A Change of Pace [3/?]
anonymous
July 4 2010, 20:46:20 UTC
He looked over at his subordinate and grew anxious again. He didn’t like sick people; as a matter of fact, he had quite an abhorrence to them because they were weak and he always feared of the eventual smell of death that might come. It was dramatic, he knew, but it didn’t keep his half-crazed mind from spiraling wildly out of control. He sighed and drummed his fingers against the wood of the armrest. But Toris wasn’t like other sick people; he was special because he was stronger than others. That’s how he justified it, anyway. There was a heavy crash from the kitchen, accompanied by a groan of frustration. The Russian sighed in exaggeration, rising from the chair. “Vaht ees eet NOW?” he called, making his way to the door. Raivis beat him to it.
“Ah, it’s nothing, Master Russia, sir. Eduard is just getting, erm… discouraged about the borscht. That’s all. No worry, see, because Eduard is very eff -”
“Pah! Move.” The older man huffed, waving the Baltic nation aside and striding into the kitchen. Estonia nearly dropped his ladle in surprise as Ivan near as filled the tiny doorframe. “Vaht did you do?” he sighed, more exasperated than angry for a change. He peered over the Estonian’s shoulder and eyed the half prepared soup. “Eet should be darker zhan zaht.” He said plainly.
“I’m sorry, Master Russia. I’ll try ag -”
“Nyet.” Ivan broke impatiently. “Don’t you two have chores to do?” The two Baltics shuffled uncertainly, looking between each other and their master.
“Eh…” they chorused.
“да, you do. Now go.” He said pointedly. After a second, they both scurried off, confused over their master’s odd shift in behavior.
***
“Lithuania.” The voice lilted in a singsong manner. The younger country whimpered, clutching onto the blessed dark, unawareness of sleep. He didn’t feel so damned hot that way. “Lithuania~” the voice called again. Damn him always getting what he wanted.
“’Ello.” He winced, instantly attacked by the sunlight streaming through the window.
“I have borscht for you.” Ivan called, wafting the bowl in front of his subordinate’s nose. It sloshed around, threatening to spill and stain the sheets. It was obvious the Russian was trying his hardest to be friendly, though why, Lithuania was still unsure. He struggled into a sitting position, back propped up with a cornucopia of differently sized and colored pillows. He glanced down at the steaming soup and bit the inside of his lip to keep from groaning.
The broth was blood red - exactly as it should be, but far from appetizing looking to someone who had spent the better part of their morning throwing up.
“Eat eet.” Ivan said encouragingly, pushing the bowl at him slightly. “Eet’ll be good for you!”
“Eh… thanks.” Toris managed, accepting the soup and staring down at its contents. The beets stared back at him dubiously, draining into the half-submerged sour cream and staining it pink. Lovely.
“Eet has vodka een eet.” The Russian added proudly.
“I don’t think that’s supposed to be in there.” Toris countered knowledgably, chasing around a chunk of potato with the back of his spoon.
“But vodka ees good for you.”
“Not always.”
“Eet’ll make you better.” Ivan said firmly. The Lithuanian silently gave up, dipping the spoon in the bloody looking broth and bringing it to his lips. It couldn’t hurt, could it? The soup felt amazing sliding down his throat, and a small smile spread over his lips.
“Ees good?” Ivan said, watching Toris anxiously. The Lithuanian noted that he hadn’t tacked on his usual ‘да’, so for once it meant that the man was asking a question rather than making a statement.
“It is, actually.” He replied ruefully, trying not to guzzle the contents. The war, broth felt so soothing to his dry throat… He looked over nervously, realizing Ivan was still watching him attentively. “May I help you?”
“Ees eet really?”
Toris struggled with the blind innocence in those eyes. It was too foreign. “The borscht? Yes, it really is good. Eduard did an excellent job as -”
“Estonia didn’t make eet.” The Russian interjected, suddenly enrapt in the fringe hanging off one of the blankets. Toris stared at him curiously, wary of the man’s unusual behavior. “Eh… I made eet…”
A Change of Pace [4/4]
anonymous
July 4 2010, 20:47:54 UTC
“That explains the vodka, then.” The smaller nation mumbled, fighting down the surprised blush that dusted his cheeks. “T-thank you, Mr. Russia.” Surely there must be flying Piglets outside in that snowstorm. Ivan had cleared his schedule, sat by him, and handmade him soup in hopes of his speedy recovery? His cheeks darkened the more he thought about it.
