Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“is that a dagger i see before me? the handle toward my hand? come, let me clutch thee.” macbeth, act II, scene 1.

when america was first established- when the founding fathers, their hairs white and their will strong, first signed that declaration of independence, the delicate handwriting heaving a nation from the ground- the mighty, grounding, rumbling still heard now-

from the dust rose the united states of america, her soulless eyes black and her lips parted in a scream for freedom.

she was strong, she was holy, and she was one. for a moment in history the virgin nation seemed to have broken out of her cage- emerging, in the broken wreckage, into a cathedral of hope, the regal ceilings reaching into the heavens, etched and painted and sculpted with what she could be.

everybody expected that she would change. change was unavoidable. maybe a couple civil wars here and there, maybe an assassination or two, maybe even a bomb, but overall an expected outcome for a powerful nation in these trying times. but nobody expected that a shitposting, convicted felon, arguably insane donald junior trump (who spent half his life partying with the likes of epstein and the other half on twitter) to become president, not once, but twice. the year is twenty twenty five.

“for the ages!” elon shouted. the red line on the screen was inching up. the blue was putting up a fight, but it was clear. the red had won. the blood-red chokehold on america slowly tightening as the flaky blue peeled off into the abyss. trump would be president.

“for the ages!” he breathed, his hands on the table as he grabbed his phone, dialling donald’s number again and again. donald wasn’t answering. probably busy, elon thought. his eyes, usually quite devoid of emotion, were bright with the anticipation of the love of his life being the president. the president! again! this had never been thought of before. this comeback was for the ages. people would remember this. would remember trump.

would remember HIM.

he would be commemorated as donald’s closest “friend”- a valuable ally that helped him capture the heart of some americans and disgust the others. his name would be etched into history books. richest man on earth. politician. scientist. philanthropist. he had it all.

elon musk was going to be for the ages.

enough of that. it was donny’s day today. future thoughts of glory was going to have to wait. he dialled his number again- this time, donald picked up.

“elon!” he squealed from the other end, his voice brimming with excitement. “we did it. i did it! oh, this is unreal!”

elon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of his lover’s voice. it only came out when donald spoke to him, which was the cutest thing ever. “i’m so proud of us.” he murmured into the phone, his polished leather shoes tapping gently on the wooden floor as he went into the elevator. “give me a sec.”

the connection cut off as he stood, alone in the lift. it was quite a long ride down, he could feel the blood rushing through his ears, but he felt strangely calm. musk looked down at his phone- down at the red voting line. it had spread like wildfire, licking the states up. it was a spectacle.

that red, that bright, shiny, blood red: it was an oath. an oath that swore an era that would be for the ages.

he straightened his jacket and got into his car as the connection clicked back on.

“elon.” trump whined. “where did you go? you’re always just ghosting me out of the middle of nowhere.” elon suppressed a chuckle.

“i was in the lift, duckie.” they had a running joke about donald duck. trump sighed dramatically from the other end.

“you always abandon me.” trump sighs. “and that stupid harris woman says i’m crazy.”

“i’m crazy for you, love.” elon replied, his voice husky. trump giggled from the other end.

“see you later. need to go!” elon sighed as he muttered a goodbye. the sights and sounds of washington d.c. rushed past him in a blur. that red line was still burnt into his eyes. red. the new colour of hope.

“for the ages.” elon murmured, as he hopped into the cab that would take him to capital one arena.

to history, made right before his eyes.

the first time they saw each other was at a political-business function- all pompous handshakes and earnest self introductions and pressed suits and desperate attempts to make conversation. 

the sickeningly sweet scent of money seemed to hang in the air, a cloying perfume of polished mahogany, aged leather, and the faint, acrid tang of ink from freshly printed checks. it was in the way the cigar smoke didn’t sting the eyes but instead curled into lazy, blue-gray halos around the crystal chandeliers, each droplet catching the light like a solid promise.

