The Companion [6.5/?]
anonymous
May 12 2010, 19:19:49 UTC
Progressing to Russia's room had given him the slightest bit of kindling, stoking his mind back into crafting ploys and plans. America needed to hold on to his freedom, however minimal it was.
"Going back to sleep sounds all kind of nice, but, uh," America's words stuttered, clinging fiercely to his tongue. "What if I, like, camped out in here? I mean, if I slept in here, you could keep an eye on me, right?" he reasoned.
"Right." Suspicion lined Russia's agreement, but he took a step back, giving America room to stand.
America hopped to his feet and flashed a thankful smile that fell piteously short of his eyes. He scurried to the bed, performing subtle hops over the sketchy shadows in the room before throwing himself on the mattress, a soft whumph sounding as he hit the covers.
Russia largely ignored America's antics, instead retreating to a writing desk. He set to pouring over papers, showing no interest in the chorus of odd noises America made as he punched pillows and wrangled sheets.
America situated himself in the middle of the bed, the hugeness of it all creating the sensation of being lost in a sea of blankets and plump pillows. He kept a liberal amount of space between his feet and the edge of the mattress, the eternal fear that the monster under the bed would grab them forever present in his head.
With his arms pulled under his chest, America lie on his stomach, head turned towards Russia's back. A small mirror hung on the wall in front of Russia's desk, providing America with discreet means of spying. He watched the looking glass in silence, studying the reflection of Russia's face.
Russia's vivid violet eyes swept over the documents with a composed concentration, immune to distraction. Spidery lashes dipped and fluttered every few seconds, almost playfully. His eyes glinted with every new tidbit of interesting information they fell upon.
Purple eyes were kind of cool, America decided. Hair and eye colors out of the norm were, in America's mind, somewhat villainous to begin with, but America would let it slide this time.
The mix of purple eyes, impossibly pail hair, and a funky snaggletooth was a good combination. It was unique, memorable, nearly fetching. America wondered how Russia acquired such a shade for his eyes to begin with. Was he born with them? Or maybe he got them from a botched experiment─
"Stop that," Russia said abruptly.
"Stop what?" sputtered America, instantly on the defensive, hair prickling on the back of his neck.
"Staring."
America flushed with embarrassment, cheeks warming, a petulant frown curving his lips. He hadn't seen Russia look back at him, hadn't noticed even the slightest hint that he was aware of being surveyed. Probably has eyes in the back of his no good commie head, America thought.
"I don't have eyes in the back of my head, but it'd be nice."
America scowled weakly. "You can read minds now?"
Russia exhaled a low, heavy sigh through his mouth, never looking up from the papers before him. "You said it aloud, America. Go to sleep, you're tired."
"Oh, right. I'm gettin' on it, don't worry." America pulled his arms from beneath him, folding them into a pillow, a cradle for his head. "About that no good commie head stuff..."
"America─"
"I didn't mean it," America muttered into his arms, breath skimming along his skin. "It's a pretty good head, even if it is a commie head."
"America." Russia turned in his seat, arm hooking over the back of the chair. His eyes were dull, bored, almost distant. "Sleep."
"Fine, fine," America relented, succumbing to a childish pout. "Good night─ er, morning. You know what I mean."
"Going back to sleep sounds all kind of nice, but, uh," America's words stuttered, clinging fiercely to his tongue. "What if I, like, camped out in here? I mean, if I slept in here, you could keep an eye on me, right?" he reasoned.
"Right." Suspicion lined Russia's agreement, but he took a step back, giving America room to stand.
America hopped to his feet and flashed a thankful smile that fell piteously short of his eyes. He scurried to the bed, performing subtle hops over the sketchy shadows in the room before throwing himself on the mattress, a soft whumph sounding as he hit the covers.
Russia largely ignored America's antics, instead retreating to a writing desk. He set to pouring over papers, showing no interest in the chorus of odd noises America made as he punched pillows and wrangled sheets.
America situated himself in the middle of the bed, the hugeness of it all creating the sensation of being lost in a sea of blankets and plump pillows. He kept a liberal amount of space between his feet and the edge of the mattress, the eternal fear that the monster under the bed would grab them forever present in his head.
With his arms pulled under his chest, America lie on his stomach, head turned towards Russia's back. A small mirror hung on the wall in front of Russia's desk, providing America with discreet means of spying. He watched the looking glass in silence, studying the reflection of Russia's face.
Russia's vivid violet eyes swept over the documents with a composed concentration, immune to distraction. Spidery lashes dipped and fluttered every few seconds, almost playfully. His eyes glinted with every new tidbit of interesting information they fell upon.
Purple eyes were kind of cool, America decided. Hair and eye colors out of the norm were, in America's mind, somewhat villainous to begin with, but America would let it slide this time.
The mix of purple eyes, impossibly pail hair, and a funky snaggletooth was a good combination. It was unique, memorable, nearly fetching. America wondered how Russia acquired such a shade for his eyes to begin with. Was he born with them? Or maybe he got them from a botched experiment─
"Stop that," Russia said abruptly.
"Stop what?" sputtered America, instantly on the defensive, hair prickling on the back of his neck.
"Staring."
America flushed with embarrassment, cheeks warming, a petulant frown curving his lips. He hadn't seen Russia look back at him, hadn't noticed even the slightest hint that he was aware of being surveyed. Probably has eyes in the back of his no good commie head, America thought.
"I don't have eyes in the back of my head, but it'd be nice."
America scowled weakly. "You can read minds now?"
Russia exhaled a low, heavy sigh through his mouth, never looking up from the papers before him. "You said it aloud, America. Go to sleep, you're tired."
"Oh, right. I'm gettin' on it, don't worry." America pulled his arms from beneath him, folding them into a pillow, a cradle for his head. "About that no good commie head stuff..."
"America─"
"I didn't mean it," America muttered into his arms, breath skimming along his skin. "It's a pretty good head, even if it is a commie head."
"America." Russia turned in his seat, arm hooking over the back of the chair. His eyes were dull, bored, almost distant. "Sleep."
"Fine, fine," America relented, succumbing to a childish pout. "Good night─ er, morning. You know what I mean."
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