When the shirt slide off one of his shoulders, Ivan tore his mouth away.
“Sorry. Извините, I’m sorry.” Ivan gasped.
“What?” said Mathieu.
His chest was sore, maybe for not breathing. The blonde man looked like he was barely containing himself, trying to be gentle and failing and afraid he’d terrify the Canadian away, for good. All he saw was a curved shoulders rising and falling with each pant, mouth in the dim light like a knife wound, ripe and full. He rested his head against Ivan’s, avoiding kissing him again. It seemed like such an achievement.
“It’s okay.” He soothed, finally lying back against the pillow and sliding the burnt-out joint away from the Russian’s hands. Ivan followed him, drawn to the sliver of open skin, teething at the jugular and collar.
“I am sorry – Mathieu, I shouldn’t, never should have-“Mathieu touched his lips, silencing him, calming him.
“It’s nothing.” He said, tender. “I-I know. We aren’t supposed to be- well. With Alfred around, the way things used to be, I’m not sure it can happen.” His hands were fluttering down the other’s clothes, too much clothes, why was he wearing all this still? “I’d like to try though. He doesn’t quite understand, you know, the cold, how much you need someone.”
Ivan’s head slide against his shoulder with Mathieu’s hand still resting in the hair. When he spoke the sound carried into Mathieu’s chest, making his heart skip oddly.
“It is hard, little one, to make another understand. I am feeling your brother understands not your silence, and as such cannot understand your words.”
Ivan traced the indentation line of Mathieu spine with his fingertip, all the way to the waist of the pants, just above the small of his back. He slid his fingers down to touch the skin there, tender and thin and mindlessly hot. Again and again, he traced that hidden skin, curve like a bowl to lick from. He could barely concentrate on words with that hand there.
“And what about you? D’you think you understand silence?” he said, hushed. “You and me, we were always good friends, right? “
Re: Russia/Canada "One Morning" 7/?
When the shirt slide off one of his shoulders, Ivan tore his mouth away.
“Sorry. Извините, I’m sorry.” Ivan gasped.
“What?” said Mathieu.
His chest was sore, maybe for not breathing. The blonde man looked like he was barely containing himself, trying to be gentle and failing and afraid he’d terrify the Canadian away, for good. All he saw was a curved shoulders rising and falling with each pant, mouth in the dim light like a knife wound, ripe and full. He rested his head against Ivan’s, avoiding kissing him again. It seemed like such an achievement.
“It’s okay.” He soothed, finally lying back against the pillow and sliding the burnt-out joint away from the Russian’s hands. Ivan followed him, drawn to the sliver of open skin, teething at the jugular and collar.
“I am sorry – Mathieu, I shouldn’t, never should have-“Mathieu touched his lips, silencing him, calming him.
“It’s nothing.” He said, tender. “I-I know. We aren’t supposed to be- well. With Alfred around, the way things used to be, I’m not sure it can happen.” His hands were fluttering down the other’s clothes, too much clothes, why was he wearing all this still? “I’d like to try though. He doesn’t quite understand, you know, the cold, how much you need someone.”
Ivan’s head slide against his shoulder with Mathieu’s hand still resting in the hair. When he spoke the sound carried into Mathieu’s chest, making his heart skip oddly.
“It is hard, little one, to make another understand. I am feeling your brother understands not your silence, and as such cannot understand your words.”
Ivan traced the indentation line of Mathieu spine with his fingertip, all the way to the waist of the pants, just above the small of his back. He slid his fingers down to touch the skin there, tender and thin and mindlessly hot. Again and again, he traced that hidden skin, curve like a bowl to lick from. He could barely concentrate on words with that hand there.
“And what about you? D’you think you understand silence?” he said, hushed. “You and me, we were always good friends, right? “