The hallway was dark, but there was a dim light visible through the crack beneath the door of the other guest room. Estonia rapped on it and waited. His insides twisted, and when he heard the soft voice inside say “Come in”, he began trembling nervously. Drawing in a deep breath, he counted to ten, then slipped inside.
The only light came from the bedside lamp. Poland stood by the bed, slowly buttoning up his pyjama top, the shadows playing gently over his face. He looked toward Estonia and arched an eyebrow, his expression soft and curious. “What’s up?” he asked. “You like, still can’t sleep, or something?”
“Yes.” When he spoke, his voice wavered. Silently cursing his shyness, Estonia pressed the door shut behind him.
“Me either. Seems Liet’s the only one who can sleep at all tonight. And that’s really weird, ‘cause like, it’s his day tomorrow.”
“Poland...”
“Yeah?” He had been acting as though nothing had happened between them at all, carefully folding the clothes he had been wearing and setting them atop the dresser. Estonia watched him as he moved, and after only a few seconds could barely stand it, but when Poland turned to look at him, his fresh green eyes low-lidded and questioning, something about his expression seemed to be inviting.
Estonia strode across the room, closing the distance between them. Taking Poland’s hands in his own, he squeezed them gently, unsure. He had so many things he wanted to say; he had run over his lines in his head at least ten times, wanting to get them right. But at that moment as he stood there in front of him, looking at him in the dim light and holding his hands in his own, which trembled as if they had their own minds, damn them, Estonia found himself wordless. “I...” His mind was blank. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing.” Cheeks flushing rose, he swallowed harshly, mortified. That wasn’t what you meant to say, damn you, he thought.
But Poland was smiling. Awkward though Estonia was, Poland was smiling. When the kiss came, it was nothing like the startling, unexpected gesture in the kitchen. It was light, it was gentle, and it was warm, almost comforting, reassuring. When Poland’s hands broke from his hold on them and slid to rest at his waist, Estonia didn’t protest, but drew the other closer instead, folding the shorter nation in his arms.
In little time he lost himself in the warmth of the slender figure nestled against him, melting from the sensation of his fingertips slipping through hair the colour of ripe grain, shivering from the brush and press of lips soft as poppy petals. When a content sigh escaped him, Poland took that opportunity to sneak into his mouth, slick and playfully probing, tasting of mint. Estonia offered no resistance then, either, instead returning the gesture, shyly at first, drinking in the taste of him. How long had it been since— he cut the thought off before it was finished, unwilling to think of northern skies and fresh snow, preferring to lose himself in Poland’s sunny fields.
Small Hours [8/?]
The only light came from the bedside lamp. Poland stood by the bed, slowly buttoning up his pyjama top, the shadows playing gently over his face. He looked toward Estonia and arched an eyebrow, his expression soft and curious. “What’s up?” he asked. “You like, still can’t sleep, or something?”
“Yes.” When he spoke, his voice wavered. Silently cursing his shyness, Estonia pressed the door shut behind him.
“Me either. Seems Liet’s the only one who can sleep at all tonight. And that’s really weird, ‘cause like, it’s his day tomorrow.”
“Poland...”
“Yeah?” He had been acting as though nothing had happened between them at all, carefully folding the clothes he had been wearing and setting them atop the dresser. Estonia watched him as he moved, and after only a few seconds could barely stand it, but when Poland turned to look at him, his fresh green eyes low-lidded and questioning, something about his expression seemed to be inviting.
Estonia strode across the room, closing the distance between them. Taking Poland’s hands in his own, he squeezed them gently, unsure. He had so many things he wanted to say; he had run over his lines in his head at least ten times, wanting to get them right. But at that moment as he stood there in front of him, looking at him in the dim light and holding his hands in his own, which trembled as if they had their own minds, damn them, Estonia found himself wordless. “I...” His mind was blank. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing.” Cheeks flushing rose, he swallowed harshly, mortified. That wasn’t what you meant to say, damn you, he thought.
But Poland was smiling. Awkward though Estonia was, Poland was smiling. When the kiss came, it was nothing like the startling, unexpected gesture in the kitchen. It was light, it was gentle, and it was warm, almost comforting, reassuring. When Poland’s hands broke from his hold on them and slid to rest at his waist, Estonia didn’t protest, but drew the other closer instead, folding the shorter nation in his arms.
In little time he lost himself in the warmth of the slender figure nestled against him, melting from the sensation of his fingertips slipping through hair the colour of ripe grain, shivering from the brush and press of lips soft as poppy petals. When a content sigh escaped him, Poland took that opportunity to sneak into his mouth, slick and playfully probing, tasting of mint. Estonia offered no resistance then, either, instead returning the gesture, shyly at first, drinking in the taste of him. How long had it been since— he cut the thought off before it was finished, unwilling to think of northern skies and fresh snow, preferring to lose himself in Poland’s sunny fields.