The Companion [8.7/?]
anonymous
May 28 2010, 18:09:34 UTC
"I already told you, I couldn't get the shower working."
"No," Russia said flatly, though his touch remained fond. "You would not come to me over something so simple."
America's mind ran a few excuses by in his head, none of them adequate enough to explain why he had dragged Russia back in here. He didn't think he could get away with not answering at all. Russia seemed the type to wait around until he heard what he wanted.
Fearing Russia would once again laugh at his absurd notions, America made to buy himself some sympathy, if only by wiping out his own dignity first. Ignoring the undulating revulsion that coiled in his stomach, America cocked his head to the side, loosely pinning Russia's hand between his cheek and shoulder.
"You aren't planning on lockin' me up in here while you go to the store today, are you?" he asked, forcing his voice into a timid croak while biting back the acidic bile that rose in his throat at the act.
Russia's expression melted into friendly, disarmed relief. "America, my little America. I promise to stand by patiently until you are ready. Never has it crossed my mind to leave while you are preoccupied." He crooned the words in such a loving manner that it caused America's heart to very briefly stammer and want to believe in his own little act, if only for a single second.
"Are you positive?" America backed up, shrugging off Russia's touch. "I mean, you could just be saying that." He sidled closer to the shower, fingers grazing the mouth of the tub.
"I promise, I will not leave you unattended in my home. Not even for a minute," Russia assured. "In fact, if it puts you at ease, I shall stay in here with you until you are finished."
"No, no that's really not necessary." America was back on unsteady ground, unsure of whether or not Russia was yanking his chain. "Why don't you stay in your room or something instead? Make a bunch of noise so I can hear you, too."
"I suppose I can do that." Russia nodded astutely.
"Great, mosey on along now." America made a shooing motion with his hands, Russia politely obeyed them.
With the bathroom clear of any Russian influence, America quickly shimmied from his pajamas and cast them aside. The chilled air of the bathroom sent him straight under the warm jet of water in the shower, his body dancing and bending to cover every inch of skin at once.
His hands worked to scrub away the horror of his actions, rubbing and scraping his flesh into a raw, red canvas. He'd used a little bit of flirting to get his way before, but only on the rarest occasions. Never with a madman like Russia. In a failing attempt to keep his self respect intact, America argued that it was necessary to behave in ways he'd rather not, as long as it got him closer to freedom. He'd already assured himself of that earlier, but after putting his theory in to play, it was nowhere near as easy to reason away the guilt he knew would haunt him.
America shook his head of his inner turmoil and went back to bathing. Wasn't Russia supposed to be kicking up a racket outside to show he was planning to stick around? He sure was doing an awful job of it. America went to washing his hair while he waited for the sound to start, giving the bottle a customary sniff before deciding that the light vanilla scent was an acceptable thing for his scalp to smell like.
In the middle of his rinsing and repeating, America's ears perked at the sound of singing. He waited for the crackle of the gramophone, the static of a radio station, but could perceive no such thing. The notes were perfectly clear, as though the singer was merely in the next room over. An electric tremor skittered up and down America's spine as he realised it was Russia.
His voice was deep and operatic, a smooth and luxurious baritone that swept into the shower and mingled with the water, bathing America's skin in rich, musical notes. The trill of Russia's perfect vibrato caused America's own chest to swell as he breathed in the sound.
"No," Russia said flatly, though his touch remained fond. "You would not come to me over something so simple."
America's mind ran a few excuses by in his head, none of them adequate enough to explain why he had dragged Russia back in here. He didn't think he could get away with not answering at all. Russia seemed the type to wait around until he heard what he wanted.
Fearing Russia would once again laugh at his absurd notions, America made to buy himself some sympathy, if only by wiping out his own dignity first. Ignoring the undulating revulsion that coiled in his stomach, America cocked his head to the side, loosely pinning Russia's hand between his cheek and shoulder.
"You aren't planning on lockin' me up in here while you go to the store today, are you?" he asked, forcing his voice into a timid croak while biting back the acidic bile that rose in his throat at the act.
Russia's expression melted into friendly, disarmed relief. "America, my little America. I promise to stand by patiently until you are ready. Never has it crossed my mind to leave while you are preoccupied." He crooned the words in such a loving manner that it caused America's heart to very briefly stammer and want to believe in his own little act, if only for a single second.
"Are you positive?" America backed up, shrugging off Russia's touch. "I mean, you could just be saying that." He sidled closer to the shower, fingers grazing the mouth of the tub.
"I promise, I will not leave you unattended in my home. Not even for a minute," Russia assured. "In fact, if it puts you at ease, I shall stay in here with you until you are finished."
"No, no that's really not necessary." America was back on unsteady ground, unsure of whether or not Russia was yanking his chain. "Why don't you stay in your room or something instead? Make a bunch of noise so I can hear you, too."
"I suppose I can do that." Russia nodded astutely.
"Great, mosey on along now." America made a shooing motion with his hands, Russia politely obeyed them.
With the bathroom clear of any Russian influence, America quickly shimmied from his pajamas and cast them aside. The chilled air of the bathroom sent him straight under the warm jet of water in the shower, his body dancing and bending to cover every inch of skin at once.
His hands worked to scrub away the horror of his actions, rubbing and scraping his flesh into a raw, red canvas. He'd used a little bit of flirting to get his way before, but only on the rarest occasions. Never with a madman like Russia. In a failing attempt to keep his self respect intact, America argued that it was necessary to behave in ways he'd rather not, as long as it got him closer to freedom. He'd already assured himself of that earlier, but after putting his theory in to play, it was nowhere near as easy to reason away the guilt he knew would haunt him.
America shook his head of his inner turmoil and went back to bathing. Wasn't Russia supposed to be kicking up a racket outside to show he was planning to stick around? He sure was doing an awful job of it. America went to washing his hair while he waited for the sound to start, giving the bottle a customary sniff before deciding that the light vanilla scent was an acceptable thing for his scalp to smell like.
In the middle of his rinsing and repeating, America's ears perked at the sound of singing. He waited for the crackle of the gramophone, the static of a radio station, but could perceive no such thing. The notes were perfectly clear, as though the singer was merely in the next room over. An electric tremor skittered up and down America's spine as he realised it was Russia.
His voice was deep and operatic, a smooth and luxurious baritone that swept into the shower and mingled with the water, bathing America's skin in rich, musical notes. The trill of Russia's perfect vibrato caused America's own chest to swell as he breathed in the sound.
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