Re: Fill (Part 3)
anonymous
February 28 2010, 00:47:21 UTC
A/N: Thanks for waiting, guys. OTL Slipping this chapter in before the shit hits the fan over here - Hell Week coming up. At least this provides a brief respite from studying. (Each chapter brings you closer to fun times!)
England doesn’t sleep well that night. When he wakes up sweating and panting at two A.M. he convinces himself that he’s still jetlagged, overstressed from the competition. He attempts to return to sleep, but when his alarm wakes him he’s barely gotten another two hours.
Bleary-eyed and cross, he chokes down a piece of toast before heading to the stadium. Russia is skating by the time he arrives. England ducks behind a partition (a cheery advertisement for Olympic mascot-themed goods) so that he won’t be seen. He allows himself the opportunity to watch Russia work through his routine.
Clearly, he’s talented. The jumps alone must have taken years of practice to get down. England doesn’t know that much about the sport, but he’s heard that Russia’s performances include a certain variety of jump that few other skaters can perform on a consistent basis. Perhaps he’s not quite as “artistic” or “smooth” as some of America’s skaters, but his jumps make up for it.
He looks, nearly hypnotized, as Russia moves across the ice to nonexistent music - England almost doesn’t notice when he finishes the practice and heads off. England shakes himself before following Russia into a corridor, keeping a good distance behind the nation and his trainers. A rubbish barrel sits against the left wall; England ducks behind it. The trainers exchange a few words before splitting off, leaving Russia alone.
When the trainers are gone, Russia wastes no time in turning around and staring in England’s direction. “I can tell when someone is watching me,” he states, taking a step towards him. Russia’s tone isn’t threatening or gloating - just quiet, matter-of-fact. Still, England is far from reassured.
England decides to come out, expose his hand. He rises from behind the barrel. Russia’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second - surprise? - but England misses the change. “You’re good,” he says. “I don’t know much about skating, but you’re very good.”
Russia tilts his head to the side; “I am the best,” he corrects. A tiny smile passes across his face. It’s far removed from the childish grin normally pasted there - England thought he’d welcome the change, but in this case it’s positively unsettling.
He watches Russia gesture towards the athletes’ dressing rooms. “Come,” he orders.
Re: Fill (Part 4)
anonymous
March 1 2010, 03:35:33 UTC
Once they get inside the dressing room, Russia wastes no time in sliding into a chair. England stands.
Russia scoots the chair over to a cooler. He pulls out a water bottle (actual water, England notes with some surprise, not vodka) and uncaps it. “I thought more people would notice,” he says.
England snorts. “It’s not like you were being subtle out there,” he points out, crossing his arms. “What with the movements and the attitude - ” - and the costumes, his mind supplies. England bites his tongue on that particular thought, trying to stop his cheeks from turning red.
Russia glances up; shrugs. “America’s skaters are more flamboyant.” He drinks from the water bottle, and England can’t help but stare at the movement of his Adam’s apple - Russia, for once, isn’t wearing that enormous scarf. England flashes back to the Victorian era, when even a scrap of neck or ankle was enough to drive anyone into hysterics.
Apparently he hasn’t quite gotten over that. He wets his lips.
“Some of them,” England admits. He remembers the reason for his visit. “But they aren’t nations.”
“Ah.” Russia nods. “And that is what you wanted to talk about, hm?” He sets the water bottle down.
“This is an international competition,” England begins. He’s planned the whole speech - but damned if he can remember it all. “It’s for the people. If nations suddenly started competing, it wouldn’t be fair. You do the special jumps, correct?”
“The quadruples.”
“Yes. Those take a lot of strength. A nation would obviously have an advantage over a normal human.”
Russia glances to the side. “Not as much as you would think.” He looks back at England. “It takes training, practice. I cannot go out on the ice and simply execute jumps like that. I train, I work.”
England shakes his head. “Yes, but still -”
“You have fought, yes?” Russia interrupts, piercing England with a clear violet stare. It’s not cloudy with vodka or over-bright with madness; just sane, calm, rational.