“Are you getting fevered again?” Ivan frowned, noting the sudden coloration.
“A-ah! No, no I don’t think so.” the other squeaked, ducking his heated face over the bowl.
“You sure? I think I should check…”
“No, no, it’s fine, really.” He whimpered as warm flesh grazed his own; Ivan’s wrist resting gently against his forehead. The Russian leaned forwards so their noses nearly brushed, eyes heavy with concern.
“You don’t feel so good, Toris. Drink more water, zhen sleep.” He advised, not moving from his position. The younger’s breath caught at their proximity.
“Y-yes Mr. Russia.” He breathed, fearful that his master could hear the frantic beating of his heart. If he only knew… no, it was probably best that the Russian remained ignorant of those feelings. It wasn’t right after all that they’d been through. It wasn’t healthy, either. His subconscious was screaming at him two completely different things.
’Kiss him! For the love of GOD, Toris, kiss him.’
‘Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? That’s not normal…’
‘He’s so close… so intimately close.’
‘It must be some sort of deception; a trap. He’s just going to hurt you again.’
‘But what if he won’t?’
Toris sighed with relief (and loss, he added distantly) as Ivan moved away from his face, pawing around for the glass of water. When had that been refilled? “Here.” He smiled almost shyly. “Drink eet all. Zhen you will sleep.” And he did, much to the Russian’s pleasure.
***
When he woke again, the sun was just barely cresting over the horizon, sending bands of pink and orange across the walls of the bedroom. It was quiet, aside from the gentle shushing of snow as it fell in the outside world. Toris sighed, finally having achieved a relative state of comfort and a much clearer feeling head. He smiled vaguely and wondered if his brother’s were already up.
Glancing to their side of the bed, he noticed that the sheets were no more disturbed than they had been the previous morning. Odd… Confused, he looked the other direction, and his heart skipped a beat. Sometime during the night, the rocking chair had been drug into the corner between the bed and the wall, and now it was occupied by a slumbering Russian. He looked so gentle, so… concerned.
Toris leaned over the chair, gently brushing the bangs out of the man’s face. At his touch, Ivan gave a low sound in his throat, and the worry melted away into a peaceful smile. The Lithuanian looked on, heart pounding. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Vanya.” He whispered, uttering the pet name he only used in his private mind. Flushed, he left a ghost of a kiss on the sleeping man’s lips, hardly daring to believe his own gall. “But all the same… thank you.”
Feeling light hearted, he settled back against the pillows, drifting off into an easy sleep, fingers still laced with the other man’s, exactly how Ivan had left them.
There was a heavy crash from the kitchen, accompanied by a groan of frustration. The Russian sighed in exaggeration, rising from the chair. “Vaht ees eet NOW?” he called, making his way to the door. Raivis beat him to it.
“Ah, it’s nothing, Master Russia, sir. Eduard is just getting, erm… discouraged about the borscht. That’s all. No worry, see, because Eduard is very eff -”
“Pah! Move.” The older man huffed, waving the Baltic nation aside and striding into the kitchen. Estonia nearly dropped his ladle in surprise as Ivan near as filled the tiny doorframe. “Vaht did you do?” he sighed, more exasperated than angry for a change. He peered over the Estonian’s shoulder and eyed the half prepared soup. “Eet should be darker zhan zaht.” He said plainly.
“I’m sorry, Master Russia. I’ll try ag -”
“Nyet.” Ivan broke impatiently. “Don’t you two have chores to do?” The two Baltics shuffled uncertainly, looking between each other and their master.
“Eh…” they chorused.
“да, you do. Now go.” He said pointedly. After a second, they both scurried off, confused over their master’s odd shift in behavior.
***
“Lithuania.” The voice lilted in a singsong manner. The younger country whimpered, clutching onto the blessed dark, unawareness of sleep. He didn’t feel so damned hot that way. “Lithuania~” the voice called again. Damn him always getting what he wanted.
“’Ello.” He winced, instantly attacked by the sunlight streaming through the window.
“I have borscht for you.” Ivan called, wafting the bowl in front of his subordinate’s nose. It sloshed around, threatening to spill and stain the sheets. It was obvious the Russian was trying his hardest to be friendly, though why, Lithuania was still unsure. He struggled into a sitting position, back propped up with a cornucopia of differently sized and colored pillows. He glanced down at the steaming soup and bit the inside of his lip to keep from groaning.