hands, smooth and uncalloused, gestured with a weightless grace, their movements speaking not of labour but of wealth. a diamond cufflink winked under the dim lights as a hand rested on a shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a transaction than friendly touch.

smiles, not reaching the eyes, were exchanged- meanwhile brains were whirring, money-hungry machines desperate to squeeze the last bits of gold and silver from pockets that had been sucked dry from those who had plundered them before. brains that were busy calculating the invisible commas and zeroes being exchanged in the loud silence. 

and through all that, their eyes met. blue met blue- one sharper, but one more polished. it was as if something finally clicked- that the wheels of time came to a grinding halt, gouging deep skid marks into the ground, and sparks of pure power seemed to come alive as they made eye contact.

musk fell in love with the power first, then the man. he suspected that the sentiment was returned. 

laying eyes one of the most powerful men in america was a feat- managing to make him fall head over heels in adoration was another. maybe some would call in manipulation, but in reality, elon knew that if either lost power, the other would run and never look back.

this sentiment in particular was definitely returned- for what is a man without power? 

he is naught.

power. it thrummed in his veins, was the song in which his heart sang, was the thread that weaved through his self. he carried it in the slight set of his shoulders, in this crinkle of his eyes, in the quirk of his brows. he felt it in the silence when people waited for him to speak, the quivering, reverent quiet something the greatest composers could never replicate. 

the world would bend, and he would be the reason.

trump would help- as a stepping stone, as an aide, maybe as a partner. but elon musk was going to be far more than the richest man on the planet.

he was going to own every square inch of it.

Chapter Text

“the object of power is power. now you begin to understand me.” — george orwell, 1984.

donald sat there, fidgeting slightly. his suit felt too tight around his chest, despite him having paid a hefty fee to get it tailored, and the air-conditioned air felt too stuffy. he racked his brains (or what was left of them, after elon quite literally blew his mind after he won) for whether or not he felt like that winning against clinton years ago- and he supposed he did. why else would he be so uncomfortable this year? 

maybe because of the quiet yet frequent whispers of “he only won against women” circling on twitter? maybe because of the massive protests happening all around the u.s.? it was probably the nerves of winning again. god damn, he just kept on winning! who was to stop him? donald trump, twice the president of the united states, and he WAS going to make america great again. 

he was unstoppable. and it didn’t matter that people called him a raging lunatic. it wasn’t like they were winning the election.

he snorted- no, this was certainly not the case- and his bodyguard behind him glanced his way. donald tried to wave his hand in apology, but the man had already looked the other way, so he ended up just flapping his wrinkly hand around like a fool. donald felt his cheeks flush- he was so going to fire the idiot.

where was he? the precarious train of thought he had going on dangled off the rails, high in his mind, and fell off limply into the abyss. oh well. he would pick that up later.

thunderous applause suddenly rang out around him, all encompassing, a seismic wave of acclamation that transcended sound, a torrent of fervent approbation. the stuffy air itself seemed to shake with a storm of hands colliding in eager tribute.

trump felt it in his bones- and jealousy rushed up, roaring its displeasure that it wasn’t for him (because everything had to be for him), before he realised that oh shit, it was for him. he stood quickly, brushing off the non-existent dust on his pristine trousers, and smiled, the expression slightly foreign on his face. was the foundation he put on this morning creasing in his smile lines? 

he hurriedly stepped up onto the large platform, the pre-prepared notes lying on the lectern innocently. the notepaper (emblazoned with his initials), seemed to be waiting for his calloused hands to open her and read aloud the venomous words disguised as patriotism tidily printed on her white, smooth surface.

and read aloud he did. trump’s voice carried, loud in the rustling silence of the arena, the buzz of enthusiastic eagerness in the arena so infectious that it made him almost drunk on giddiness, his words slurring as he tried to express the overwhelming wave of emotion inside him. 

