It stretched America's generously-elastic believability to breaking point that Russia, a nation prodigally slaked with rivers over massive plains and blessed with some of the largest lakes in the world, had never learned to swim.
And yet, there they were, with him arms akimbo, the crystal blue of the Adriatic Sea lapping around his knees, and Russia on the edge of the surf, toes digging into the pebbles, fingers twisting together. "Do I have to?"
It had taken him almost half an hour to coax Russia out of his singlet and much-beloved scarf, and America wasn't about to give up on his quest just one foot from the water. "Come on, dude. Don't get cold feet on me now."
Why Russia had agreed to a coastal retreat when he knew damn well that he couldn't swim was beyond America, but he wasn't going to waste it just sitting on the beach when the Adriatic was just right there, sparkling and open and waiting. And he'd be damned if Russia wasn't coming along with him.
"The water is cold," said Russia plaintively.
This annoyed America because his dangerous and powerful former arch-enemy was not supposed to whine, dammit. "Now you're just making stupid excuses. Colder than what, the Arctic Ocean?"
Russia pouted. God-fucking--why did he have to do that? America marched back over to the water's edge. He would not allow one of the world's remaining nuclear powers to behave like a recalcitrant toddler. "Come on," America said. "I won't let you drown."
Up close, he could see the gooseflesh standing out on the pale skin of Russia's arms. Was he really, actually cold, or just scared? He had been extremely reluctant to shed his scarf earlier, exposing the heavy scars on his neck--maybe it was like a security blanket of sorts. Maybe he was feeling vulnerable, and something within America stirred at the idea of that, Russia feeling vulnerable around him. It felt precious, like a little bird that had stumbled into his hands.
He held out a hand and looked his former enemy directly in the eye. "Trust me."
Russia took a deep breath, studying America's face intently, as if searching for some sort of meaning.
Then he closed his eyes-one beat, two beat--and opened them again. "Okay."
And his placed his hand, large and rough-skinned yet soft, into America's open one.
It would have been a perfect moment, but then: "If I drown, you and I may be forced to have a conversation with my pipe later."
America grinned. There was the Russia that they all knew and loved.
He slowly led the larger nation into the water by the hand, and Russia followed gingerly after. Like a Disney fairytale, America idly thought. He brought them to the point where the waters were lapping around Russia's wide hips, where the waistband of his swim trunks sat.
"Okay," America said, "we're going to start with something simple. The backstroke." He tugged Russia closer, almost flush to him, turning him to the side. "Lean back into the water."
Russia looked at him hesitantly, and America sighed. "Look, we're still in shallow water. If you get into any trouble, all you have to do is stand up and nothing will happen." He wrapped an arm around the broad expanse of Russia's back. "Look, I'm here. Now, relax."
"You will hold me?"
"Yes. Seriously, I'm not going to let you drown. I promise."
Russia seemed satisfied by this, and leaned back into the water. The sea rushed up to meet him, eagerly, lapping over the shape of his body, filling the little nooks and crannies. America let Russia sink until the line of his collarbone was submerged. He kept a hand at the small of Russia's back, still stiff with tension, causing his midsection to sink into the water. "Relax," he said. "Let the water carry you. It's pretty salty, which makes it easier for you to float."
Russia did as he was told, eyes closed, his body drifting and bobbing in the movement of the waves, still partially supported by America. There was an odd warmth to him, contrasting with the coolness of the water. His hair fanned out in the water like a blond halo. It'd been a long time, America thought, since he'd seen Russia looking this peaceful.
"Now kick," America said. "Gently, there we go-- you're moving--" He would start with this first, he figured, and then work in the arm movements later.
Russia was doing pretty well-- America followed him for a short while, then withdrew his hands and let his student kick his way across the water, on his back. Russia, eyes closed, had not noticed. His kicks, each one strong, left a small wake tailing behind him. America smiled: something about the world's largest nation paddling himself across the Adriatic Sea like a steamer was oddly endearing.
He let Russia get about ten meters away before yelling, "Hey, dude, you're doing really well!"
Russia's kicking paused. "America?"
"I'm over here," America said, waving, even though the other nation couldn't see him.
Russia let out what sounded like a splutter and panicked, thrashing in the water for a few moments before finding his footing. He stands up, dripping, hands crossed protectively over his chest, wearing a wounded look. "You said you would hold me!"
"I did. But you were doing so well, I decided to let you go off on your own. Look," he said, gesturing at the distance between them, "you swam all this way by yourself!"
"I swam," Russia said, still slightly doubtfully, and he looked at the path he had taken. "That doesn't count as swimming."
