The Companion [8.4/?]
anonymous
May 28 2010, 18:04:44 UTC
America blinked lazily, becoming more attuned to the noise. He picked his head up from the bed, supporting himself on his elbows. His eyes scoped out the alarm clock which informed him in glowing red numbers that the morning was moving on without him, already having reached a quarter past ten. Ruffled that he had slept so late, America's limbs spasmed and kicked the covers off.
The chill of the room pounced upon him. "Oh, oh nooo," he bleated weakly, sounding very much like an old lady and immediately yanked the sheets over his head, providing himself a small niche in which to huddle within. The blissful warmth of the bed was infinitely preferable to the rest of the cold room.
Belatedly, America noticed his fussing about was fetching no reaction from Russia. Not that it ever seemed to get one. His fingers gripped at the pillow beneath his head, the only one on the bed. He listened to the water as it continued to pound, the slow and embarrassing realization that Russia was no longer in the bed consuming his thoughts.
He peeped out from the covers and glanced around. Everything was still neatly packed into its place, largely unchanged but for the removal of the gun. The phone sat patiently on the writing desk, waiting to be called to service.
The desire to use it was fleeting, a blink of thought in the eye of time. It was too cold to move, and dial, and hold respectable conversation. And, knowing his own luck, America was sure Russia would jump out of the shower before he'd gotten so much as one ring off. He'd wait patiently instead, prove that he could sit and be still and not do reckless things.
He didn't have to wait long. The taps soon squeaked as they were turned off, the heavy stream of water turning to a few orphaned drips. The door swung open on creaking hinges, steam billowing out as if the entrance were the maw of a great dragon. Russia didn't emerge from the bathroom as much as he seemed to fade into the room. It was really very dramatic for so early in the morning, America thought.
"Did you sleep well, America?" Russia questioned, his footsteps silent as he approached the bed. The inquisition startled America, his body admitting to being awake as his mind protested.
"I'm still snoozin'," he answered, eyes closed.
"You are like a school child." A large drop of water splashed against America's forehead, his face flinched instinctively as he looked up as Russia's hovering form. His hair was plastered to his skull, darkened by water that slid down his pale cheeks and dripped from his jaw, continuing to land on America's face.
"I like sleeping, that's all." America rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. He wasn't ready to get up yet.
"Mother, only five more minutes, I promise. I will be the best boy in the world if only you would give them to me," Russia mused softly, more to himself than America.
"Okay, okay, I'm getting up." America made a grand show of being roused. His arms appeared first, sliding above the sheets, failing wildly, stupidly, halfway intending to smack Russia. When he found himself without the satisfying thud of connection, he withdrew his arms, curling them slowly inward, snail-like in appearance.
America lay incredibly still for several moments, the only visible movement the rise and fall of the covers as his chest rose and fell in steady succession. His left hand, the one closest to Russia he surmised, very slowly moved towards the bright glow of the room, his fingertips pausing before they could be exposed.
With the snapping lash of an eel's strike, America's arm shot out, clipping Russia in a lightning quick and eerily fluid movement before retreating, or at least, mostly. His fingers still peeked from the head of the sheets, opening and closing, biting the air like a live creature, weaving occasionally in search of prey.
"Do you put on these productions every morning?"
"For the right price."
"Oh," Russia breathed the word out in a sigh, sounding unsure of how to take the comment. "So this is reward for taking you out with me today?"
The chill of the room pounced upon him. "Oh, oh nooo," he bleated weakly, sounding very much like an old lady and immediately yanked the sheets over his head, providing himself a small niche in which to huddle within. The blissful warmth of the bed was infinitely preferable to the rest of the cold room.
Belatedly, America noticed his fussing about was fetching no reaction from Russia. Not that it ever seemed to get one. His fingers gripped at the pillow beneath his head, the only one on the bed. He listened to the water as it continued to pound, the slow and embarrassing realization that Russia was no longer in the bed consuming his thoughts.
He peeped out from the covers and glanced around. Everything was still neatly packed into its place, largely unchanged but for the removal of the gun. The phone sat patiently on the writing desk, waiting to be called to service.
The desire to use it was fleeting, a blink of thought in the eye of time. It was too cold to move, and dial, and hold respectable conversation. And, knowing his own luck, America was sure Russia would jump out of the shower before he'd gotten so much as one ring off. He'd wait patiently instead, prove that he could sit and be still and not do reckless things.
He didn't have to wait long. The taps soon squeaked as they were turned off, the heavy stream of water turning to a few orphaned drips. The door swung open on creaking hinges, steam billowing out as if the entrance were the maw of a great dragon. Russia didn't emerge from the bathroom as much as he seemed to fade into the room. It was really very dramatic for so early in the morning, America thought.
"Did you sleep well, America?" Russia questioned, his footsteps silent as he approached the bed. The inquisition startled America, his body admitting to being awake as his mind protested.
"I'm still snoozin'," he answered, eyes closed.
"You are like a school child." A large drop of water splashed against America's forehead, his face flinched instinctively as he looked up as Russia's hovering form. His hair was plastered to his skull, darkened by water that slid down his pale cheeks and dripped from his jaw, continuing to land on America's face.
"I like sleeping, that's all." America rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. He wasn't ready to get up yet.
"Mother, only five more minutes, I promise. I will be the best boy in the world if only you would give them to me," Russia mused softly, more to himself than America.
"Okay, okay, I'm getting up." America made a grand show of being roused. His arms appeared first, sliding above the sheets, failing wildly, stupidly, halfway intending to smack Russia. When he found himself without the satisfying thud of connection, he withdrew his arms, curling them slowly inward, snail-like in appearance.
America lay incredibly still for several moments, the only visible movement the rise and fall of the covers as his chest rose and fell in steady succession. His left hand, the one closest to Russia he surmised, very slowly moved towards the bright glow of the room, his fingertips pausing before they could be exposed.
With the snapping lash of an eel's strike, America's arm shot out, clipping Russia in a lightning quick and eerily fluid movement before retreating, or at least, mostly. His fingers still peeked from the head of the sheets, opening and closing, biting the air like a live creature, weaving occasionally in search of prey.
"Do you put on these productions every morning?"
"For the right price."
"Oh," Russia breathed the word out in a sigh, sounding unsure of how to take the comment. "So this is reward for taking you out with me today?"
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