Friday, May 4, 2012

The History of Boy's Love

The Shah has fallen.

Again and again, Carter let his eyes scan over the first sentence of the final paragraph, the paper trembling in his hand. The ongoing conflict in Iran had intensified over the years, but the President would've never guessed that it could escalate so drastically. He'd done his best; his best CIA agents had spent months training the SAVAK and ample arms had been supplied to aid the Shah's regime. Still, it appeared as though they had been no match for the Muslim leader and their revolution.

Cursing under his breath, he let the paper go and watched it slide back onto the expensive mahogany table's surface, where it lay untouched for the longest time. Thrusting out a deep sigh, Carter buried his head in his hands, elbows propped on the desk. This was his biggest defeat up to date as US President- a defeat for US politics that would go doubt in history. The mere thought of that humiliation made his stomach tighten. 

"What should I do...?" He groaned to himself, completely unaware that, in the meantime, the door had opened and two very distinct characters had joined him. The rest happen simultaneously; he felt fingers so tenderly lacing through his hair and his ears perked at the sound of the door shutting and locking into place. Slowly, the brunette man raised his head, eyes still downcast. He knew exactly who was behind him, attempting to soothe him with tender niceties. He knew even before the man's soft voice reached his ear.

"Mister President..."

The tone of voice was soft and raspy, like a sultry breeze to his skin. If anyone in the world had the epitome of a bedroom voice, then it was Cyrus Vance. Foreign Minister Vance, the dove of the Carter Administration. The brunette swallowed audibly as that dove's body pressed against his body, arms wrapping around his shoulders and face buried in his hair. There was something particularly intimate about Vance's embraces, particularly because he could feel the man's heart thump against his back, even through the layers of expensive Italian suit.

"The Russians are probably throwing a party in Moscow."

Carter didn't have to look up to know who this sneering, demeaning voice belonged to, but something compelled him to raise his eyes anyway. Eyes widened in a meekly hurt expression, the President regarded the second major member of his administration; Brzezińsk. Zbigniew Kazimierz Brzezińsk, the hawk of US politics. His sharp, chiseled face, unmistakably Eastern European, bore a serious, utterly dignified expression. The image made Carter's skin crawl in the most delightful of ways. Brzezińsk was a cruel bastard, with cold blue eyes to match his heartless personality. It was no secret that the Pole doubted the President's competence, particularly with regard to Vance' influence.

The two couldn't be more different. Behind him was a dove, with fair golden hair and a persona that emitted a ridiculously gentle, sweet warmth. Across the room stood the proud, strong hawk, calculating and eerily calm. Though his face was devoid of any emotion than calm contempt, Brzezínksi harboured a terrifying amount of aggressive potential within him, which could only be guessed when he opened his infamous anti-Communist rhetoric.

"Leave the President be! It was the right decision to stay out of that. You have no right to talk to him like that."

"It's it just like you to applaud cowardice?"

It was always this way with those two. Carter found himself, once again, stuck between the fronts within his own office. It was a strong parallel to the animal kingdom, in some convoluted way. The dove was going to prove himself by facing the hawk, and had managed to keep up, much to everyone's surprise. No matter who won the primal competition, Carter knew one thing: He was going down. He was the prize. He was the prey.

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