“come on, donald! focus.” he reprimanded himself inwardly. his inner voice sounded remarkably like elon. his brows creased- oh shit, was his foundation caking? 

despite the simply horrible issue with his base makeup, he was rather proud of himself as he ploughed through the speech (how determined!), demonstrating with words dripping with honey and venom alike to the eager crowd what he would do in his presidency. he almost snorted (again) at the foolishness of his speechwriter (because obviously he had better things than write his own speeches). did the poor soul actually believe he was going to do all that? golf wasn’t going to play itself!

momentarily, he felt rather ashamed. he was telling all this to an enraptured crowd, who seemed to be hanging on every single word. were they going to be disappointed when they realised they voted in a rather diminished man who was neverever going to be satisfied? 

who sat regally on the chessboard, moving one square at a time, hiding behind his castles, whilst the pathetic little pawns clawed their way to a faraway dream of being promoted, only to be snatched up by the yawning maws of those more powerful?

he knocked that train of thought away with a pompous fist pump, which seemed to make the crowd even happier, their roars of approval sending jolts to his spine. he was just a man, after all- how could they expect so much out of a human being? it wasn’t like he was the figurehead of one of the most powerful countries on the planet. why, that would be rather foolish of them to think that!

trump tutted inwardly. people simply shouldn’t be so ignorant and blindsided. it wasn’t like they were paying hard-earned money in an economy where every cent counted to help him do his job. if they were, maybe he’d consider fulfilling some of those promises.

the doors to the arena opened again- and donald’s heart did a little backflip- because in strode elon musk, resplendent in his neatly pressed suit and tie. applause rang out again, and it seemed even louder than before, and the pang of envy rushed through donald’s veins. it seemed as if envy and greed were a part of him now, as him as the blood thrumming through his temple- what did the bible people call it? ah, yes. the deadly sins. but that was made up bullshit anyway.

elon- the love of his life, whose voice was able to calm him even when he was at the brink of collapse- who had called him, his voice breathy and hushed with excitement, to congratulate him a moment earlier. who he had met at a conference years ago and then fell immediately in love with the power and man alike in front of him. who had watched him step up the ranks, unflinchingly proud of him. trump felt like his heart was swelling, ready to burst, filled with unfiltered fondness for the man, now smiling slightly up at him, under the platform.

their fourth date- it was hot out, but the sun was setting quickly, and they could see the faint silhouette of the moon, as milky white as the soft skin of the hand trump was holding. he stroked it once- twice. he felt the other’s hand brush back against his in response, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the settling chill ran up his spine. the tree they were leaning on was warm from the afternoon sun, and everything was perfect.

he felt soft lips trace down the shell of his ear, and a little whimper worked its way up his throat as he nuzzled into the touch. 

“come, duckie.”

donald’s eyes widened at elon’s husky voice as he scrambled up, grasping the other’s strong arm for purchase as the man hoisted him onto a particularly overarching thick branch of the tree they were leaning on. 

the sun had set fully now, the vibrant orange and yellow and blue bleeding into dark red and velvety obsidian, leeching into the horizon as night slowly begun her regal reign.

stars blinked into existence, the moon bright now. he could see a constellation as he tilted his head to the left - what was it called? the one with the belt?

he resolved to call it the belt constellation. why, he was rather good at this entire naming ordeal! maybe he should start naming gulfs or departments.

a sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned to look down at musk, who  seemed to be smiling softly up at him. in the moonlight, he looked ethereal, the planes of his face, usually shadowed and pasty, illuminated by the milky glow- the soft crinkle of his eyes, the gentle raise of his eyebrows so starkly visible it made donald’s heart stutter. 

did elon know that the erratic beat of his heart matched the one in trump’s own ribcage?

donald leaned close, brushing his lips against elon’s. he felt hands wrap around his waist to steady him, and he smiled against the open-mouthed kiss. 

“elon?” he whispered, leaning back, faced flushed and pupils blown.

“yes, my love?”

“are we starlinked lovers?”

elon stroked donny’s hair, his little upside-down smile crinkling his eyes as he chuckled.

“good one.”

trump beamed right back from behind the lectern, and for a moment everything shone.