the previous month, Ford was to turn eighty this year as well, and Bush and Carter were both sixty-eight, almost sixty-nine. They all looked their ages, their faces and bodies weathered by time, and Kennedy should’ve looked that way as well. But, while his hair had grayed somewhat and there was some wrinkling visible around his features, he looked to only be in his fifties, not his seventies. Bill himself was a mere forty-six, the third youngest president to ever hold office, and yet Kennedy’s hair had more color than his own! He would have felt jealous if he hadn’t been so overcome with the horror and confusion over this departed Democrat somehow being alive. Kennedy had finished his chat with Bush and now turned to Bill, offering up a smile and an extended hand.

“Bill!” Kennedy exclaimed, and hearing his name on the other man’s lips made Bill tremble. “How’s the presidency treating you so far?” Bill hesitated a moment before reaching out to shake hands with Kennedy. His flesh was warm, his flesh felt alive, even though Bill was certain that he should be dead. It had been almost thirty years since they had last shaken hands, when Bill had been just a teenager attending Boys Nation, when blood still flowed through Kennedy’s veins.

“Oh! Uh, it’s good!” Bill managed to stammer out amid his shock. “Everything’s peachy!” Everything was not peachy. Everything was very wrong. Kennedy seemed to notice that something was off about the newest president’s demeanor, but he didn’t voice it. Nixon, however, did.

“Clinton, what the hell are you freaking out about?” Nixon demanded bluntly.

“Oh, Dick, you’re not gonna believe this!” George cut in. “He thinks Jack’s supposed to be dead!”

“But he is!” Bill insisted. “Neither of you remember it? It happened thirty years ago this year, he was shot in Dallas!” Everyone was confused by this, especially Kennedy.

“Er uh, well, I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to be dead!” Kennedy chuckled awkwardly. “You’re not wrong about me being shot, Bill, but it clearly wasn’t fatal.”

“Bill, I don’t know how you’ve managed to do this, but I think that you’ve confused Kennedy with Reagan.” Carter surmised.

“Oh, yes!” Ford agreed. “Our friend Jack here is very much alive, and Reagan is very much dead!”

“Reagan, yes!” Bill exclaimed, finally realizing that Ronald Reagan was the sole president that was absent this evening. “That’s who we’re missing! But no, President Reagan isn’t dead! He’s alive, and Kennedy is dead!”

“No, Ron’s definitely dead! He got killed by some crazy cocksucker back in eighty-five.” Nixon informed him. “Don’t you remember that, Clinton? The Reagan assassination was only eight years ago!”

“Oh, bless Ronnie’s soul!” Bush lamented, a tear coming to his eye. “It was such a privilege to serve under him, however briefly I did! He was a saint!”

“More like a sinner…” Ford grumbled under his breath, earning an amused smirk from Carter.

“Anyways, bottom line is Kennedy lived, cocksucker whacked Ron, basic American history shit.” Nixon reiterated with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Said Bill, remembering that they were all here to enjoy a nice dinner. “Let’s go!” The group headed inside and made their way to the family dining room, since it was just the six of them in attendance that evening. Hillary and Chelsea were away for a few days visiting Hillary’s family, so they weren’t joining for the meal. Bill sat at the head of the table, with Kennedy on his right and Carter on his left. Nixon and Ford sat on the same side as Carter and Bush sat next to Kennedy. Bill stared at the empty chair to Bush’s right, feeling uneasy. Despite the others’ assertions that Reagan was indeed dead, he still felt as if the former president should be sitting there with all of them. The butlers came out and poured the men some glasses of wine, then brought out their first course. They chatted over their meals, the older presidents asking Bill how he liked the White House, what his wife planned to accomplish as First Lady, what the two of them were going to do to celebrate their daughter’s upcoming birthday, and other subjects of that sort.

“I really appreciate all of you coming to dinner tonight and offering up some of your wisdom to me.” Bill told his predecessors as the butlers came to take their plates. “I’m glad that even if we don’t see eye to eye on everything we can still be civil. And I’m especially glad that George doesn’t have any hard feelings towards me, considering I just kicked him out of office.” For the second time that evening, everyone else was confused, staring blankly back at Bill.

“Bill, I didn’t run against you.” Bush finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “Dan was the nominee last year. I can’t run for any more terms.”

