“You cannot keep doing this to me America,” Russia murmured. His grip was painfully tight on America’s arm.
“Can’t keep doing what, Russia?” America asked and pressed his forehead to the back of Russia’s head. Even in the dream he smelled like he always did. That crisp winter air, the soft homey and healing smell of chamomile, and the bitter but warm waft of wood smoke.
Violet eyes looked straight into blue as Russia pulled away and moved to holding America’s face between his palms. “You cannot keep breaking my heart. It is killing me.”
The dream swirled, ebbing away into the darkness once more save the burning violet violet eyes left in his wake. America looked down, feeling cold air where warm fingers had once been.
He was back in the hotel room when his eyes opened again. The film of sleep slowly dripped away from America’s mind, letting the haze of warm morning light erase the last cold marks of the dreams. America frowned, blinking at the light before muttering and trying to pull the blankets above his head. Cocooning himself into the starched white covers of the hotel, a grunt from the warm body next to him reminded him that he wasn’t the only one in the bed. Warm and comforting fingers brushed against his forehead and pulled the covers back, light seeping in and invading the dark cocoon he had made. America blearily looked up into violet eyes before groaning at the light and pressing his face into the mattress.
He could hear the light chuckle, but there was a sad edge to it that cut away the drowsiness faster than any cup of coffee. “Russia?” America murmured and blinked at the fuzzy outline of his lover. The air in his lungs puffed out as he was enveloped into an embrace, Russia pulling his body close against his chest.
Russia’s dream from last night bubbled up, and America bit his tongue. He gave a weak laugh and muttered, “Hey, babe, you’re cuddly today…night…fuck. What time is it?” He arched away from Russia as the older nation stayed quiet, lips resting against the smaller man’s collarbone. It took a few seconds as he teetered at the edge of the bed to grab Texas, and he turned back to Russia as he slipped them on.
“It is seven,” Russia murmured.
“Seven what?”
Russia’s head was still pressed against his collarbone and America could feel the hot breath making the fabric of his shirt dampen. “At night.”
Blinking at the ceiling and snaking his hand around Russia’s shoulders he said, “Like tomorrow?”
The twitch of a smile could be felt and Russia glanced up towards America’s face. “As in the same day it was when we went to sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of meetings.”
“Oh. Well that’s cool.” He looked down and smiled at Russia, rubbing his nose against the older man’s cheek. “That means I get to whisk you away to my house tomorrow and have my way with you again.”
Russia snorted. “I believe you mean that I will have my way with you.”
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Here and Now 45
(Anonymous) 2011-09-29 05:44 am (UTC)(link)“You cannot keep doing this to me America,” Russia murmured. His grip was painfully tight on America’s arm.
“Can’t keep doing what, Russia?” America asked and pressed his forehead to the back of Russia’s head. Even in the dream he smelled like he always did. That crisp winter air, the soft homey and healing smell of chamomile, and the bitter but warm waft of wood smoke.
Violet eyes looked straight into blue as Russia pulled away and moved to holding America’s face between his palms. “You cannot keep breaking my heart. It is killing me.”
The dream swirled, ebbing away into the darkness once more save the burning violet violet eyes left in his wake. America looked down, feeling cold air where warm fingers had once been.
He was back in the hotel room when his eyes opened again. The film of sleep slowly dripped away from America’s mind, letting the haze of warm morning light erase the last cold marks of the dreams. America frowned, blinking at the light before muttering and trying to pull the blankets above his head. Cocooning himself into the starched white covers of the hotel, a grunt from the warm body next to him reminded him that he wasn’t the only one in the bed. Warm and comforting fingers brushed against his forehead and pulled the covers back, light seeping in and invading the dark cocoon he had made. America blearily looked up into violet eyes before groaning at the light and pressing his face into the mattress.
He could hear the light chuckle, but there was a sad edge to it that cut away the drowsiness faster than any cup of coffee. “Russia?” America murmured and blinked at the fuzzy outline of his lover. The air in his lungs puffed out as he was enveloped into an embrace, Russia pulling his body close against his chest.
Russia’s dream from last night bubbled up, and America bit his tongue. He gave a weak laugh and muttered, “Hey, babe, you’re cuddly today…night…fuck. What time is it?” He arched away from Russia as the older nation stayed quiet, lips resting against the smaller man’s collarbone. It took a few seconds as he teetered at the edge of the bed to grab Texas, and he turned back to Russia as he slipped them on.
“It is seven,” Russia murmured.
“Seven what?”
Russia’s head was still pressed against his collarbone and America could feel the hot breath making the fabric of his shirt dampen. “At night.”
Blinking at the ceiling and snaking his hand around Russia’s shoulders he said, “Like tomorrow?”
The twitch of a smile could be felt and Russia glanced up towards America’s face. “As in the same day it was when we went to sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of meetings.”
“Oh. Well that’s cool.” He looked down and smiled at Russia, rubbing his nose against the older man’s cheek. “That means I get to whisk you away to my house tomorrow and have my way with you again.”
Russia snorted. “I believe you mean that I will have my way with you.”