It should not make England so afraid.
“Of course. We all fight our wars. But that’s a symbolic thing,” England insists. He avoids Russia’s eyes. “Quite different from sport.”
Russia considers, takes a different tack. “We have…talents,” he starts. “America is strong. You have your magic. China does not age.”
England snorts. “And yours is skating?” He glances sideways at Russia - the larger nation gazes past him, through him, at something in the past.
“Did I ever tell you,” Russia asks, knowing full well he didn’t, “about the first time I skated?”
Re: Fill (Part 4)
anonymous
March 1 2010, 19:54:29 UTC
STALKER!ENGLAND IS WATCHING YOU SKATE!!
Do tell us about your first time, Russia. You're so cute ^^ Authoranon, I love your "talents" reasoning...that's my headcanon too, each nation has a special, um...superpower, shall we say. I wonder what Russia will say about his... Oh, and that thing about ankles and neck? PURE WIN! it's very true, my granpa used to tell me anecdotes about this...and England, being old-fashioned, is still mentally there, lol
Re: Fill (Part 5)
anonymous
March 2 2010, 00:30:53 UTC
“We were very small,” Russia starts, “myself and my two sisters. It was cold. We were hungry. Ukraine found a little shed that had some food inside. Not much, but enough. And beside the shed was a lake.”
Russia’s eyes are far away. England feels like he’s melted into the wall, become a part of the scenery. He is entranced.
“The lake had frozen over. It looked like so much glass. Belarus was very little and did not understand - she walked out on it.” Russia swallows. “I am glad the ice was as thick as it was - she easily could have fallen in. But she just…tripped and fell. Went around on her skirts. Sliding.”
England tries to imagine the stoic Belarus sliding around on a frozen lake.
“Ukraine and I went out to get her, but we started to slip too. We were bigger, though, and did not fall. My sisters got off the ice, but I stayed.” Russia smiles. “For hours. Gliding. Without skates - just on my shoes. They came back to get me eventually. Ukraine was worried that I would turn into a snowman.”
Russia glances at England, as if challenging him to comment. England thinks. He remembers a small America throwing a buffalo, remembers a very young France, beautiful and irresistible even as a toddler. Thinks about Canada’s ability to blend into the snow when he didn’t want to be seen.
Russia could have presented much more dangerous abilities than simple ice skating. England says as much, and the other nation laughs.
“I…well, I suppose I didn’t take you for the - the performing type,” England admits. He almost slips and says “exhibitionist”. Bites his tongue on it.
“It has appeal,” Russia replies. He smirks and gestures to the piles of fanmail pushed against the wall. “The people love me.”
No surprise there, England thinks. It is only when he registers Russia’s tilted head and inquisitive glance that he realizes he’s spoken aloud.
--- A/N: Short chapter AGAIN, sorry - but next installment things start to heat up. ;D
Re: Fill (Part 6)
anonymous
March 2 2010, 03:55:04 UTC
England’s face turns a distinct shade of crimson in a record three seconds. “Er, I mean,” he says, trying to keep a mortified tremor out of his voice, “I, well, I took the liberty of watching some of your performances. On the internet. Er.”
Russia raises his eyebrows for a moment, but then he exhales and grins. “Ah. That one.”
“Yes,” England snaps. Without thinking he reaches for his tie and loosens it. “That one.”
England can’t rationalize this behavior. He’s liaised with Russia before - although the last one took place before the Cold War, and he’s always careful to keep business and pleasure separate. His diplomatic encounters with Russia were always strictly business - nothing more.
However, England suddenly remembers two things:
1. With all this fanfare over the Olympics, and with the global economy in the state it’s in, England hasn’t had time to devote to pleasure of that sort in far too long.
2. His last liaison with Russia was damned good.
England breathes heavily, shuts his eyes, tries not to feel like some sordid little pervert. Russia blinks at him. And for all they say about Russia being childlike, England has to give the man credit - Russia recognizes England’s predicament much more quickly than America would.