“Dan!” Bill cried, hardly able to believe this. “Dan Quayle? Vice President Dan Quayle? Really? My God… why wasn’t it you? What do you mean you can’t run for any more terms? You could run for one more!”

“I can’t.” Bush insisted. “I’ve served two terms already.”

“But weren’t you just elected in 1988?” Bill prodded him.

“Well, yes, that was my only election to the presidency.” Bush clarified. “But as Ronnie’s vice president, I ascended to the presidency after his death, and since he’d only served for about two months I finished the rest of that term. Then, in 1988, I ran for reelection and won my second. So I really can’t run again.”

“You’ve been to the National Museum of American History with your wife and daughter, right Bill?” Carter asked. “Don’t you remember seeing all of our faces pictured on that wall in the American Presidency gallery? Our times in office are listed there too, clear as day. I stopped by earlier today with Rosalynn, and I had her take a photo of me next to it. See? There’s all of us and the years we served. George served from 1985 to this year. Don’t you remember all of this? If you don’t, then I’m really worried about your ability to lead the country…” Carter reached into his blazer and pulled out a Polaroid, which he presented to Bill. At first glance it looked like a normal photo anyone would’ve taken on vacation. Carter was stood in front of that iconic wall of presidents, beaming brightly. But as he looked closer in the background, Bill could see that something was very wrong. The portraits of every president were pictured in chronological order, including Bill’s own, the newest addition, with 1993- written underneath it. His eyes followed the line of presidents backwards to Bush’s portrait, which Bill was pretty sure should’ve said 1989-1993. Instead, it said 1985-1993. Preceding Bush were Reagan, 1985, Carter, 1981-1985, Ford, 1978-1981, Nixon, 1973-1978, Johnson, 1969-1973, Kennedy, 1961-1969, and so on.

These dates were all wrong! Kennedy had a full two terms! Reagan hadn’t even finished a full year in office! None of this made sense! Had Bill really misremembered so much of his own nation’s history? He looked up from the photo and locked eyes with Carter. Bill half expected to catch some sort of tell in the other man’s expression, a giveaway that this was all just some prank, the senior presidents having some fun at the expense of the junior one, but Carter’s face remained stoic. Apparently, this was all real. It still didn’t feel quite right to Bill, but he decided that for the time being it would be wiser to sit back, play along, and observe rather than to continue questioning things and causing a scene. Perhaps then he could figure out what exactly was going on. Playing it cool despite his lingering unease, Bill cracked a playful grin at Carter.

“Oh, President Carter, you wound me!” He smirked. “I thought that playing dumb might get the Republicans to start questioning my fitness for office, but I was hoping that as someone from my own party you’d be able to see through my act! Of course I remember that I ran against Dan! Of course I remember President Reagan’s assassination and George filling in for him! Of course I know that President Kennedy’s supposed to be alive! I was just messing with all of you!” The other presidents relaxed considerably, seeming to buy his lie that he’d been joking. Carter rolled his eyes, annoyed with Bill’s antics.

“My goodness, we’ve elected a child!” He huffed. “Bill, you should know better than to act this way now that you’re a president! Behave yourself, young man!” Bill grinned like a smug child pestering their parent, relishing in how irritated Carter was getting with him.

“Whatever you say, old man.” He replied. This earned him a glare from Carter and amused chuckles from the other presidents.

“Well, Bill, even though you were just pulling our legs, I wouldn’t blame you for being stunned that we put Quayle up against you!” Ford laughed good-naturedly. “I mean, my God, how did we end up nominating somebody who can’t even spell potato correctly? Sorry George, I know that he was your vice president, but he’s the biggest embarrassment our party’s ever seen!”

“Oh, I can think of one bigger embarrassment to your party, Jerry…” Carter retorted as he took a rather shady sip of his wine and side-eyed Nixon.

“Aroo…” Nixon grumbled in displeasure, making a guttural sound that was reminiscent of a wolf growling. Bill thought that this was weird, but he didn’t question it. Dead presidents were alive and one termers were suddenly two termers, Nixon making wolf noises was the least unsettling thing that had happened this evening. The rest of the dinner proceeded uneventfully, they enjoyed dessert, and then they headed to the family theater to watch a movie. The group decided to watch Home Alone 2. It was a bit incongruous to be watching a Christmas movie in February, but they had all been so occupied during the holiday season when it had released in theaters that they hadn’t had the chance to see it yet. Everyone watched in silence until they got to the scene where Kevin McCallister asks Donald Trump for directions. None of the presidents were particularly impressed by the businessman’s cameo.