America slid into the sea and started a lazy breaststroke towards Russia, keeping his head above the water. "But at least you won't drown now if you go ice-skating on the Volga and fall in."
America pulled out of the water to find Russia scrutinizing him. "Who taught you how to swim?" he asked.
America rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, that." Truth be told, he couldn't really remember-- as far as he knew, he had always been able to swim. "I just got into a river and started paddling, you know? Always thought it was instinctive." He prodded Russia in the chest. "How come you never learned how to swim?"
A small shudder passed through Russia's body, and he couldn't meet America's eyes. Finally he said, "I was afraid of drowning." And after some hesitation: "I didn't have anybody to hold me."
Their bodies were very close now, close enough that America can feel the heat radiating from Russia. His hair sticks to the nape of his neck in delicate curls, and water slides off his skin in small droplets, rolling over the sturdy physique decorated with scars of old conquest. America resists the impulse to run his fingers over them, reading the palimpsest of history by touch.
"Alfred?" Russia asks, and the sudden use of his human name startles him, startles him into looking up and meeting the other nation's eyes. Russia has mesmerisingly sensitive eyes, America thinks, when they aren't narrowed in fury or cold as glass. "Thank you," he said, "for teaching me."
"Ivan…"
"And nobody will be hearing about this, of course." That small, sweet smile of his, hints of a brief and forceful meeting with a waterpipe concealed beneath. Ah, yes. Some things about him never changed.
"Don't worry," said America, wrapping his arms around the small of Russia's back, drawing them flush against each other, skin to skin. "It'll be our little secret." And then silence reigned as their lips met, still coated with salt from the Adriatic Sea.
***
When Croatia finally returned to the island had an hour later, packed lunch in hand, he found the two passionately entwined on a deck chair, lost to the world. "Oh, in three of your mother's genitals," he swore to himself, and stomped off to the other side of the island to annoy the wild sheep for a while.
A/N: This takes place on one of the islands of Brijuni, one of Croatia's national parks, off the northern coast of Croatia. Mostly because a) I've been there and loved it, and b) I basically wanted an excuse to stick in a cameo of Croatia because I absolutely loved Hima-papa's depiction of him as a scraggly-bearded dodgy uncle. SO PERFECT.
Hope OP likes, even though there wasn't as much actual swimming in it as I thought there would be!
YAY! Author!anon this was absolutely adorable and everything I wanted in this fill! I love Russia's insecurity and Alfred's patience and Croatia's cameo made me laugh!
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America/Russia - Swimming Lesson
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)And yet, there they were, with him arms akimbo, the crystal blue of the Adriatic Sea lapping around his knees, and Russia on the edge of the surf, toes digging into the pebbles, fingers twisting together. "Do I have to?"
It had taken him almost half an hour to coax Russia out of his singlet and much-beloved scarf, and America wasn't about to give up on his quest just one foot from the water. "Come on, dude. Don't get cold feet on me now."
Why Russia had agreed to a coastal retreat when he knew damn well that he couldn't swim was beyond America, but he wasn't going to waste it just sitting on the beach when the Adriatic was just right there, sparkling and open and waiting. And he'd be damned if Russia wasn't coming along with him.
"The water is cold," said Russia plaintively.
This annoyed America because his dangerous and powerful former arch-enemy was not supposed to whine, dammit. "Now you're just making stupid excuses. Colder than what, the Arctic Ocean?"
Russia pouted. God-fucking--why did he have to do that? America marched back over to the water's edge. He would not allow one of the world's remaining nuclear powers to behave like a recalcitrant toddler. "Come on," America said. "I won't let you drown."
Up close, he could see the gooseflesh standing out on the pale skin of Russia's arms. Was he really, actually cold, or just scared? He had been extremely reluctant to shed his scarf earlier, exposing the heavy scars on his neck--maybe it was like a security blanket of sorts. Maybe he was feeling vulnerable, and something within America stirred at the idea of that, Russia feeling vulnerable around him. It felt precious, like a little bird that had stumbled into his hands.
He held out a hand and looked his former enemy directly in the eye. "Trust me."
Russia took a deep breath, studying America's face intently, as if searching for some sort of meaning.
Then he closed his eyes-one beat, two beat--and opened them again. "Okay."
And his placed his hand, large and rough-skinned yet soft, into America's open one.
It would have been a perfect moment, but then: "If I drown, you and I may be forced to have a conversation with my pipe later."
America grinned. There was the Russia that they all knew and loved.
He slowly led the larger nation into the water by the hand, and Russia followed gingerly after. Like a Disney fairytale, America idly thought. He brought them to the point where the waters were lapping around Russia's wide hips, where the waistband of his swim trunks sat.
