Seven Years [1d/7]
anonymous
July 2 2010, 05:45:08 UTC
Russia tells him that yes, yes he does very dearly. And if France has any ill thoughts of their relationship after that, he keeps his own council as he plays host over the next few days. Russia has a place at the table, goes to see a ballet with them, and learns to make a Yule Log. At night they lay in France’s guest room, entwined, breathing the same air. They have the same conversation each of the three nights that they are there:
“You didn’t have to do this, dorogoy.”
“Yes, I did.”
They go across the channel early on Christmas Day, baggage trailing behind them, and arrive around nine in the morning at England’s house. As it was in France, it’s cold, but not colder than either of their countries at this time a year. They hold hands, feeling each other through their gloves. Canada makes use of the old copper knocker, sending a thump-thump through the house.
England swings the door open, smiling, two cups of eggnog in one hand. As is their ritual each year, the first thing out of England’s mouth is Canada’s name: “Matthew!” he exclaims, handing over the eggnog, “And your-Russia?” The other eggnog was clearly meant for the boyfriend England knew Canada was bringing, but now that he knows it’s Russia he does not hand it over-nor does he step aside to let them in.
“Dobroe utro,” Russia says: Good morning. Canada can tell from his tone that he doesn’t expect to be let in ever, and guesses that his boyfriend is cursing himself for ever going along with this.
Obviously he cannot let Russia think such things, and anyway it is a bit cold out. So he brings a smile to his face and says, “Merry Christmas, Arthur! Why don’t we come in? Is Al still sleeping?” and starts to go inside. England does not stop him, perhaps remembering that the last time he had used that particular tone of voice defying him had immediately resulted in Canada turning into what America calls, ‘Manada’ when he thought Canada isn’t listening. Canada desn’t let his inner lumberjack and his inner Mountie out at the same time often, but when he does or threatens to people usually get out of his way pretty damn fast, including England.
Canada hangs his coat up, and stacks his and Russia’s things off to the side before moving them to the room they’ll be sharing before England finds any words.
“Matthew,” England says, “Why is Russia here?” His tone when he refers to Russia makes Canada set his lips in a thin line and regret releasing Russia’s hands. England, Canada thinks, wants to hear anything other than that he’s my boyfriend.
So Canada says, “Because I love him and I don’t see why I can’t spend the holidays with all of the people that I love.” And that flabbergasts England and lights a fire in Russia’s eyes that is one of the reasons that Canada loves him. No one else looks at him like that when he says he loves them. But every time he says he loves Russia, Russia is even more pleased and stunned.
“You can’t love him!” England squawks at his former colony. Canada thinks that he’s likely offended by the very notion of someone loving Russia, not to mention that the person claiming to is related to him.
“Da, I was surprised that he loves me, as well,” is Russia’s response, which stops England in his tracks just long enough for Canada to join his boyfriend before England starts up again. His fingers and Russia’s twine together, now that their gloves are off. Russia is noticeably nervous. Canada supposes that if this were Ukraine in front of him, blatantly denying that their relationship was even possible, Canada would be very nervous, as well.
England sputters, likely not prepared for Russia to be so amicable. Russia knows that it would be expected of him to threaten England into accepting his and Canada’s relationship, but he does not. Not only out of respect for his boyfriend’s family, but also because he’s not sure that it would work. There are a great many countries that Russia could scare into anything with a pleasant smile, a gentle request, and the wave of his spigot. But England, Russia thought, wasn’t one of them when his colonies were concerned.
“You didn’t have to do this, dorogoy.”
“Yes, I did.”
They go across the channel early on Christmas Day, baggage trailing behind them, and arrive around nine in the morning at England’s house. As it was in France, it’s cold, but not colder than either of their countries at this time a year. They hold hands, feeling each other through their gloves. Canada makes use of the old copper knocker, sending a thump-thump through the house.
England swings the door open, smiling, two cups of eggnog in one hand. As is their ritual each year, the first thing out of England’s mouth is Canada’s name: “Matthew!” he exclaims, handing over the eggnog, “And your-Russia?” The other eggnog was clearly meant for the boyfriend England knew Canada was bringing, but now that he knows it’s Russia he does not hand it over-nor does he step aside to let them in.
“Dobroe utro,” Russia says: Good morning. Canada can tell from his tone that he doesn’t expect to be let in ever, and guesses that his boyfriend is cursing himself for ever going along with this.
Obviously he cannot let Russia think such things, and anyway it is a bit cold out. So he brings a smile to his face and says, “Merry Christmas, Arthur! Why don’t we come in? Is Al still sleeping?” and starts to go inside. England does not stop him, perhaps remembering that the last time he had used that particular tone of voice defying him had immediately resulted in Canada turning into what America calls, ‘Manada’ when he thought Canada isn’t listening. Canada desn’t let his inner lumberjack and his inner Mountie out at the same time often, but when he does or threatens to people usually get out of his way pretty damn fast, including England.
Canada hangs his coat up, and stacks his and Russia’s things off to the side before moving them to the room they’ll be sharing before England finds any words.
“Matthew,” England says, “Why is Russia here?” His tone when he refers to Russia makes Canada set his lips in a thin line and regret releasing Russia’s hands. England, Canada thinks, wants to hear anything other than that he’s my boyfriend.
So Canada says, “Because I love him and I don’t see why I can’t spend the holidays with all of the people that I love.” And that flabbergasts England and lights a fire in Russia’s eyes that is one of the reasons that Canada loves him. No one else looks at him like that when he says he loves them. But every time he says he loves Russia, Russia is even more pleased and stunned.
“You can’t love him!” England squawks at his former colony. Canada thinks that he’s likely offended by the very notion of someone loving Russia, not to mention that the person claiming to is related to him.
“Da, I was surprised that he loves me, as well,” is Russia’s response, which stops England in his tracks just long enough for Canada to join his boyfriend before England starts up again. His fingers and Russia’s twine together, now that their gloves are off. Russia is noticeably nervous. Canada supposes that if this were Ukraine in front of him, blatantly denying that their relationship was even possible, Canada would be very nervous, as well.
England sputters, likely not prepared for Russia to be so amicable. Russia knows that it would be expected of him to threaten England into accepting his and Canada’s relationship, but he does not. Not only out of respect for his boyfriend’s family, but also because he’s not sure that it would work. There are a great many countries that Russia could scare into anything with a pleasant smile, a gentle request, and the wave of his spigot. But England, Russia thought, wasn’t one of them when his colonies were concerned.
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