Do everything right. Do everything right. Don't screw it up again, do everything right. Those words floated through the Latvian's head as he diligently carried over the Russian borscht. The bowl was hot to the touch, but he held onto it anyway, for fear of dropping it if he used something to protect his hands. He wanted to prove to his superior that he was worthy, to make him happy, and to feel his praise. He would do anything to accomplish that, even if the other Baltics didn't dare do anything more than what was asked. He would achieve above and beyond. He would become Russia's favorite. He trembled a bit, and finally he was there, standing by the gray-haired man who had not looked up from his newspaper. "Spasibo, Raivis." he said, moving his hand up in preparation to flip to the next page. He had done it. He had successfully made the dish, and carried it over, and now Russia was going to eat it. He trembled a nervous nod as he started to lean towards the table to set the bowl down. Russia turned the page, and Latvia internally shouted out with glee at the thought of him enjoying the food he had prepared. He'd done everything right. But he relaxed too soon, as the Russian straightened out the newspaper with a loud flap. The sudden motion scared the young blond, and he jumped back, knocking over the borscht with him. He drew back from the feeling of the soup burning his skin, and the shaking double when he realized what he had done. "I-I'm sorry, I'll clean it up--!" he started, but he stopped. If the food had simply spilled on the floor, it would not have been that bad. He would have scolded himself vigorously, not to mention dealt with the angry Russian. But he wouldn't have been mad for long, and he could always make more. However, seeing the colorful paste draped over Ivan's long coat, some of its tendrils tracing around his precious scarf... He froze. And the trembling only got worse. "R-Russia, sir, I beg y-your pardon!" His voice grew in pitch, and he panicked, picking up a napkin from the table and shakily wiping at the larger man's coat. "I-I'll clean it up, I-I'm s-so sorr-ry, I-I'll--" The Russian wasn't moving. "I-I'll w-wash your clothes!" His gloved hands remained folded around the thin paper. "Th-They'll be good-d as n-new!" As he reached a hand up to tug at the scarf around his neck, the tall man finally moved from his position, with a jolt. His hand flew to grasp at the smaller Latvian's, and he looked up at him with a pinking face. "Don't touch that..." he breathed, whatever anger that had been there distracted. Latvia's oblivious fingers held on, and he pulled on it slightly. "I-I'm sorry I dirtied it, I'll g-go clean it right n--!" The Russian winced again at the tightening fingers, but it didn't appear to be from pain. He bit his lip as the soft fabric slid along his skin. "Raivis..." he breathed again. "Don't tug on that, unless you're prepared to take responsibility for your actions..." He meant to growl it, but it came out sounding more provocative than he had intended. Raivis paused at the words, still not quite understanding. "I-I'm sorry I sp-spilled it, I'll t-take responsib-bility and clean th--!" He tugged again, and this time the Russian flat out moaned at the feeling of warm fabric coarsely dragging against sensitive skin, his scarf simply being touched... With a blush, the Latvian realized, and let go. "...R-Russia... sir?" he murmured, his eyes wide. But there was a pair of strong arms quickly around him, pulling him onto Ivan's lap in one, sweeping motion. "Da..." he panted, looking up at the now startled Latvian. The younger looked at him questioningly, shivering with anxiety, as he practically squeaked. "You will take responsibility..."
[Part 1] Russia-Latvia, Scarf/Biting Kink (Part 1 of 2)
Do everything right. Do everything right. Don't screw it up again, do everything right.
Those words floated through the Latvian's head as he diligently carried over the Russian borscht. The bowl was hot to the touch, but he held onto it anyway, for fear of dropping it if he used something to protect his hands. He wanted to prove to his superior that he was worthy, to make him happy, and to feel his praise. He would do anything to accomplish that, even if the other Baltics didn't dare do anything more than what was asked. He would achieve above and beyond. He would become Russia's favorite. He trembled a bit, and finally he was there, standing by the gray-haired man who had not looked up from his newspaper.
"Spasibo, Raivis." he said, moving his hand up in preparation to flip to the next page.
He had done it. He had successfully made the dish, and carried it over, and now Russia was going to eat it. He trembled a nervous nod as he started to lean towards the table to set the bowl down. Russia turned the page, and Latvia internally shouted out with glee at the thought of him enjoying the food he had prepared. He'd done everything right.
But he relaxed too soon, as the Russian straightened out the newspaper with a loud flap. The sudden motion scared the young blond, and he jumped back, knocking over the borscht with him.
He drew back from the feeling of the soup burning his skin, and the shaking double when he realized what he had done. "I-I'm sorry, I'll clean it up--!" he started, but he stopped.
If the food had simply spilled on the floor, it would not have been that bad. He would have scolded himself vigorously, not to mention dealt with the angry Russian. But he wouldn't have been mad for long, and he could always make more. However, seeing the colorful paste draped over Ivan's long coat, some of its tendrils tracing around his precious scarf...
He froze. And the trembling only got worse.
"R-Russia, sir, I beg y-your pardon!" His voice grew in pitch, and he panicked, picking up a napkin from the table and shakily wiping at the larger man's coat. "I-I'll clean it up, I-I'm s-so sorr-ry, I-I'll--" The Russian wasn't moving. "I-I'll w-wash your clothes!" His gloved hands remained folded around the thin paper. "Th-They'll be good-d as n-new!"
As he reached a hand up to tug at the scarf around his neck, the tall man finally moved from his position, with a jolt. His hand flew to grasp at the smaller Latvian's, and he looked up at him with a pinking face.
"Don't touch that..." he breathed, whatever anger that had been there distracted.
Latvia's oblivious fingers held on, and he pulled on it slightly. "I-I'm sorry I dirtied it, I'll g-go clean it right n--!"
The Russian winced again at the tightening fingers, but it didn't appear to be from pain. He bit his lip as the soft fabric slid along his skin.
"Raivis..." he breathed again. "Don't tug on that, unless you're prepared to take responsibility for your actions..." He meant to growl it, but it came out sounding more provocative than he had intended.
Raivis paused at the words, still not quite understanding. "I-I'm sorry I sp-spilled it, I'll t-take responsib-bility and clean th--!" He tugged again, and this time the Russian flat out moaned at the feeling of warm fabric coarsely dragging against sensitive skin, his scarf simply being touched...
With a blush, the Latvian realized, and let go. "...R-Russia... sir?" he murmured, his eyes wide.
But there was a pair of strong arms quickly around him, pulling him onto Ivan's lap in one, sweeping motion. "Da..." he panted, looking up at the now startled Latvian. The younger looked at him questioningly, shivering with anxiety, as he practically squeaked. "You will take responsibility..."