And, unlike France, Russia doesn’t tease.
Russia rises from the chair and steps forward one, two paces. England sees that he’s being handed an out - a chance to explain himself, make excuses, and run back to the Olympic village.
England is no coward. He looks up square into those glittering violet eyes and snaps, “For the love of Christ, Russia, I - mmph!”
His voice is crushed by Russia’s lips as two strong hands grip his waist and slam him against the door. England lets out an entirely immodest groan. His hands claw at Russia’s jacket as the larger nation thrusts his tongue into England’s mouth. Their teeth clash. When Russia pulls away, England feels blood on his lower lip.
Re: Fill (Part 6)
anonymous
March 2 2010, 13:09:32 UTC
OH, GOD, FUCKING HOT. frequent liaisons between nations is something I believe happens all the time. Nice to see a somewhat less repressed England. Who wouldn't get hot and abandon any inhibitions after watching Plushenko's Sen Bomb? Also, do I spy France's power as "being irresistible"? Because that's going to my headcanon at speedlight!!
Haha, yes, that's definitely France's power in my headcanon. Charm or pheromones of some sort - regardless, he's irresistible. XD
And those nations do get around. (GAH OP I'M SORRY I'M SHOEHORNING SO MUCH OF MY HEADCANON INTO THIS FILL OTL) Strong diplomatic liaisons tend to lead to, well, romantic and physical hookups. To me.
And poor Russia's probably spent so much time training that he's just as starved as England.
Re: Fill (Part 6)
anonymous
March 2 2010, 16:42:04 UTC
-nosebleeds-
And yet, what I'm most captured by is the easy prose of the whole thing, with England's sardonic but measured narrating voice and just looking at Russia through his eyes. I can see what England means when just a faint smile, with no childish pleasure or blankness, looks so much more disturbing and unsettling- Russia's calm bluntness (though it's a little tempered, a little more measured) is very wonderful to read as well, without seeming forced....
I would have thought this would be cracky but it makes absolutely amazing sense! I'm looking very forward to more.
A-Authornon is so happy
anonymous
March 2 2010, 19:55:08 UTC
That just made my day. So much. (Especially since I just bombed an architecture exam...)
Sane!Russia is unnerving, indeed - I would think that the nations have become slightly desensitized to the massive grin and have told themselves that he's not like them, he's alien - but seeing him as something that's clearly sane makes the madness more jarring. (To me, at least.)
England is...surprisingly easy to write. Although the only time I've focused on England before is in a crack fill - kind of an experiment for me. I'm glad it's working out.
England doesn’t sleep well that night. When he wakes up sweating and panting at two A.M. he convinces himself that he’s still jetlagged, overstressed from the competition. He attempts to return to sleep, but when his alarm wakes him he’s barely gotten another two hours.
Bleary-eyed and cross, he chokes down a piece of toast before heading to the stadium. Russia is skating by the time he arrives. England ducks behind a partition (a cheery advertisement for Olympic mascot-themed goods) so that he won’t be seen. He allows himself the opportunity to watch Russia work through his routine.
Clearly, he’s talented. The jumps alone must have taken years of practice to get down. England doesn’t know that much about the sport, but he’s heard that Russia’s performances include a certain variety of jump that few other skaters can perform on a consistent basis. Perhaps he’s not quite as “artistic” or “smooth” as some of America’s skaters, but his jumps make up for it.
He looks, nearly hypnotized, as Russia moves across the ice to nonexistent music - England almost doesn’t notice when he finishes the practice and heads off. England shakes himself before following Russia into a corridor, keeping a good distance behind the nation and his trainers. A rubbish barrel sits against the left wall; England ducks behind it. The trainers exchange a few words before splitting off, leaving Russia alone.
When the trainers are gone, Russia wastes no time in turning around and staring in England’s direction. “I can tell when someone is watching me,” he states, taking a step towards him. Russia’s tone isn’t threatening or gloating - just quiet, matter-of-fact. Still, England is far from reassured.
