#literally leave me alone tumble istg

[i-crav3-blo0d]

MARTIN STIMBOARD

[poorbasil]

yo i've thought about buckley/vidal so much tbh like it'd be so rough and kinda nasty like a metaphor for the 1968 election

Duuude you don’t even know. Let me tell you- so I was eating some ice cream, procrastionating writing my Britain and WWI paper so I decided to watch a political documentary because that’s my favorite form of procrastination. I’ve seen the Buckley/Vidal docu on Netflix recommended to me a lot so I decided to give it a try and HOT DAMN I was not expecting to get as invested as I am. When finals week is over I am def going to rewatch it. Like, holy hell, that one debate, you know the one, their exchanges had me hollering istg. And especially the part were Vidal started claiming that he got ambigous sexual vibes from Buckley LORD. You can’t make this stuff up. I’m surprised those two don’t have a fanbase on this here darn website because they are literally the definition of paritsan drama at its finest. 

Just imagine, a post debate encounter where Buckley makes good on his imfamous words to sock Vidal in the mouth. And Vidal stumbles backwards, blood dripping from his broken nose and down inbetween his fingers. A drop of red slashing on the gaudy 60s carpet but neither men found that they particularly cared about solied property at the moment. 

The hatred in Buckley’s eyes was near palpable and Vidal took in a sharp breath that sounded more akin to a choking noise do to his ruptured blood vessels. He felt pinned down by Buckley’s stare, unable to do as much as shuffle his feet awkwardly let alone attempt to flee the scene of attack. His eyes shifted momentarily to Buckley’s clentched fist and the thought flashed before his mind, wondering if another blow was emminent. He forced his eyes to remain open, his body readying itself for another punch. But it never came. He saw out of the coner of his eyes, Buckley’s fist slowly uncletch, and he noticed for the first time that his rival’s knucles were stained red. 

That’s my blood, he thought in somewhat of a daze, watching as Buckley examined his own hand. His eyes seemed to be glazed over, as if was seeing the red tinge coating his inflamed skin but also not processing the reality of it at the same time. The corridor was empty. None of the frantic and frazzled energy that dominanted the live studio room was present. Vidal’s ragged breaths filled the room, the noise sounding increadibly loud in their owner’s ears. 

Buckley himself was in a daze and was overcome with the feeling that this moment could not possibly be reality. The words had been enough. It had been entirely uncalled for, unprecedented even in a live broadcasted debate. He had just been so overwhelmed with emotion in the heat of the moment and the words tumbled out from his unchecked lips before he could regulate himself. The words had been enough. But his actions were unforgivable! He was utterly furious. At himself. At Vidal. At ABC. Hell, he was even furious at the goddamn convention itself. His eyes drifted to the man standing before him. His political rival and best enemy. A trickle of blood was running down the side of Vidals hand as it shook, attempting to stifle the stream of viscous liquid pouring out of his nose. A beat paused before Buckley’s mind was made.

He grabbed Vidal by the arm, the very same arm the man was using in a feeble effort to shield his broken nose. Despite his brain virtually screaming at his not to, Vidal followed Buckley’s lead without hestitation, allowing himself to be dragged into one of the empty studio rooms down the cooridor. Not a moment after the door fell shut behind them, Vidal found himself being physically pushed into a chair, his body falling onto the unsteady plastic object with an extreme lack of grace. He tried to utter a curse but the words got lost underneath the pressure from his palm over his face and came out more like an incomprehensible mumble. 

“Shut it,” he heard Buckley say, his voice stern and aristocratic as always. But Vidal knew that voice better than most, and he could deteact a tremor in the pitch, a slight imperfection in Buckley’s tone that indicated uncertainty. He cataloguedthe information away, now was definiety not the time. He watched as Buckley rummaged through the meakly decorated studio room, tossing aside half empty bottles hair gel product and face make up. He pulled out a towel and turned, slowly approching Vidal. Buckley reached out, his hand stopping in mid-air for a moment before he seemed to settled himself and fully extended his arm. Vidal could not supress a shutter as Buckley’s finger closed around his wrist and worked to gentley separate his hand from its cupped position around his still bleeding nose. 

“Please,” Buckley croaked out and Vidal let his arm drop. There was something in his voice that Vidal swore he had never heard before, remorse perhaps? No, it couldn’t be. He shook his head at the thought and immediatly regretted the movement as his nose flarred up in pain. 

“Don’t move,” Buckley commanded, and his other hand came up to rest upon Vidal’s knee in a firm grip. The hand holding the towel moved to Vidal’s face and he began to wipe up the blood. The friction of the rough towel scrubbing the drying blood burned but Vidal made no signs of protest. When he was done, Buckley reached for Vidal’s hand, the one he had been using to cup his nose and gently wiped his fingers clean, slowly taking his time to run the rag over each digit in repeative motions. 

Vidal watched, his eyes fixed on the movements. Perhaps it was an over-stimulation of his senses. He had just finished debating this most detestable man and received a sock in the face for his efforts, and yet, he couldn’t supress the feeling of warmth coursing through his body as Buckley took his time to wipe each of his fingers clean. 

He was still staring at the place where Buckley’s hand had been when he heard the other man speak. “You’re going to have get that set properly.”

“What?” Vidal said, his mind in a stupor. 

“Your nose, you’re going to have to get it set by a professional. I don’t want to risk it myself.” 

“I- oh, yes. Of course.” 

Buckley nodded, his intense gaze fixed on Vidal, the rag dangling from his hand as he made to stand. Vidal rose as well and they simply stood there, watching each other. 

“I- I didn’t- I don’t-” Buckley began, but for once, the words wouldn’t come out. But they didn’t have to, Vidal recongized what the other man was attempting to say and could scarcely believe it. 

Buckley folded the rag and tucked it into his pocket, making to leave the room. 

“Wait!” Vidal called out before he could stop himself. 

Buckley paused for a moment, and then turned around, facing his rival again. 

“I- I’m not going to tell anybody,” Vidal said, Buckley’s wide-eyed look of shock not even coming close to the surprise he felt at his own words, but he couldn’t stop now. 

“I’m not going to tell anybody,” he repeated, his feet edging closer and closer until he was barley a foot away from Buckley.

“I won’t tell anybody, as long as you don’t tell anybody about this.”

“Wha-” Buckley began, but before he could finish speaking he felt the soft press of lips against his and his eyes fell shut on their own acord. 

Vidal ignored the pain in his nose as he pressed his face harder against Buckley’s, effectively deepening the kiss. He ignored the sirens blazing in his brain telling him to stop, that this could ruin him for life. He tried to ignore it all, but he couldn’t ignore the way Buckley’s slightly chapped lips felt against his own, the way his body was pressing into his own, chest to chest. Or the way Buckley’s strong hands had wrapped around him, one clutching his waist and the other tickling the back of his neck. He shouldn’t have done this. That must was clear. He had the upper hand and he threw it all away, for what, a single kiss with his sworn political enemy. And yet, he ignored that too as Buckley’s fingers tugged on his hair and his teeth grazed his bottom lip. 

He shouldn’t have done this, and yet, what either men realized, was this was not going to be the last time those thoughts crossed either of their minds. 

[i-crav3-blo0d]

Rip your heart out