Trump x Putin

Chapter 1: The Invintation

     It was an unusually warm fall evening in Moscow, the city bathed in amber light as the last traces of summer fought to linger. Inside the opulent Kremlin, President Vladimir Putin sat at his desk, reviewing his notes for the upcoming international summit. His face was stone, a mask of focused composure, but his eyes burned with something deeper—something that only a few truly understood. In the cold depths of the Russian political machine, one didn't survive without a sharp intellect and the willingness to manipulate all the chess pieces around them.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," Putin said, without looking up.

The door opened, and a sleek, suited aide stepped inside, holding a thick envelope in his hands. "Mr. President," the aide said, his voice steady but with a hint of curiosity, "you have an unexpected visitor. He insists on speaking with you. He calls it a... diplomatic opportunity."

Putin raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

The aide passed the envelope over, and Putin flipped it open with practiced ease. His lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he read the name.

Donald J. Trump.

"I suppose it's time to entertain old acquaintances," Putin muttered under his breath. His hand hovered over the phone for a moment before he decided. "Send him in."

Minutes later, the door opened once again, but this time it wasn't an aide. Instead, a familiar figure stood in the doorway, tall, unmistakable, with that signature mane of hair glinting under the Kremlin's grand chandeliers.

"Vlad!" Donald Trump greeted, stepping into the room with his characteristic bravado. "Good to see you again, my friend. You're looking as powerful as ever!"

Putin's cold, calculating eyes met Trump's, and for a moment, there was no word exchanged. The Russian president's gaze was measuring, assessing, as if determining the worth of this peculiar man who had once been the leader of the free world.

"Donald," Putin said, his voice even. "I must admit, I did not expect this visit. What brings you to Moscow?"

Trump sat down across from him, flashing that trademark smile. "You know me, Vlad," he said, leaning forward. "I'm always looking for opportunities. And I think you and I can strike a deal... a big one. Something that could change the world, believe me."

Putin remained silent, his fingers tapping on the surface of his desk as he studied the former American president. Trump was a wild card, a man who had managed to carve his own path, for better or for worse, through the labyrinth of American politics. Putin respected that, even if he found Trump's lack of diplomacy both amusing and dangerous.

"A deal?" Putin finally asked. "What kind of deal?"

Trump leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together as if he were about to reveal some grand secret. "Well, Vlad, let's just say I have some... special love. There's a certain election coming up in the States, and you and I both know the chaos that could follow. Now, what if there were a way we could ensure things go... our way?"

Putin's expression didn't change. His mind was racing, calculating the implications of Trump's proposal. "Are you suggesting you wish for me to assist you in your country's internal affairs?" he asked carefully.

"Not exactly," Trump said with a wink. "I'm saying that if you help me—if we work together on some of the bigger issues—you can gain a lot of influence. A lot of... power in the West. We can play the game, Vlad. You've got the intelligence, I've got the resources, and together, we can make things... well, let's just say, more entertaining."

Putin leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepling together. "And what do you want in return, Donald?"

Trump paused for a moment, letting the tension hang in the air. "I want my name remembered in history. I want the world to see me as the man who brought peace—who stopped the wars, who changed the system. I want to be the guy who made the greatest deal in history. The ultimate deal."

Putin's lips curved into a small smile, but there was no warmth behind it. "You have... grand ambitions, my friend. But ambition alone does not create power."

Trump grinned, his confidence unwavering. "You don't get to be me without knowing a thing or two about power. Look, I'm not asking you to wave a magic wand. I'm asking for an alliance—a mutual benefit. You know what it's like to be underestimated, to be seen as a threat. I get that. But let's face it, the world's going crazy, Vlad. We could be the ones to control the chaos."

Putin leaned back in his chair, his steely eyes never leaving Trump's face. For a moment, the two men regarded each other in silence, each knowing that this was a meeting that could shape the future in ways no one would ever expect.

"Very well," Putin said at last, his voice low but resolute. "Let us see what you propose."
 
      Weeks had passed as the two men engaged in clandestine meetings and whispered negotiations. The media, of course, was oblivious to the behind-the-scenes alliance brewing between the two leaders. They were too focused on the latest drama—Trump's controversial statements, Putin's expanding influence in the Middle East, the tension in Eastern Europe. But in the shadows, a new power was taking shape.

It was a careful dance—one that required trust but also manipulation. Trump had his way with words, his ability to charm and deceive, while Putin brought his unrivaled skill in intelligence and long-term strategy. They worked in tandem, each playing to the other's strengths. Putin would feed Trump disinformation about his political enemies, helping him to secure key alliances within his own party. Trump, in return, used his influence to create international distractions, keeping the world's gaze elsewhere as Putin solidified his own power base.

Yet, as they moved closer to their goals, the complexity of their alliance began to reveal itself.

One day, as they sat in a private room in the Kremlin, Trump sighed and rubbed his temples. "Vlad, I gotta be honest with you. There's a lot of pressure on me right now. People want answers, they want results, and I don't know if I can keep delivering."

Putin studied him silently, his eyes never leaving Trump's face. "You are in a difficult position," he said, his voice soft. "But this is the price of power. You cannot show weakness. The moment you do, everything unravels."

Trump chuckled bitterly. "I've been unraveling for years. But you—you've got it all figured out, don't you?"

Putin's smile was thin, but it was there. "I am not without my challenges, Donald. But I understand the value of patience."