“You know, I heard that Trump basically bullied his way into this film.” Ford whispered to Carter. “Supposedly he kept badgering the director for a cameo in return for letting the crew film at the Plaza Hotel.”

“What a horrible man!” Carter huffed. “I couldn’t imagine going through life bullying my way into things like that!”

“Can you imagine what would happen if he bullied his way into politics?” Kennedy pondered. “Or, even worse, what if he bullied his way into the presidency? God, that’d be horrible!” Bill felt a chill go up his spine as Kennedy raised the possibility of Trump forcing his way into office. There was something about that look in the other president’s eye as he said that, something that seemed to imply that he knew something that Bill didn’t. Bill wasn’t sure what that could be, though.

“I know that you all have a lot of fun ragging on Dan, but be glad that we haven’t put up anyone like Trump!” Said Bush. “Oh, I hope I never live to see the day someone like him becomes president! I’d much rather see the states devolve into a socialist hellhole than be at the mercy of someone like him!”

“He’d be a terrible president! Hell, he’s not even a good businessman!” Bill complained. “All of that money from his father, and he still manages to go bankrupt twice!”

“I bet he’ll go bankrupt again at some point in the future.” Nixon predicted. “God, I can’t stand guys like him! They’re born with silver spoons in their mouths, yet they still somehow fail! I mean, look at me for comparison! I have my flaws, but I didn’t start out well off like Donald did! I came from nothing and worked hard to get where I got! Oh, and don’t even get me started about how Donald treats that daughter of his! God, what a creep! I was never like that with either of my girls!”

“Settle down, Dick. We can’t hear the film.” Ford gently admonished him. Nixon grumbled some more untoward comments about Trump but piped down for the rest of the screening. The credits began to roll. It was getting late, and as a polite host Bill went to show the former presidents to their guest rooms for the night. They made their way from the East Wing back to the main residence and trudged up the stairs. Bill could hear Carter and Ford behind him, conversing together like old friends. Nixon was muttering something again, though he was at the very back of the group, so Bill couldn’t pick out any distinct words. Bush and Kennedy flanked either side of Bill, silent. They finally reached the third floor, where there was an abundance of guest rooms.

“Goodnight, Bill!” Said George as he made his way towards the bedroom situated at the north of the floor. “Thanks for being a wonderful host!”

“Thanks for putting my mind at ease and letting me know that, while we might have nominated a child, we haven’t nominated an idiot.” Carter added sarcastically, heading into one of the south bedrooms before Bill could offer a witty reply. Ford and Nixon bid him goodnight as well, each disappearing into a room of their own. Only Kennedy remained.

“Um… are you going to pick a room too?” Bill asked, noticing that the other president hadn’t budged from his side.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Kennedy smirked. “The others might want some rest now, but I’m wide awake, and, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to spend some more time with you.”

“Of course, President Kennedy.” Bill replied. It still felt so surreal to be in his presence. Surreal, but oddly nice.

“You can call me Jack, you know.” Kennedy told him. “After all, it’s only fair. I call you Bill, not President Clinton.”

“Of course, Jack.” Bill agreed. “Sorry, I know that we’re all equals, but it still feels kind of weird to call all of you by your first names!”

“Well, my name sounds very nice on your lips.” Jack said. Color came to Bill’s cheeks at this comment. That was awfully flirty of him to say. He was well aware of Jack’s reputation for chasing after women outside of his marriage, but did he chase after men as well? Jack famously had a way with the ladies, and all of the stories of his extramarital escapades involved women and women only. But Bill knew, from his own experience, that sometimes the press and the gossips got it wrong. He himself also had a reputation as a ladies’ man, and that was very true, but what the press didn’t know, what the gossips didn’t know, what not a soul on this earth except for Hillary and a select few of his college friends whom he’d fooled around with knew, was that Bill fancied both ladies and gentlemen. Was Jack like him? Or was he just being friendly? Bill wasn’t totally sure.

“So, uh… what did you want to do?” He asked Jack, trying his best to not sound flustered. “We could go and watch another movie if you’d like. If you’re still hungry we can get the chefs to make us something.”

