The cummunist dick-tatorship

Chapter 11: Sneaking around

TW!!: Mention of having to hide a relationship due to the possibility of homophobia

Lenin's POV:
FFS why did I agree to this, I think as Stalin drags me into the nearest janitors closet.
He kisses me like a starved man.
And I'm honestly not complaining.
Oh god, if the people saw us now, what would they think?
They'd probs call us a million slurs, but at the moment, that's the least of my worries.
Stalins arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, and I've never felt safer.
However it's not long before we both jump at the smallest sound.
Keeping this stuff a secret isn't easy. And it makes you very paranoid.
We both pull away, worried someone will walk in on us.
But nothing.
We're both red with embarrassment.
"Sorry," Stalin laughs awkwardly, blushing like crazy.
"Haha, it's fine. Shall we continue?" I smirk at him
"I thought you'd never ask," he pulls me into him once more and we continue our steamy make out sesh.
His hands roam all over my body. Then they're in my hair, tugging slightly, not too hard, just the right amount.
Once we finally pull away, both extremely out of breath, we take a seat on the cold floor.
Once we've both caught our breath and aren't so hot and bothered we begin to talk.
"You know, this sneaking around stuff is quite fun," Stalin nudges my shoulder with his playfully, smirking.
"Really? You think?" I ask honestly, withholding the secret that hiding my love is slowly killing me.
"What, you don't?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"Well I mean it's not like we chose to do it this way."
"No I know, but don't you find it thrilling?" He asks genuinely.
"I guess," I shrug "but I'd rather do all this stuff not in a dark and dingy janitors closet." I scoff, looking around me with disgust.
"Well yeah, I know, but Len, baby, that's the way it gags to be," he says giving me a sympathetic look.
And despite the serious and sad nature of the conversation, my stomach still manages to flip at the sound of Stalin calling me "baby".
"I know." I mutter, looking down at my lap. "I just wish things were different."
"Me too," Stalin puts an arm over my shoulders, resting his head against mine. "Me too."

Stalin's POV:
Ok so what I said to Lenin was kind of a lie. I don't enjoy this sneaking around as much as I may have implied.
It sucks.
But I was trying to make light of a sad situation.
As much as I'd love to scream my love for him from the rooftops, there's a million reasons why I can't.
And we just have to accept that.
That's another thing, I haven't actually told Lenin I love him.
But I do, I really do.
I just think it's too early to confess now.
Plus I don't even know if e feels the same .
Today we're going on a date to the movies. But if anyone sees us we'll just play it off as a trip out. Completely platonic.
We arrive and collet our tickets from the box office.
Then we grab some popcorn, find our screen and settle into our seats.
We're at right at the back, and thanks to the darkness, we manage to hold hands without being seen.
At one point Lenin reaches over to grab some popcorn.
My hand is already in the bucket, so when he puts his in, his fingers graze mine.
His hand lingers there an extra second before he quickly retracts it.
It's a singular moment of simple contact, but electricity shoots through me.
God, I wish we weren't in a crowded movie theatre right now.
Lenin and I are still holding hands, when 20 minutes into movie, the door to our left swings open, and in walk Kamenev and Zinoviev.
Lenin is quick to rip his hand away from my grip, and shame floods through me.
Oh how I wish it didn't have to be secret.
We spend the remainder of the movie no longer touching. And I've never missed anyone's touch more.
But sure, we're just friends to everyone else.
And that's the way it'll have to stay for now, even if it kills me.