The cummunist dick-tatorship

Chaper 8: Christmas special

AN: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! Here's a special Christmas chapter to get u in the spirit 😼
TW: Being ashamed of sexuality and having to hide sexuality, oppression.

It's Christmas Eve in Tsarist Russia, and all is merry and bright. A Christmas party is being thrown at the communist party headquarters. Members have been busy all day decking the halls and hanging up mistletoe, ready for the most festive party of the year.
Lenin's POV:
Today had been tiring. Making all the food for the party then laying it all out neatly.
But nothing can ruin my excitement for the party tonight.
I am so ready to just lead lose and parrrtaaayyy!
I've layer out my contributions on the table, apple sourz and raspberry gin.
I'm currently picking out my outfit for the party.
Red, velvet trousers with a white blouse? No. Too fancy. Too gay.
A black suit and tie? Too straight.
Ah perfect. A long grey coat and a frilly white blouse along with black pants.
I add a red badge to my shirt. Gotta represent.
I take a look in the mirror. Okkk Leninnnnn.
I do a little spin and a little flourish,
I look hot af.
I'll have the other members drooling.
I smirk at my own reflection in the mirror then sashay away towards the door.

The Russian air is crisp and cold tonight.
The streets are festive, but not nearly festive enough. That stupid tsar. It's all his fault.
If I were ruler, these streets would be lit up with lights with wreaths, bows and Christmas trees everywhere.
I just love Christmas.
I wrap my coat tighter around my small body that's susceptible to the bitter cold.
I approach the headquarters, spotting a few members pulling up in horse-drawn carriages.
Damn I feel poor walking.
Light is pouring out of every window and the jolly Christmas music flows through the icy air of the night.
As I reach the doors my body fills with excitement.

The second I step into the big hall, my ears fill with the sounds of jolly laughter and excitable chatting and gossiping.
I look around for any of my friends, though there's not many, but soon enough I spot Zinoviev and Kamenev, together, there's not surprise.
Those two are practically joint at the hip, where on goes, the other goes.
I wouldn't be surprised one day if it was revealed they were a couple.
I get romantical vibes from them.
I walk over to them, they see me and wave.
"Heyy bestiesss" I say.
"Hey Lenin, how's it going? Taking over the world yet?" Zinoviev asks, playfully punching my arm.
"Nope, not yet my friend, one step at a time," I tell him, "my first goal, is Russia."
They both nod in agreement and they dive into a juicy gossip sesh about the tsar and the autocratic system.
We're his No.1 hater.

Stalin's POV:
I'm wearing my best suit tonight, looking dapper. I've also trimmed and put gel on my moustache.
I try to convince myself I've scrubbed up this well for myself, but really it's all for him.
I wander around the hall, checking everything is going to plan and everyone is having a jolly time.
I'm also looking for that one face in the sea of faces. The only one I care about.
I scan the crowds, but so far, no luck.
I head over to one of the drinks tables and get myself a vodka.
That's when I hear someone ordering a pink gin and tonic.
Hmmm there's only one person I can think of that would order a drink like that.
I turn to my right and there he is, in all his revolutionary glory.
My Lenin.
I can't tear my eyes away, he looks so good tonight, and the way he's sipping that gin and tonic...is making me think and feel unholy things.
He hasn't noticed me yet, so I just stay staring at him, I don't care if it sounds creepy. I'm simply admiring.
Eventually he looks over in my direction, then almost spits his drink out when his eyes land on me. It's quite funny.
"Hey," I say, with false confidence, he still makes me hella nervous.
"Hey," he says back awkwardly, "enjoying the party?"
"Yeah thanks, you?"
"Yeah, just been hanging out with Zinoviev and Kamenev," he replies.
"Ahh yes, peas in a pod those two are aren't they."
"Yeah," he laughs , and it's music to my ears. It's short and sweet, like he is.
"You know, I haven't spoken to them in a while, because I've been so busy, mind if I pop over and catch up."
"Yeah, of course, why not, I'll take you over there now." He begins through the ocean of people and I follow closely behind.

We finally reach them and we catch up on everything that's happened recently.
"I mean come onnn, Nicholas is an absolute pussy, I reckon we could take over just by asking," Kamenev says, chuckling away, glass of Prosecco in hand.
We all burst out laughing.
"Oh 100%, I don't know why we're all waiting so long," Zinoviev pipes up, "isn't it obvious a revolution is inevitable."
"Oh just you wait, some day these rich bitches will wake up and finally gain some sort of consciousness, then they'll realise," Lenin says. I'm clinging into every word he says, soaking up all of his thoughts and feelings.
Fuck he's so intellectual.
He literally belongs in the intelligentsia.

We chat for a little while longer until people begin to talk less and dance more.
"Ok, who wants to head onto the dance floor?" Zinoviev, a known party animal, shouts.
"Heck yeah!" Kamenev agrees.
"Yes, I do!" Lenin joins in.
"Yeah sure," I say, why not.
All four of us break it down on the dance floor, showing off our sick moves.
Kamenev is breakdancing.
Zinoviev is just jumping up and down like a madman.
And oh god, Lenin is practically twerking, shaking that thang.
I'm in awe of the way he moves.
His hips don't lie.
We dance for a little while longer, and then take a break to cool down and grab a drink.
We're queueing up for drinks, when Kamenev and Zinoviev start giggling hysterically.
"What?" Lenin and I both say at the same time.
"N- nothing." Zinoviev barely manages to get out between laughs.
"No seriously what?" I demand.
Then Lenin nudges me and points upwards.
Oh shit. Mistletoe.
I glare at Z and K, who are now clutching onto each other to keep from collapsing on the floor.
I look at Lenin who is blushing furiously and I feel my face burn the same way.
"Guys come on, let's be mature about this, mistletoe doesn't mean shit. There is no rule that you have to kiss," Lenin states.
I nod along, but I don't think the other two are convinced.
They just smirk at us now, expectant.
"Nuh uh, not happening," Lenin refuses quickly, which is kinda like a stab to my heart. I mean not that I ever expected that he'd kiss me in front of other people. I mean he couldn't even handle it when we were alone.
I can't take the humiliation anymore, so I simply walk away.

Lenin's POV:
After Stalin stormed off, the rest of the night was a blur.
I got so bored without Stalin, I just decided to go home.
So I'm now curled up in my big arm chair in front of the fire, pretending that this soft blanket wrapped tightly around me right now is Stalin's strong, muscly arms.
Oh how I wish I could've let him kiss me under that mistletoe.
I sip my hot chocolate wistfully.
If I wasn't so ashamed of my sexuality and who I am, perhaps I would've kissed him.
But that's not in this universe, no in this one I'm a pussy, afraid to express my true emotions because of what others might think or say.
And as much as I wish we could flaunt our love, my hopes and dreams are unrealistic, and I am forced to suppress how I feel and convince everyone around me I am straight.
So instead I must love Stalin silently.
Merry Christmas to me i guess.