“How about we have some wine and talk a while?” Jack suggested. “I want to hear some more about how the presidency is going for you so far.” The two of them went back to the dining room to enjoy some wine and chat. It was still too cold to sit out on the Truman Balcony, and the Solarium was situated right next to the bedroom that Carter was sleeping in, but the dining room offered them both warmth and the assurance that they wouldn’t risk being disturbed by an irritated, sleep-deprived president coming to admonish them for talking too loudly. One of the butlers came in and brought them a bottle of wine and some glasses, then left the two of them alone to their own devices. Bill and Jack reached for the bottle simultaneously, their fingertips brushing against each other.

“Oops! Sorry.” Bill apologized, pulling back.

“No worries.” Jack assured him. “You go first.” Bill poured a glass, Jack poured one for himself, and the two chatted for a while over their drinks. Bill had been on edge most of the evening, but he felt himself starting to relax in Jack’s presence. Jack was easy to talk to, and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. It was very different from talking with the other presidents. Nixon was aloof, but easy enough to get along with, so long as you didn’t bring up the Watergate Scandal. Ford was cordial but distant with Bill, preferring to pal around with Carter instead. Carter was not a fan of Bill, and the feeling was mutual, although Bill did enjoy pushing the elder president’s buttons now and then to get a rise out of him. George was amicable towards him, but when Bill spoke with him it felt more as if he was talking with a father than a friend. Despite being so much older than him, Jack didn’t come off as fatherly at all in their conversations. Talking with him was like talking with a contemporary.

“Your accent’s very pleasant to listen to, Bill.” Jack said to him as he poured another glass of wine. “I like your drawl. You sound like a southern gentleman.” Bill’s face flushed, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the flattery or the wine. He felt absolutely delighted that Jack had paid him a compliment.

“There’re some people who’d say I sound like a redneck, a country bumpkin, a hick, and so on.” Bill chuckled. “But thanks. I’m glad you like it. I like your accent too. You sound wicked smaht.” Jack smiled amusedly at Bill’s imitation of a Boston accent.

“Pahk the cah in Havahd Yahd.” He said, intentionally exaggerating his pronunciation and earning a chuckle from Bill. Now that they were alone, Bill thought about probing for more information about how he’d managed to survive his assassination attempt. He hoped that Jack would be comfortable discussing that with him. Bill wanted some answers to ease his mind, to confirm that he wasn’t going insane, but he didn’t want to scare the other president off, not when things were going so well between them.

“You know, Jack, I had a really weird dream the other night.” Bill started off. “I was just joking around earlier by pretending to think that you were dead, but I got the idea for that ruse from my dream. In the dream you really were dead, and Reagan was alive.” He figured that this lie would get a more positive response from Jack than just straight up interrogating the man about his death, or lack thereof. It seemed to work; Jack looked interested.

“Really? Tell me more.” He requested.

“Well, in the dream you, uh…” Bill trailed off, unsure of how to put this delicately. “In your shooting, one of the shots got you in a way that was… a hindrance to you continuing to live.”

“Oh, did the bullet hit me in the spine?” Jack asked in a surprisingly nonchalant tone. “Or did it get me in my carotid? That would’ve made me bleed out.” Bill winced at this. There was something so macabre about hearing the president so casually contemplating his own death. He was hesitant to tell Jack what had actually happened.

“It didn’t get you in the neck.” He managed to say after a moment of careful thought. “It got you in the head… it took off a good chunk of your head, actually…”

“Oh...” Jack mumbled quietly. “Hm. Yeah, I suppose that would do me in. There’s no coming back from something like that.”

“It was a… very surreal dream.” Said Bill. That whole tragic day had felt surreal. Bill remembered it vividly, though he was no longer sure if what he was remembering was real or manufactured. He had still been in high school at the time, freshly seventeen, having seen Jack in person during Boys Nation just a few months earlier. He’d been in his fourth period class, and his teacher had been called out of the room. He soon returned, white as a sheet, to inform all of the stunned and saddened students of the president’s demise in Dallas. It had devastated Bill. It had devastated the nation. This life, this embodiment of hope for America, this man who was the picture of youth and vitality, was so callously and cruelly snuffed out in an instant. Even all these years later the assassination still felt so visceral to Bill, but had it really happened? Or was it just a figment of his imagination?

