Getting Intimate on Reelection Night

The years pass, in Lincoln City. Nowadays, you can't even tell there was a great battle here. Almost everyone has just about forgotten all about it, too.

Fitz is up for reelection. Tonight, all of the states in the NAU will vote. With luck, Fitz has already won Tornado Alley and the Deep South...his staples, as a right-wing political candidate.

He'll never win California. And that's a crying shame; it's his home, after all.

In the Oval Office, Fitz wraps up the evening's work. He's signed a few bills, and has vetoed many others.

In a fish tank, his new chief of staff swims in circles. She's a Whelan's carp; most of her scales are bright red. Her name is Abby. Unlike the Beene's elephantfish, she DOESN'T need a pack to help her do her job...or a gay lover.

With her psionic powers, she's diverted a lot of unwelcome visitors away from the Grey House doors. Bless her soul, she's diverted most of them before they've made it halfway across the Grey House front lawn...and hence, over the boundary between the city right-of-way and legal Grey House property.

Fitz will miss having a causeway around the Grey House. Even so, he WON'T miss the gay Nazi décor...as much as he still respects his better memories with Cyrus.

THE HOUR DRAWS LATE, MR. PRESIDENT, she interrupts him. THE LATEST RACE FOR YOUR HOME IS ON.

Fitz nods, wrapping up. "So I'm all too aware." He stands, and starts shutting things down, for the night. "Clean up for me tonight, won't you?"

TONIGHT, FOR YOU, MY PRESIDENTIAL BOSS, I WOULD CLEAN THE WHOLE GREY HOUSE, FROM BOTTOM TO TOP...EVEN IF IT MEANT MISSING THE DECISIVE VOTE OF THE ELECTION.

"Don't bother. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose."

Abby swims away, and keeps swimming in circles, around her tank... Telekinetically, she cleans her boss's office, in his nocturnal absence.

In his boxers, Fitz sits on the foot of his bed, and turns the TV on. He keeps the TV on mute, while watching the map of the NAU, color-coded based on which states who's won.

He yawns, and empties the contents of a small African spice jar on his thigh. Liv, still as tiny as ever, topples out, clad in revealing white lingerie, and lands among the forest of hair on his thigh. Liv loves Fitz, for retaining his hairiness well into his current age. Even so, twenty years ago, if someone told her that she'd be a black whore stranded in the forest of a white president's thigh hair, she would've thought they were stoned.

She wanders to his knee, leans against one of his hairs, and watches the red on the TV's map expand. She's seen better...but she seems pleased, more or less, with how her presidential pimp's luck is holding out.

"I'm sorry I can't fix your crises anymore," she says.

He scoffs. "As hard as you used to work for me, I'd say you deserve some time off. Besides, before your reduction, I often felt like I never did enough to sate my voters' demands."

"You never will. I've never been president, but I've dreamed of it my whole life."

"I haven't. But then...I already know that you know that. I shouldn't even be a president. I'm from the reddest part of a blue state."

"I don't care if you are." She smiles, and rubs against the knee hair she leans on. "You'll always be the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow that I should never have found, but did anyway. I'd love you if you were black...but I'm glad you're white."

"I'd love you if you were white," Fitz reciprocates. "But I am SO glad you're black. And small. And bitchy..."

Liv grins, and hammers against his hair, playfully. "Stop it."

Much time has passed. The map on TV hasn't changed much.

"Are you sure your wife won't come back?"

"No. But she's in China with a reporter that she loves, and I hate. I sure HOPE they never come back...or at least, not if she's taking him with her. I've teamed up with Bill O'Reilly, to make sure that neither one of them comes back...not to Lincoln City, at least."

She smiles. "I'm sure he's honored to have a presidential co-conspirator away from work. Most reporters don't. Most reporters are just flies who won't stop buzzing in politicians' ears."

"Bill O'Reilly is that bug. Lucky for him, though, I sort of like the music he makes, when he buzzes."

Time passes. The colors on the TV map are STILL the same...

Deviously, Liv turns around. Fitz is distracted. On her tiptoes, she creeps up the legs of his boxers, and vanishes...

Beneath his boxers, Fitz can feel his cock harden. He smiles, as Liv mountaineers his cock, and gives him a much-longed-for handjob. He rolls over, crawls across his bed, and lies on his side. He relaxes, and lets Liv harden him to sleep.

He moans, cups his hands, and claps them. All of the lights, except the TV, go off.

In Fitz's and Liv's common tired/sexual blindness, the TV keeps broadcasting the election results. They're both asleep, when a headline is printed across the screen, announcing Fitz's victorious reelection...