Ontario [2/?]
anonymous
November 28 2009, 21:32:28 UTC
France doesn’t answer, but he does smile as he picks up his bags and follows Ivan down the hall and around a right turn. He walks a bit behind Russia, just watching and admiring the way the hotel lights shone in his platinum blond hair, seeing the frays and worn places where he clutches his scarf. He reaches out and touches the back of Russia’s coat with a finger, laughing when he jolts and looks over his shoulder.
“Is something wrong?”
“Ah, no,” France says, smiling a bit wider, a bit gentler. “It is just that there is a hole in the back of your coat.”
“Is there?” Russia frowns, puzzled, but he keeps walking as France drops his finger.
“It is not so big. Would you like me to repair it before the meeting this afternoon?”
France almost runs into Russia as he stops in place, looking up into purple eyes as they turn to look at him with an odd expression. France returns the expression with a smile of his own, one that he hopes Russia will accept and engage when they get to their hotel room.
Russia’s eyelids drop down a bit, and France wants noting more than to take that face between his hands and press his lips to those eyelids.
But what if our bosses were to come to speak with us before they leave and -
France hates how those voices make him curl his hands into fists by his side and just look at Russia.
“I would appreciate that very much, France,” Russia says in response, turning and resuming his long, steady walk. France sighs in relief before stumbling after him, wanting to reach out with his finger and latch into the back of Russia’s coat, into the hole.
To keep them connected on their way to the hotel room, to keep them connected for as long as they can over these next three days. ___
“There are two beds in this room,” Russia observes as they step into their room. And France sees that it’s true, a moment later - two twins, separated by space and kept apart by one shared bedside table.
“So there are,” France replies, stepping around Russia with delicate steps and placing his duffel bag in the space between the beds. “We shall have to see if we can pull out the sofa - those always have room for at least two people, yes?”
Silence. “I suppose.”
The air feels thicker now, warmer. France debates turning up the air conditioner a bit to let a little cool air in, but decides against it.
He doesn’t think air conditioning would help this particular heat, anyway.
“Shall I take your coat?” France asks, and holds out a hand as he sits on the bed, pulling an emergency clothing repair kit from his pocket. “It shouldn’t take long to repair at all.”
Russia gives him that same hooded look. France tries to see beyond it, see into Russia’s mind and just what he’s thinking.
But he can’t, of course, because he is Russia; he is so many unfathomable things at once it’s overwhelming, and France almost has to close his eyes against the intensity of it all.
Russia’s fingers go to his coat.
They start the slow, steady process of undoing the fastenings, button by button, revealing the button-down dress shirt he’s wearing underneath. Francis follows Russia’s fingers as they work, so careful and slow so that he does not fumble.
Francis smiles, choosing to hide his teeth behind his smile.
“Here,” Russia says, and lays the coat over France’s lap, covering it in slow, comfortable warmth that smells even now of sharp snow and arctic winds. “I’m…sure there are other holes in it,” Russia says. “…inside the lining, I mean.”
France looks up at Russia, who looks at the coat in his lap. More specifically, at the hands splayed on either side of that hole, observing and thinking.
“I think I have time right now to fix only one hole,” France says, his eyes riveted on Russia’s coat as he takes a spool of thread in his hands, unfurls a small part of it with one long, slow pull. “But…tonight. Tonight I shall work on the other ones, if you show me where they are. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” Russia says, and France feels the sofa dip as Russia sits down beside him, watching Francis suck on the edge of the thread and poke it through the needle’s eye.
“Is something wrong?”
“Ah, no,” France says, smiling a bit wider, a bit gentler. “It is just that there is a hole in the back of your coat.”
“Is there?” Russia frowns, puzzled, but he keeps walking as France drops his finger.
“It is not so big. Would you like me to repair it before the meeting this afternoon?”
France almost runs into Russia as he stops in place, looking up into purple eyes as they turn to look at him with an odd expression. France returns the expression with a smile of his own, one that he hopes Russia will accept and engage when they get to their hotel room.
Russia’s eyelids drop down a bit, and France wants noting more than to take that face between his hands and press his lips to those eyelids.
But what if our bosses were to come to speak with us before they leave and -
France hates how those voices make him curl his hands into fists by his side and just look at Russia.
“I would appreciate that very much, France,” Russia says in response, turning and resuming his long, steady walk. France sighs in relief before stumbling after him, wanting to reach out with his finger and latch into the back of Russia’s coat, into the hole.
To keep them connected on their way to the hotel room, to keep them connected for as long as they can over these next three days.
___
“There are two beds in this room,” Russia observes as they step into their room. And France sees that it’s true, a moment later - two twins, separated by space and kept apart by one shared bedside table.
“So there are,” France replies, stepping around Russia with delicate steps and placing his duffel bag in the space between the beds. “We shall have to see if we can pull out the sofa - those always have room for at least two people, yes?”
Silence. “I suppose.”
The air feels thicker now, warmer. France debates turning up the air conditioner a bit to let a little cool air in, but decides against it.
He doesn’t think air conditioning would help this particular heat, anyway.
“Shall I take your coat?” France asks, and holds out a hand as he sits on the bed, pulling an emergency clothing repair kit from his pocket. “It shouldn’t take long to repair at all.”
Russia gives him that same hooded look. France tries to see beyond it, see into Russia’s mind and just what he’s thinking.
But he can’t, of course, because he is Russia; he is so many unfathomable things at once it’s overwhelming, and France almost has to close his eyes against the intensity of it all.
Russia’s fingers go to his coat.
They start the slow, steady process of undoing the fastenings, button by button, revealing the button-down dress shirt he’s wearing underneath. Francis follows Russia’s fingers as they work, so careful and slow so that he does not fumble.
Francis smiles, choosing to hide his teeth behind his smile.
“Here,” Russia says, and lays the coat over France’s lap, covering it in slow, comfortable warmth that smells even now of sharp snow and arctic winds. “I’m…sure there are other holes in it,” Russia says. “…inside the lining, I mean.”
France looks up at Russia, who looks at the coat in his lap. More specifically, at the hands splayed on either side of that hole, observing and thinking.
“I think I have time right now to fix only one hole,” France says, his eyes riveted on Russia’s coat as he takes a spool of thread in his hands, unfurls a small part of it with one long, slow pull. “But…tonight. Tonight I shall work on the other ones, if you show me where they are. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” Russia says, and France feels the sofa dip as Russia sits down beside him, watching Francis suck on the edge of the thread and poke it through the needle’s eye.
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<3<3<3
ILU, ANON!!!
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