“Er uh, that honestly sounds more like a nightmare than a dream.” Jack remarked wryly. “But no need to feel so shaken up about it, Bill! After all, it’s not real! I got shot in the neck, not the head. I’ve even got the scar to prove it. Do you want to see it?” Bill nodded, expecting that Jack would just undo his tie and unbutton the first few buttons on his shirt to give him a glimpse of the scar. He did, but then he kept unbuttoning, unbuttoned his blazer as well, and then shrugged both the shirt and blazer off, letting them drape over the back of his chair. Bill couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down the other man’s physique. His body was just as alarmingly youthful as his face, lean and lightly muscled, and the only sign of aging Bill could readily discern was some slightly grizzled chest hair. He looked great. Bill felt a mix of attraction and envy, attraction because holy hell, Jack was hot, and envy because his own physique was considerably less lean and considerably less muscled than Jack’s, the consequences of too much McDonald’s on the campaign trail. Bill blushed and redirected his gaze to meet Jack’s, hoping that the president hadn’t noticed him staring. If Jack inquired as to why his face was red he was fully prepared to blame it on the liquor rather than on his lust. Fortunately, Jack didn’t appear to notice that anything was off, and if he did, he mercifully stayed quiet. Jack gestured to his throat, drawing Bill’s attention to a gnarly looking scar just below his Adam’s apple.

“Oh, God!” Bill cried. “That looks like it hurt!” Jack nodded.

“It hurt like hell, and I couldn’t talk at all while I had the trach, but I lived.” He explained. “I got whisked off to Parkland Memorial, the doctors put the trach in to help me breathe, and they were able to patch me up. Poor Reagan, though. He got shot right in the heart! There was no saving him from that.” Bill raised his brows at this. Wasn’t Reagan shot in the lung? That was a devastating injury, but survivable with treatment.

“Yeah, he was done for.” Bill agreed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure that what Jack said had happened was what had actually happened.

“I have a bad back, you know.” Jack told him. “I used to wear a brace for it. Stopped wearing it right around the time that chowderhead shot me! It’s a good thing that I did; if I’d been wearing it that day I wouldn’t have been able to bend forward with Jackie to duck out of his view, and he might’ve gotten a few more bullets into me!”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re still here.” Said Bill. And, despite the strange circumstances, he was truly glad. He didn’t know what was going on exactly, he didn’t know what it was that had caused this twist of fate, what it was that had allowed Jack to live a full life and Reagan to have his cut short, but whatever it was that had allowed it, it made Bill happy to know that the fallen president was rescued from the dead.

“Well, I’m glad to still be here!” Jack replied. “There’s so much that I would’ve missed out on if I’d died that day, both personally and politically. For example, I wouldn’t be able to sit here and talk to you. Out of all of the presidents I’ve come to have known, you’ve been my favorite. ” Bill couldn’t help but take pride in learning that Jack was so fond of him. Here he was, some poor kid from Arkansas who came from nothing, and yet one of America’s most revered presidents, a man from a borderline aristocratic family, had selected him as his favorite. It was an absolute pleasure. No, it was more than a pleasure. It was an honor.

“Thanks, Jack. That really means a lot to me. It’s very humbling to be able to sit and talk with someone I looked up to when I was younger. This is a little embarrassing for me to say, but back when I was in high school and the 1964 election was on the horizon, I used to get all fired up and defend you from my Republican classmates in debates.” Bill explained, giving the other president a bashful look. “And then at Boys Nation, I finally got to meet you in the Rose Garden and you shook my hand. It was amazing to me. Even at my young age I was passionate about politics. And passionate about you.” He’d been passionate about Jack in more ways than one, though he wasn’t going to tell Jack about the schoolboy crush he’d had on him. That crush was starting to turn into something more, but Bill wasn’t going to tell Jack about that either.

“That photo of me shaking your hand came up quite a lot while you were running for president.” Jack mused, taking a sip of his wine. “It really put a smile on my face to see you campaigning last year. It was so heartening to me to watch as a boy that I’d shaken hands with nearly thirty years ago became a president himself! Well, er uh, you aren’t a boy anymore, obviously.”

“Yeah, I’ve grown since then.” Bill smirked.

“And grown more handsome.” Said Jack, offering up a coy smile. He reached out and cupped Bill’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Though his touch was warm, it made Bill tremble as if he were in biting cold. This attractive, charismatic president was touching him. It was more than a handshake, it was more than a pat on the shoulder. It was something new, it was something intimate. Jack still had his shirt off, and Bill found himself staring at his chest again. He wanted to touch Jack, but he held back. Would he like that? Would he shove Bill away? What was happening here? Was this flirty or friendly? Was it the alcohol talking, or was it Jack? Bill felt Jack’s hand shift from his cheek to cup his jaw; he rested his thumb on Bill’s chin and gently tilted his head up so their gazes met once more.

