"...and that's all," Romania conlcludes. He shifts his gaze away from the broom handle and back to Moldova's face.
Which ... isn't what he's been expecting. Moldova had looked sympathetic when Romania said that he had to tell him something, and worried when he'd said that Hungary had hurt him, but while Romania's eyes were fixed to the broom handle the little nation's expression changed to something ... admiring?
"You slept with Hungary?" Moldova says eagerly, and Romania's gut roils because Moldova says it as if -- "Lucky you!"
"I didn't want it!" Romania snaps, his hands tightening on the worn handle until splinters pierce his palms. As if he could ever want to go to bed with that woman, as if he could ever want her hands on him -- as if they hadn't fought when she slipped into his room with that smile on her face...
And even with his peripheral vision he can tell that Moldova's looking at him as though he's worried for Romania's sanity. "But you got to sleep with her," his friend says patiently, and no, no he didn't, she left as soon as she was done, thank the night. "I know you don't like her, but -- what did she look like naked?"
"The ugliest thing you ever saw," Romania spits, and summons a swarm of ants out of Moldova's broom with a twist of his fingers before he stalks away.
**
He doesn't actually know what she looks like naked. She kept her shirt on. He told Moldova that, along with the bit about how she slipped into his room, and the first thing he did was to lash out with his magic, and the first thing she did was to bare her teeth and laugh and lunge in to grapple with him.
He's offended that Moldova would think he wanted to bed Hungary, especially with the bruise she left under his eye. Romania has standards.
And now Moldova, the incessant blabbermouth, will make sure the story is all over the house by suppertime.
Romania rides the frustration and anger through the rest of the day. It makes it much easier to avoid the shame that keeps trying to break in.
**
"Moldova says you got to screw Hungary," Prussia mentions idly over dinner. Romania gags on his borscht, and Prussia grins. "Way to go! I'm surprised you managed it, under Russia's nose."
Romania chews his bread grimly, and tries not to think of her hand on him -- her arm around his neck -- 'I'll shout' -- 'No you won't, Russia will come, and what do you think he'll do then?' -- 'I'd rather let Russia see us and shovel snow for a month with a broken arm than have you touch me!'
It felt good. Like she wasn't his enemy. Like she didn't have a hand on his throat the whole time.
Splinters in my teeth (1/1)
Which ... isn't what he's been expecting. Moldova had looked sympathetic when Romania said that he had to tell him something, and worried when he'd said that Hungary had hurt him, but while Romania's eyes were fixed to the broom handle the little nation's expression changed to something ... admiring?
"You slept with Hungary?" Moldova says eagerly, and Romania's gut roils because Moldova says it as if -- "Lucky you!"
"I didn't want it!" Romania snaps, his hands tightening on the worn handle until splinters pierce his palms. As if he could ever want to go to bed with that woman, as if he could ever want her hands on him -- as if they hadn't fought when she slipped into his room with that smile on her face...
And even with his peripheral vision he can tell that Moldova's looking at him as though he's worried for Romania's sanity. "But you got to sleep with her," his friend says patiently, and no, no he didn't, she left as soon as she was done, thank the night. "I know you don't like her, but -- what did she look like naked?"
"The ugliest thing you ever saw," Romania spits, and summons a swarm of ants out of Moldova's broom with a twist of his fingers before he stalks away.
**
He doesn't actually know what she looks like naked. She kept her shirt on. He told Moldova that, along with the bit about how she slipped into his room, and the first thing he did was to lash out with his magic, and the first thing she did was to bare her teeth and laugh and lunge in to grapple with him.
He's offended that Moldova would think he wanted to bed Hungary, especially with the bruise she left under his eye. Romania has standards.
And now Moldova, the incessant blabbermouth, will make sure the story is all over the house by suppertime.
Romania rides the frustration and anger through the rest of the day. It makes it much easier to avoid the shame that keeps trying to break in.
**
"Moldova says you got to screw Hungary," Prussia mentions idly over dinner. Romania gags on his borscht, and Prussia grins. "Way to go! I'm surprised you managed it, under Russia's nose."
Romania chews his bread grimly, and tries not to think of her hand on him -- her arm around his neck -- 'I'll shout' -- 'No you won't, Russia will come, and what do you think he'll do then?' -- 'I'd rather let Russia see us and shovel snow for a month with a broken arm than have you touch me!'
It felt good. Like she wasn't his enemy. Like she didn't have a hand on his throat the whole time.
Like he'd wanted it...
I didn't. She just won the fight, that's all.
That's all.