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The door to Stalin’s private chamber shut with the weight of decades. Molotov didn’t flinch — not anymore. He’d followed Stalin through purges, betrayals, and policies carved in blood. But behind this door, things were always more dangerous.
Here, there were no party witnesses. No typewritten deniability. Just flesh and breath and guilt.
“Take off your coat,” Stalin muttered, voice thick with smoke and something darker.
Molotov obeyed — not like a servant, but like a man who had surrendered long ago to something he could never name. The greatcoat hit the floor with a dull *thump*, heavy with snow and secrets.
Stalin stood closer now, the tip of his finger tracing the lapel of Molotov’s uniform, dragging slowly, almost reverently.
“You’ve always been loyal,” he murmured, “but I wonder… what keeps you here, really?”
Molotov met his gaze, steady as steel. “Because no one else sees you like I do.”
“And how do you see me?”
Molotov stepped forward until they were breath to breath. “Not as a leader. Not as a tyrant. Not as a god.”
His hand slid to Stalin’s waist, pulling him closer — not gently.
“I see the man who fears the silence when the crowds stop clapping. The man who needs someone to watch him fall apart in private and still call him *comrade* in public.”
Stalin’s breath hitched. He grabbed Molotov by the collar, pulling him in — rough, desperate, like every missed chance in their years of war and rule.
Their mouths collided, not in romance but in ruin. Teeth scraped. Beards tangled. It wasn’t tender — it was conquest.
Hands pulled at uniforms, medals clattering to the floor. Stalin pushed Molotov against the desk, papers scattering like fallen doctrine.
“You’d still execute me,” Molotov growled, between ragged breaths.
“I already have,” Stalin whispered against his throat. “Every night you come back.”
Their bodies moved like history — brutal, inevitable. Not making love. Making *legacy*.
And when it was done, Stalin sat back, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers.
Molotov adjusted his glasses. “So what now?”
Stalin exhaled smoke. “Now, we go back to ruling the world.”
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