The broth was blood red - exactly as it should be, but far from appetizing looking to someone who had spent the better part of their morning throwing up.
“Eat eet.” Ivan said encouragingly, pushing the bowl at him slightly. “Eet’ll be good for you!”
“Eh… thanks.” Toris managed, accepting the soup and staring down at its contents. The beets stared back at him dubiously, draining into the half-submerged sour cream and staining it pink. Lovely.
“Eet has vodka een eet.” The Russian added proudly.
“I don’t think that’s supposed to be in there.” Toris countered knowledgably, chasing around a chunk of potato with the back of his spoon.
“But vodka ees good for you.”
“Not always.”
“Eet’ll make you better.” Ivan said firmly. The Lithuanian silently gave up, dipping the spoon in the bloody looking broth and bringing it to his lips. It couldn’t hurt, could it? The soup felt amazing sliding down his throat, and a small smile spread over his lips.
“Ees good?” Ivan said, watching Toris anxiously. The Lithuanian noted that he hadn’t tacked on his usual ‘да’, so for once it meant that the man was asking a question rather than making a statement.
“It is, actually.” He replied ruefully, trying not to guzzle the contents. The war, broth felt so soothing to his dry throat… He looked over nervously, realizing Ivan was still watching him attentively. “May I help you?”
“Ees eet really?”
Toris struggled with the blind innocence in those eyes. It was too foreign. “The borscht? Yes, it really is good. Eduard did an excellent job as -”
“Estonia didn’t make eet.” The Russian interjected, suddenly enrapt in the fringe hanging off one of the blankets. Toris stared at him curiously, wary of the man’s unusual behavior. “Eh… I made eet…”
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“Are you getting fevered again?” Ivan frowned, noting the sudden coloration.
“A-ah! No, no I don’t think so.” the other squeaked, ducking his heated face over the bowl.
“You sure? I think I should check…”
“No, no, it’s fine, really.” He whimpered as warm flesh grazed his own; Ivan’s wrist resting gently against his forehead. The Russian leaned forwards so their noses nearly brushed, eyes heavy with concern.
“You don’t feel so good, Toris. Drink more water, zhen sleep.” He advised, not moving from his position. The younger’s breath caught at their proximity.
“Y-yes Mr. Russia.” He breathed, fearful that his master could hear the frantic beating of his heart. If he only knew… no, it was probably best that the Russian remained ignorant of those feelings. It wasn’t right after all that they’d been through. It wasn’t healthy, either. His subconscious was screaming at him two completely different things.
’Kiss him! For the love of GOD, Toris, kiss him.’
‘Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? That’s not normal…’
‘He’s so close… so intimately close.’
‘It must be some sort of deception; a trap. He’s just going to hurt you again.’
‘But what if he won’t?’
Toris sighed with relief (and loss, he added distantly) as Ivan moved away from his face, pawing around for the glass of water. When had that been refilled? “Here.” He smiled almost shyly. “Drink eet all. Zhen you will sleep.” And he did, much to the Russian’s pleasure.
***
When he woke again, the sun was just barely cresting over the horizon, sending bands of pink and orange across the walls of the bedroom. It was quiet, aside from the gentle shushing of snow as it fell in the outside world. Toris sighed, finally having achieved a relative state of comfort and a much clearer feeling head. He smiled vaguely and wondered if his brother’s were already up.
Glancing to their side of the bed, he noticed that the sheets were no more disturbed than they had been the previous morning. Odd… Confused, he looked the other direction, and his heart skipped a beat. Sometime during the night, the rocking chair had been drug into the corner between the bed and the wall, and now it was occupied by a slumbering Russian. He looked so gentle, so… concerned.
Toris leaned over the chair, gently brushing the bangs out of the man’s face. At his touch, Ivan gave a low sound in his throat, and the worry melted away into a peaceful smile. The Lithuanian looked on, heart pounding. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Vanya.” He whispered, uttering the pet name he only used in his private mind. Flushed, he left a ghost of a kiss on the sleeping man’s lips, hardly daring to believe his own gall. “But all the same… thank you.”
Feeling light hearted, he settled back against the pillows, drifting off into an easy sleep, fingers still laced with the other man’s, exactly how Ivan had left them.
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Thank you for writing such a wonderful fill it melted my heart and made my day!
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