England decides to come out, expose his hand. He rises from behind the barrel. Russia’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second - surprise? - but England misses the change. “You’re good,” he says. “I don’t know much about skating, but you’re very good.”
Russia tilts his head to the side; “I am the best,” he corrects. A tiny smile passes across his face. It’s far removed from the childish grin normally pasted there - England thought he’d welcome the change, but in this case it’s positively unsettling.
He watches Russia gesture towards the athletes’ dressing rooms. “Come,” he orders.
England obeys.
Reply
Russia scoots the chair over to a cooler. He pulls out a water bottle (actual water, England notes with some surprise, not vodka) and uncaps it. “I thought more people would notice,” he says.
England snorts. “It’s not like you were being subtle out there,” he points out, crossing his arms. “What with the movements and the attitude - ” - and the costumes, his mind supplies. England bites his tongue on that particular thought, trying to stop his cheeks from turning red.
Russia glances up; shrugs. “America’s skaters are more flamboyant.” He drinks from the water bottle, and England can’t help but stare at the movement of his Adam’s apple - Russia, for once, isn’t wearing that enormous scarf. England flashes back to the Victorian era, when even a scrap of neck or ankle was enough to drive anyone into hysterics.
Apparently he hasn’t quite gotten over that. He wets his lips.
“Some of them,” England admits. He remembers the reason for his visit. “But they aren’t nations.”
“Ah.” Russia nods. “And that is what you wanted to talk about, hm?” He sets the water bottle down.
“This is an international competition,” England begins. He’s planned the whole speech - but damned if he can remember it all. “It’s for the people. If nations suddenly started competing, it wouldn’t be fair. You do the special jumps, correct?”
“The quadruples.”
“Yes. Those take a lot of strength. A nation would obviously have an advantage over a normal human.”
Russia glances to the side. “Not as much as you would think.” He looks back at England. “It takes training, practice. I cannot go out on the ice and simply execute jumps like that. I train, I work.”
England shakes his head. “Yes, but still -”
“You have fought, yes?” Russia interrupts, piercing England with a clear violet stare. It’s not cloudy with vodka or over-bright with madness; just sane, calm, rational.
It should not make England so afraid.
“Of course. We all fight our wars. But that’s a symbolic thing,” England insists. He avoids Russia’s eyes. “Quite different from sport.”
Russia considers, takes a different tack. “We have…talents,” he starts. “America is strong. You have your magic. China does not age.”
England snorts. “And yours is skating?” He glances sideways at Russia - the larger nation gazes past him, through him, at something in the past.
“Did I ever tell you,” Russia asks, knowing full well he didn’t, “about the first time I skated?”
TBC
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Do tell us about your first time, Russia. You're so cute ^^
Authoranon, I love your "talents" reasoning...that's my headcanon too, each nation has a special, um...superpower, shall we say. I wonder what Russia will say about his...
Oh, and that thing about ankles and neck? PURE WIN! it's very true, my granpa used to tell me anecdotes about this...and England, being old-fashioned, is still mentally there, lol
Moar moar moar, and good luck in your exams ;)
Reply
Russia’s eyes are far away. England feels like he’s melted into the wall, become a part of the scenery. He is entranced.
“The lake had frozen over. It looked like so much glass. Belarus was very little and did not understand - she walked out on it.” Russia swallows. “I am glad the ice was as thick as it was - she easily could have fallen in. But she just…tripped and fell. Went around on her skirts. Sliding.”
England tries to imagine the stoic Belarus sliding around on a frozen lake.
“Ukraine and I went out to get her, but we started to slip too. We were bigger, though, and did not fall. My sisters got off the ice, but I stayed.” Russia smiles. “For hours. Gliding. Without skates - just on my shoes. They came back to get me eventually. Ukraine was worried that I would turn into a snowman.”
Russia glances at England, as if challenging him to comment. England thinks. He remembers a small America throwing a buffalo, remembers a very young France, beautiful and irresistible even as a toddler. Thinks about Canada’s ability to blend into the snow when he didn’t want to be seen.
