Simply Watching. Chapter 1: Russia/China

Sep 20, 2009 08:29

Haha, who knows where this one came from. These two have to be my one of my favorite pairings and I've been on a HUGE kick with them lately. I'm almost surprised this is all that's spawned from it so far. Not spell checked or anything (like everything in here XD) and my english has been utter fail recently. Spasiba, comrade.

I never knew what to expect of him. Being alive for hundreds of yeas seemed to have drained all of the questions from life, leaving it to taste like weak tea, or the still water, but he...he was not like life. Or questions. Or tea. Or Water. He was something all his own and I'd nothing to compare him to because most things had a pattern. Nature loves patterns down to the very material that everything is composed of and thus everything follows suit. War has patterns. Politics has patterns. Countries, empires, they all have patterns. The ancient Greece grew to hubris, they fell. Rome grew to hubris and fell. There is always that peak and the inevitable drop and I expected it now. Expected it as I watched America become his own sort of empire and he was reaching his peak very quickly and we-...I knew what came next.

Everything has a pattern. Oh yes, but not him. Not Ivan. He was every exception to every rule and I suppose that was what sealed my fate from the beginning.

I was bored. So bored with war and rebuilding and continuing to build and there he was at my door, in a sense, with this smile on his face and I let him in. I let the wolf right in to eat my grandmother, my satchel of cookies, and drag me around by my little red cape like I'd been a rag doll. He didn't bore me. He didn't bore me like /history/ did. He was young but I found the ground beneath my feet shatter with his every step like he could unearth /me/ of all people-  like he'd already done it.

I woke up once, and only once because he was never one to repeat a performance, with the taste of blood pressed firm against my tongue. I assumed it had been a nose bleed, most times when the weather got cold and I'd turned the heat up my nose didn't fair very well. It would be another night spent wandering around the house with my nose pinched between tissue and my chin tilted to the sky.

That was what I thought until I'd realized my tongue had been pinned to the bottom of my mouth by two fingers. Middle and index, I'd noted lacadasically my mind still half engulfed by sleep. It was when just how bizarre it was to wake in such a way sunk in did my intsticts start raising a red flag. I felt my heart jump to attention, my eyes flew open so wide my eyelids seemed to strain, and I'd tried to squirm back against the head board of my bed to get away from whatever had seen fit to claim my mouth in such a fashion. While I'd hoped to get away I found the fingers followed, the sick slip and tang of blood against my tongue making my stomach flip. My eyes were trained on nothing at all, just the surounding darkness of my own bedroom. That's when I saw him. A large, hulking black figure against the darker gray that engulfed my room this time at night. Ivan.

He was smiling at me, but the smile on his lips had not translated to his eyes. Something in my chest wanted me to still. It wanted me to play dead like I was some sort of bush rodent and hope he'd go away, hope I would stop gagging on my own tongue with blood dripping down the back of it. My pride, however, would not allow for such behavior and instead I fixed him with a stern look. He was silent as his fingers rubbed circles into my tongue, along my teeth, flicked nails against the roof of my mouth.

I'd begun to wonder if it  was his blood, or if it wasn't...who's blood was it? The idea sent me gagging. My mind raced over everything that could be /in/ this blood, part of it, and in turn part of me once it slid fully down my throat. I never did vomit but i was close enough to feel the flutter of panic in my chest like a rat. Ivan only smiled. His thumb, pinky, and forefinger  were damp and stcky from the blood-pressed against my cheeks.

I could see myself for a moment sucking the blood off of the very fingers pressing further into my throat, how it would look, how he would /feel/ because I could never be sure. What surpised me more was my lips had tried to mimic the thought, but i'd just as soon gagged again. I wanted to be sick and all ivan did was slowly slide his finger back along my tongue until they almost left my lips. For a moment I was relieved he'd be removing them, my lips parted further to accompany the enraged question I was about to spit back at him, but found myself cut short as they were forced back in again.

"This is Gapon." I heard him whisper, his middle finger pressing against the gums along my bottom row of teeth.

My eyes burned from the strain of trying to communicate words through them. I wanted tell him to get his fingers out of my mouth, to never bring blood into my home, to stop looking so over joyed by the idea that this...Gapon...was dripping off his hands like thick syrup. No words could my eyes utter and silence fell between us again.

"You think that's a funny name, da?" The two fingers in my mouth seperated, moving to squeeze my tongue between them. A well of blood had gathered in the webbing between them, sending a fresh taste of copper on to my taste buds and a new wave of nausea over me. I could feel Ivan's gaze disecting me . He'd been watching my chest, keeping tabs on my breathing or simply finding something on the silk night shirt curious. My heart pounded against my ribs so hard I feared they'd crack.

Ivan simply watched.

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