Containment (4/6)
anonymous
October 28 2009, 05:12:14 UTC
As soon as the challenge was out of the superpower’s lips, America slapped down his hand and half-rose from his chair. England grabbed his wrist; America was about ignore him, before he heard a small, wobbly voice say, “Al…”
He glanced over to see Canada-was Matthew here?- looking up at him with large, somewhat frightened violet eyes. England just appeared exhausted, while Belgium and Norway were doing their best to not betray a single emotion on their faces.
Lithuania was shaking slightly as he wrote, his face still hidden.
America took a shaky breath and dropped back to his seat again. He stared into Russia’s ice blue eyes, detecting just the tiniest hint of smugness there. Russia slowly released Lithuania, letting him drop back to the floor.
“…Alright,” England said after a moment. “Let’s just… go back to that issue of arms limitations.”
Belgium and Norway gave sighs of relief and began shuffling their papers papers. “Yes,” Norway said. “I have a study here…”
America had trouble concentrate on Norway’s rattling off of figures. Russia was slowly stroking Lithuania’s hair, almost gently, like one would a pet. The cruel parody of affection made America’s stomach lurch. He twisted a pencil around his hands until it snapped; he pretended it was Russia’s wrist.
Lithuania wrapped his arms tighter around America’s shoulders and sobbed achingly into the other nation’s shoulder.
America held the country in his lap, trying not to panic as Lithuania’s tears rolled down his back into warm rivulets. America’s fingers were pressed firmly to the raised ridges of Lithuania’s scars.
He had been lying in bed with Lithuania, curled up under the comforter, pressing lazy kisses to the back of the half-asleep country’s neck. He eventually moved lower, pulling down the other country’s thin undershirt to get better access to his pale skin. Accidentally, his lips happened to brush against the edge of a prominent scar.
Lithuania pulled away like he had been burnt. He quickly turned his back from America and pulled the covers close around him, babbling incoherent apologies. Startled by the sudden outburst, America grabbed Lithuania’s wrists to stop him trying to cover himself. “Toris, it’s okay!”
Lithuania stopped struggling. He stared at Alfred with large, frightened eyes, like a cornered animal. Then, the eyes filled up with tears and Lithuania began to cry hopelessly.
America had seen Lithuania silently suffer uncounted horrors over the years, but he had never seen the Baltic outright cry. He pulled Lithuania into his lap and rocked him slowly back forth.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”
It was another tense quarter of an hour before negotiations fell apart completely. England and America drew their lines in the sand clearly, while Belgium, Norway, and Canada did their best to achieve varying degrees of compromise. Russia met it all with meaningless responses, that would have seemed like his usual childish insanity, if not for the painfully obvious presence of Lithuania by the side of his chair, still steadily working his way through the few hundred sheets of paper.
America broke all four of the pencils he had brought to the meeting, trying not to watch his friend being humiliated in front of him. He tried hard not to think of what Russia would do to Lithuania, once they were away from the meeting.
Belgium was in the middle of an impassioned speech about East Germany’s severe food shortages, when Russia sharply got to his feet.
“You will understand one day,” he said quietly. He grabbed Lithuania’s collar and tugged him up to his knees. “Come.”
Lithuania quickly gathered the papers up to his chest, and then got shakily to his feet.
“Don’t you dare leave, Ivan,” England warned, as he and the others rose from their chairs as well. Russia snatched Lithuania’s wrist and pulled the other country towards the door, all of the gentleness of before gone.
“You will regret your foolishness,” Russia fumed. America couldn’t help but take a miniscule sliver of pressure in having finally cracked Russia’s cool exterior. “You cannot resist us forever. Right, Toris?’
He glanced over to see Canada-was Matthew here?- looking up at him with large, somewhat frightened violet eyes. England just appeared exhausted, while Belgium and Norway were doing their best to not betray a single emotion on their faces.
Lithuania was shaking slightly as he wrote, his face still hidden.
America took a shaky breath and dropped back to his seat again. He stared into Russia’s ice blue eyes, detecting just the tiniest hint of smugness there. Russia slowly released Lithuania, letting him drop back to the floor.
“…Alright,” England said after a moment. “Let’s just… go back to that issue of arms limitations.”
Belgium and Norway gave sighs of relief and began shuffling their papers papers. “Yes,” Norway said. “I have a study here…”
America had trouble concentrate on Norway’s rattling off of figures. Russia was slowly stroking Lithuania’s hair, almost gently, like one would a pet. The cruel parody of affection made America’s stomach lurch. He twisted a pencil around his hands until it snapped; he pretended it was Russia’s wrist.
Lithuania wrapped his arms tighter around America’s shoulders and sobbed achingly into the other nation’s shoulder.
America held the country in his lap, trying not to panic as Lithuania’s tears rolled down his back into warm rivulets. America’s fingers were pressed firmly to the raised ridges of Lithuania’s scars.
He had been lying in bed with Lithuania, curled up under the comforter, pressing lazy kisses to the back of the half-asleep country’s neck. He eventually moved lower, pulling down the other country’s thin undershirt to get better access to his pale skin. Accidentally, his lips happened to brush against the edge of a prominent scar.
Lithuania pulled away like he had been burnt. He quickly turned his back from America and pulled the covers close around him, babbling incoherent apologies. Startled by the sudden outburst, America grabbed Lithuania’s wrists to stop him trying to cover himself. “Toris, it’s okay!”
Lithuania stopped struggling. He stared at Alfred with large, frightened eyes, like a cornered animal. Then, the eyes filled up with tears and Lithuania began to cry hopelessly.
America had seen Lithuania silently suffer uncounted horrors over the years, but he had never seen the Baltic outright cry. He pulled Lithuania into his lap and rocked him slowly back forth.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”
It was another tense quarter of an hour before negotiations fell apart completely. England and America drew their lines in the sand clearly, while Belgium, Norway, and Canada did their best to achieve varying degrees of compromise. Russia met it all with meaningless responses, that would have seemed like his usual childish insanity, if not for the painfully obvious presence of Lithuania by the side of his chair, still steadily working his way through the few hundred sheets of paper.
America broke all four of the pencils he had brought to the meeting, trying not to watch his friend being humiliated in front of him. He tried hard not to think of what Russia would do to Lithuania, once they were away from the meeting.
Belgium was in the middle of an impassioned speech about East Germany’s severe food shortages, when Russia sharply got to his feet.
“You will understand one day,” he said quietly. He grabbed Lithuania’s collar and tugged him up to his knees. “Come.”
Lithuania quickly gathered the papers up to his chest, and then got shakily to his feet.
“Don’t you dare leave, Ivan,” England warned, as he and the others rose from their chairs as well. Russia snatched Lithuania’s wrist and pulled the other country towards the door, all of the gentleness of before gone.
“You will regret your foolishness,” Russia fumed. America couldn’t help but take a miniscule sliver of pressure in having finally cracked Russia’s cool exterior. “You cannot resist us forever. Right, Toris?’
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