"Okay," America said, "we're going to start with something simple. The backstroke." He tugged Russia closer, almost flush to him, turning him to the side. "Lean back into the water."
Russia looked at him hesitantly, and America sighed. "Look, we're still in shallow water. If you get into any trouble, all you have to do is stand up and nothing will happen." He wrapped an arm around the broad expanse of Russia's back. "Look, I'm here. Now, relax."
"You will hold me?"
"Yes. Seriously, I'm not going to let you drown. I promise."
Re: America/Russia - Swimming Lesson [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 02:54 pm (UTC)(link)Russia did as he was told, eyes closed, his body drifting and bobbing in the movement of the waves, still partially supported by America. There was an odd warmth to him, contrasting with the coolness of the water. His hair fanned out in the water like a blond halo. It'd been a long time, America thought, since he'd seen Russia looking this peaceful.
"Now kick," America said. "Gently, there we go-- you're moving--" He would start with this first, he figured, and then work in the arm movements later.
Russia was doing pretty well-- America followed him for a short while, then withdrew his hands and let his student kick his way across the water, on his back. Russia, eyes closed, had not noticed. His kicks, each one strong, left a small wake tailing behind him. America smiled: something about the world's largest nation paddling himself across the Adriatic Sea like a steamer was oddly endearing.
He let Russia get about ten meters away before yelling, "Hey, dude, you're doing really well!"
Russia's kicking paused. "America?"
"I'm over here," America said, waving, even though the other nation couldn't see him.
Russia let out what sounded like a splutter and panicked, thrashing in the water for a few moments before finding his footing. He stands up, dripping, hands crossed protectively over his chest, wearing a wounded look. "You said you would hold me!"
"I did. But you were doing so well, I decided to let you go off on your own. Look," he said, gesturing at the distance between them, "you swam all this way by yourself!"
"I swam," Russia said, still slightly doubtfully, and he looked at the path he had taken. "That doesn't count as swimming."
America slid into the sea and started a lazy breaststroke towards Russia, keeping his head above the water. "But at least you won't drown now if you go ice-skating on the Volga and fall in."
"I have never ice-skated on the Volga."
"Well, you can now."
Re: America/Russia - Swimming Lesson [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)America rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, that." Truth be told, he couldn't really remember-- as far as he knew, he had always been able to swim. "I just got into a river and started paddling, you know? Always thought it was instinctive." He prodded Russia in the chest. "How come you never learned how to swim?"
A small shudder passed through Russia's body, and he couldn't meet America's eyes. Finally he said, "I was afraid of drowning." And after some hesitation: "I didn't have anybody to hold me."
Their bodies were very close now, close enough that America can feel the heat radiating from Russia. His hair sticks to the nape of his neck in delicate curls, and water slides off his skin in small droplets, rolling over the sturdy physique decorated with scars of old conquest. America resists the impulse to run his fingers over them, reading the palimpsest of history by touch.
"Alfred?" Russia asks, and the sudden use of his human name startles him, startles him into looking up and meeting the other nation's eyes. Russia has mesmerisingly sensitive eyes, America thinks, when they aren't narrowed in fury or cold as glass. "Thank you," he said, "for teaching me."
"Ivan…"
"And nobody will be hearing about this, of course." That small, sweet smile of his, hints of a brief and forceful meeting with a waterpipe concealed beneath. Ah, yes. Some things about him never changed.
"Don't worry," said America, wrapping his arms around the small of Russia's back, drawing them flush against each other, skin to skin. "It'll be our little secret." And then silence reigned as their lips met, still coated with salt from the Adriatic Sea.
***
When Croatia finally returned to the island had an hour later, packed lunch in hand, he found the two passionately entwined on a deck chair, lost to the world. "Oh, in three of your mother's genitals," he swore to himself, and stomped off to the other side of the island to annoy the wild sheep for a while.
A/N: This takes place on one of the islands of Brijuni, one of Croatia's national parks, off the northern coast of Croatia. Mostly because a) I've been there and loved it, and b) I basically wanted an excuse to stick in a cameo of Croatia because I absolutely loved Hima-papa's depiction of him as a scraggly-bearded dodgy uncle. SO PERFECT.
Hope OP likes, even though there wasn't as much actual swimming in it as I thought there would be!
Not!OP
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 07:42 pm (UTC)(link)And pfft, Croatia's reaction. Priceless! XD
Re: America/Russia - Swimming Lesson [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2012-03-26 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)This was gorgeous, thank you!
Re: America/Russia - Swimming Lesson [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-27 05:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: America/Russia - Swimming Lesson [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-27 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)