Cold War Lovers

~ 2 ~

Weeks go on after the conference at Potsdam. Stalin started to get worried. He had not heard anything from his lover in a very long time. Usually, Truman would send him letters or messages. Not this time. No letters, no telegrams, nothing.

The Soviet started to wonder if something had happened to Truman. Was he safe? Was he in danger or just busy? His concern for the smaller began to increase.

Stalin was seen as a very strong and tough man with a lot of grit. He came off very stubborn and never backed down to any sort of challenge. Ever since he was a kid he has been this way.

The only person who could make him fold ........

Was Truman.

Stalin figured after not hearing from his lover in 2 months, that something was most definitely wrong.

Eventually, the thought of Truman got to him. He drifted towards the old looking phone; the easiest way to reach his lover. Stalin dialed in. Waiting for any sort of response on the other side. Nothing. He waited a little longer and called again. He called Truman a total of 4 times before he gave up, settling into his mahogany chair. He sighed setting his head in his palms.

Why is he ignoring me? he thought. Did I do something wrong?

"Sir?" Stalin's assistant muttered in fear of his employer.
"What is it?" Stalin barked back
"The US troops are pushing us further and further back. We need reinforcements"

The thoughts of his country being defeated and his lover ignoring him set Stalin off. He lashed out.

"Do you think we would be fucking losing if we had reinforcements" he shouted. "We must send people over to America. Spies, yes. Infiltrate their government, find their plans, and destroy them with their own artillery"

Stalin was gleaming at this new idea. But soon, his previous thoughts began to consume him again......Truman. "Why are you still standing there" he shouted. "Go round up a team to set off to the US". At his demand, the assistant quickly scurries off. Within minutes, Stalin has already ordered one of his private jets to fly him over to America. He needed to talk to his love. He had to know what was wrong even if it meant invading on Truman.

The red accented jet arrived at the tarmac. It was fairly small as to go unseen by enemy lines. Stalin hesitantly boarded the aircraft.

Am I really doing this?  Stalin thought to himself.

He still wasn't sure if this was a good idea or not. He wanted to see Truman, but did Truman want to see him?

As Stalin boarded, 3 of his strongest bodyguards followed behind. Stalin took a seat on a white leather bench. He was relieved to be seated. He was finally able to gather his thoughts after a long day of stressful planning.

Stalin took a deep inhale of his cigar, letting the smoke clear his thoughts. Those thoughts, fully consumed by the image of Harry Truman. Somehow, thinking about Truman calmed the Soviet down and distracted him from the anxiety and stress of the Cold War that was only becoming more tense. Stalin chuckled to himself at the irony.

"Something funny?" Vladimir, one of Stalin's bodyguard and closest friend, asked.

Stalin was ripped out of his thoughts of his homosexual romance and abruptly sat up.

"Most certainly" Stalin remarked. "I was simply imagining the dumbfounded look on Truman's face when we announce the readiness of our hydrogen bombs".

Vladimir chuckled dryly and took a drag on his cigar. "He'll lose his shit, that's for sure"

Stalin forced out a laugh, when really seeing Truman sad was the last thing he wanted to witness. He felt pathetic viewing Harry in this sort, but he was just too difficult to resist.

The sky outside the red Soviet jet began to blacken. The clock on the front of their cabin struck 1:00 am. If he wanted to look presentable when meeting Truman tomorrow, Stalin needed to get his shit together and go to sleep.

He set his 7th cigar that day on the ashtray by the couch and took one last sip of vodka to calm his nerves. He closed his eyes, the burning sensation in his throat leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth. He drifted to sleep due to the comforting thoughts of Truman. It was no surprise to Stalin when his lover appeared in his dream.

They were in bed together, their arms wrapped around each other. The Moscow air brittled their pale arms through the open window, but they only held each other tighter. Love intertwined between them, and in this reality, there were no barriers. It was just them. They were at home at last. At peace at last.

Stalin woke with a pit in his stomach. It was then that the man realized that this wasn't just some laid back sexual relationship, no, this was love...and that's what hurt the most.