“My eyes are up here, cutie.” Jack murmured. “And my lips are right here.” He leaned in and kissed Bill. Bill’s eyes went wide in surprise. Well, then! This was definitely more than friendly. The kiss was soft and brief; they parted lips after a moment and Jack stared at Bill expectantly, seeming to be waiting for some kind of reaction from him.

“Oh, wow.” Bill breathed, so dazzled by that kiss that he could hardly form words. “So, you think I’m cute?” Jack nodded, and despite the air of confidence and charisma that he was putting on, a blush colored his cheeks.

“Very cute.” Jack replied. “Is… is that okay?” Bill could sense some hesitation in the man’s voice, could sense that Jack feared rejection, or worse, hatred. Luckily, he had nothing to fear.

“It was more than okay.” Bill assured him, and Jack was visibly relieved to hear that. “I know I’ve got a reputation for chasing after women, but I like men too. And I really like you. I just didn’t think that you were into guys!”

“I prefer the ladies, but I’ve got a thing for the gentlemen too.” Jack clarified. “Er uh, that’s something I keep to myself of course, for obvious reasons. Well, myself and my gentleman lovers.”

“What? You’ve slept with guys before?” Bill exclaimed. “How’d you keep it a secret?” Even though Jack’s trysts with women were common knowledge Bill had never heard any kind of sordid gossip about Jack bringing men to his bed.

“My family’s loaded, Bill.” Jack reminded him. “I’ve got plenty of hush money to ensure that my companions stay quiet.”

“Well, you don’t have to give me any!” Bill laughed. “Money or no money, my lips are sealed!”

“Sealed up against mine, I hope.” Jack leered. Bill took the hint and leaned in to kiss him again, longer this time. It had been years since he had last kissed another man, and memories of those delightful days of smooching and petting with his friends in college came rushing back, vivid as ever. He loved his wife, of course, and no man or woman could ever replace her, but he wanted to explore this part of himself that he hadn’t had a chance to fully explore in his youth. Bill’s fear had held him back, but he was no longer afraid. He could go all the way with Jack and be absolutely certain that Jack wouldn’t talk. Bill shifted out of his chair and onto Jack’s lap, straddling him as he deepened their kiss and his hands began to roam up Jack’s chest. Jack’s hands found their way to Bill’s ass, and he gave it a firm squeeze.

“Oh, Jack!” Bill moaned against the other president’s mouth. “Jack, I think we need to stop.”

“You don’t want to go further?” Jack asked him.

“I do, but not in the dining room.” Said Bill. “Somebody might walk in on us.”

“I can picture it now. Jimmy decides he wants a midnight snack and comes down here, only to walk in on you getting railed by me on top of the dining table.” Jack teased, making Bill wince at the mere thought of how utterly mortifying that would be. Carter would never let him live that down! “Well then, let’s go somewhere more private so I can have my way with you.”

“Not my bedroom, though.” Bill insisted. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with Hillary in that bed ever again if he let Jack fuck him in it. “How about we do it in the Lincoln Bedroom?” Jack nodded, they gathered their things, and the two of them headed down the darkened hall towards the Lincoln Bedroom. Bill could feel his heart pounding harder in his chest with every step he took, a mix of nerves and excitement. After what seemed like an eternity they entered the room, and Bill sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Jack made sure that all of the doors were locked. The other president then joined his side, reaching up to caress his cheek again. Bill leaned into his touch and clasped his own hand over Jack’s.

“You know, some historians think that Lincoln was into guys.” Jack informed him, grinning smugly.

“Well then, it seems very fitting that we’re gonna fool around in a bedroom named after him.” Bill replied, grinning just as smugly as his paramour.

“Very fitting indeed.” Jack agreed. He kissed Bill deeply, pressing his free hand to Bill’s chest to coax him to lie back on the bed. Bill did, and Jack loomed over him, pulling him close as they made out. It was both terrifying and thrilling to Bill to be in the arms of another man like this. It made him feel special to know that he was desired by one of the nation’s most beloved leaders. Bill couldn’t help but grin in amusement as he realized that, in an ironic reversal of his usual role, he had gone from dazzling the ladies with his power and presence to being dazzled himself by the power and presence of a charming older president. The seducer had become the seduced, and boy had Jack succeeded in seducing him! Bill wanted Jack, he needed Jack, and he was going to have Jack.