Russia could have presented much more dangerous abilities than simple ice skating. England says as much, and the other nation laughs.
“I…well, I suppose I didn’t take you for the - the performing type,” England admits. He almost slips and says “exhibitionist”. Bites his tongue on it.
“It has appeal,” Russia replies. He smirks and gestures to the piles of fanmail pushed against the wall. “The people love me.”
No surprise there, England thinks. It is only when he registers Russia’s tilted head and inquisitive glance that he realizes he’s spoken aloud.
---
A/N: Short chapter AGAIN, sorry - but next installment things start to heat up. ;D
Reply
ReCaptcha: "instruction roxanne"
Roxanne~, you don't have to put on that red light~! (... IS CAPTCHA CALLING RUSSIA A WHORE?!)
Yes, Russia/England renders me incoherent, why do you ask?
Reply
Whenever it updates I just feel happy. Haha.
No surprise there, England thinks. It is only when he registers Russia’s tilted head and inquisitive glance that he realizes he’s spoken aloud.
Oh Iggie, you suck at not being obvious. It's okay, we don't mind.
Reply
Russia raises his eyebrows for a moment, but then he exhales and grins. “Ah. That one.”
“Yes,” England snaps. Without thinking he reaches for his tie and loosens it. “That one.”
England can’t rationalize this behavior. He’s liaised with Russia before - although the last one took place before the Cold War, and he’s always careful to keep business and pleasure separate. His diplomatic encounters with Russia were always strictly business - nothing more.
However, England suddenly remembers two things:
1. With all this fanfare over the Olympics, and with the global economy in the state it’s in, England hasn’t had time to devote to pleasure of that sort in far too long.
2. His last liaison with Russia was damned good.
England breathes heavily, shuts his eyes, tries not to feel like some sordid little pervert. Russia blinks at him. And for all they say about Russia being childlike, England has to give the man credit - Russia recognizes England’s predicament much more quickly than America would.
And, unlike France, Russia doesn’t tease.
Russia rises from the chair and steps forward one, two paces. England sees that he’s being handed an out - a chance to explain himself, make excuses, and run back to the Olympic village.
England is no coward. He looks up square into those glittering violet eyes and snaps, “For the love of Christ, Russia, I - mmph!”
His voice is crushed by Russia’s lips as two strong hands grip his waist and slam him against the door. England lets out an entirely immodest groan. His hands claw at Russia’s jacket as the larger nation thrusts his tongue into England’s mouth. Their teeth clash. When Russia pulls away, England feels blood on his lower lip.
That’s more like it.
Reply
(Yet another anon is rendered incoherent by Russia/England. This pairing does this to people, apparently).
Reply
Also, do I spy France's power as "being irresistible"? Because that's going to my headcanon at speedlight!!
Reply
And those nations do get around. (GAH OP I'M SORRY I'M SHOEHORNING SO MUCH OF MY HEADCANON INTO THIS FILL OTL) Strong diplomatic liaisons tend to lead to, well, romantic and physical hookups. To me.
And poor Russia's probably spent so much time training that he's just as starved as England.
Reply
And yet, what I'm most captured by is the easy prose of the whole thing, with England's sardonic but measured narrating voice and just looking at Russia through his eyes. I can see what England means when just a faint smile, with no childish pleasure or blankness, looks so much more disturbing and unsettling- Russia's calm bluntness (though it's a little tempered, a little more measured) is very wonderful to read as well, without seeming forced....
I would have thought this would be cracky but it makes absolutely amazing sense! I'm looking very forward to more.
Reply
Sane!Russia is unnerving, indeed - I would think that the nations have become slightly desensitized to the massive grin and have told themselves that he's not like them, he's alien - but seeing him as something that's clearly sane makes the madness more jarring. (To me, at least.)
England is...surprisingly easy to write. Although the only time I've focused on England before is in a crack fill - kind of an experiment for me. I'm glad it's working out.
Reply
ReCaptcha says "keep roped". Nice, Captcha.
Reply
Leave a comment