“I’m all yours, Jack.” Bill purred against Jack’s ear as the other president trailed kisses along his neck. “Have your way with me.” And Jack did.

Bill laid back among the pillows, spent but content, feeling pleasantly sore. Even though Jack had left the bed to go wash up, Bill could still feel the other man’s body pressed against his own, could still feel Jack’s hands touching him in all the right places, could still feel Jack’s breath on his skin as he kissed him everywhere and whispered words of praise to him. It was divine. Bill was starting to wonder if maybe they were both dead, and this was heaven. He heard a door close and looked up as the object of his desires emerged from the bathroom and sauntered over to him. Jack took a moment to admire Bill’s naked form, nicely laid out for him, and then leaned down to press a soft kiss to Bill’s forehead.

“Oh, how I wish that I was a younger man and had the stamina to go one more time.” Jack mused wistfully, running his fingers through Bill’s hair. “You look so good like this. I want to lay you down and fuck you again.”

“I think we’re both too worn out for that, but how about you come lay next to me?” Bill suggested. Jack crawled into bed with him and they pulled the covers over themselves. Bill sidled up to Jack, resting his head on Jack’s chest, hearing the beat of his heart, strong and rhythmic and unmistakably alive. Jack drew his arms around Bill, and Bill shut his eyes, feeling absolutely serene. He felt Jack press another kiss to his forehead, whisper a gentle goodnight to him, and Bill was out, dozing off in the other president’s embrace.

Bill opened his eyes.

He realized immediately that he was in his own bedroom, not the Lincoln Bedroom, and was clothed in his usual pajamas. There was no soreness plaguing his body, no sweatiness or stickiness, no telltale evidence that he’d gone to bed with Jack the night before, though he did have a lingering sense of arousal. He felt his bedmate snuggle up to him and press a kiss to his cheek. Turning to face them, Bill found himself locking eyes with his wife instead of with Jack.

“Good morning, honey.” Hillary greeted him. He smiled and leaned in to kiss her on the lips.

“Morning, dear.” He replied. “God, I had the wildest dream last night!” Hillary raised her brows at this.

“Really? What was it about?”

“Oh, I don’t think I should tell you!” Bill laughed sheepishly. “It was a… very dirty dream, and I don’t want you to start the morning in a bad mood.”

“Was it about another woman?” She asked him. “I don’t mind that, as long as it’s just a dream and not reality.”

“It was about another guy, actually.” He clarified. “And don’t worry, there’s no way it would or could ever happen in real life.”

“Well, now I’m curious. Who was it?” Hillary inquired.

“You’ll laugh if I tell you!” Bill worried, color coming to his cheeks. How was he supposed to tell his wife that he’d had a smutty dream about a dead president?

“I promise I won’t.” She assured him. “And who knows? Maybe it was a guy that I like too.”

“Well, do you think any of the presidents are hot? Aside from me, of course.” Bill asked. “Because the guy I was with in my dream was another president.”

“Was it Jimmy?” Hillary guessed. Bill wrinkled his nose at this suggestion.

“Ew, no. He’s not bad looking, but he’s annoying.”

“Was it George, then?”

“Hillary, I know I have daddy issues, but they aren’t that bad!” Bill smirked. “George is like a dad to me, not a daddy.”


“No, he was dead in my dream.”


“He used to be hot, but no.”

“Oh God, was it Nixon?”

“Nope, not Nixon either. Watergate scandals are Nixon’s thing, not sex scandals!” Bill joked.

“Well, since it isn’t any of them, who was it?” Hillary asked again. “I won’t judge.”

“Okay, fine. It was JFK.” Bill finally revealed.

“Oh, well, that’s understandable.” Said Hillary. “He was hot. I had a little bit of a crush on him when I was a teenager.”

“Really? So did I!” Said Bill. “Well, I guess great minds think alike!”

“And great minds evidently have the hots for the same president!” Hillary giggled. “I’m just glad you weren’t dreaming about hopping into bed with Tricky Dick. Let’s go get some coffee and get something to eat.” The two of them got out of bed, threw on their robes, and walked hand in hand to the dining room to join their daughter for breakfast.

The End