Wishing Is Cold This Year [3/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 18:15:34 UTC
“Нет, Toris,” he heard the other man tell him firmly, even as his eyes drifted closed. And then, for the first time since they’d started their Hellish, impromptu journey, Ivan stopped walking. A moment later, and there was a sharp crack and a stinging sensation in his cheek as the Russian sharply brought his gloved hand across the smaller man’s face. It was enough to bring his eyes open again, to find himself peering into another set of snow-encrusted eyelashes and flashing violet. And he vaguely realised that, despite the blow, Ivan’s expression was one of frowning concern, rather than irritation. “You mustn’t play the General’s games.”
Removing his scarf, Ivan shivered a little as he wound it around Toris’ neck, still propping the little country up with his free hand, never relinquishing his hold on his arm. “So weak, little Litva,” he murmured to himself as the Lithuanian swayed on his feet. With a clucking noise, he suddenly hauled the little nation towards his burly chest and, before Toris could even register what was happening, he found himself slung over Ivan’s broad shoulder, dangling there helplessly. He barely had the energy to murmur a protest.
“This will be faster,” Ivan mused aloud, setting off at a pace which was so much quicker that the Lithuanian could only feel a vague sense of shame at how dramatically he’d been slowing them both down. The larger man carried him as though he weighed nothing, ploughing on through the snow as though it barely affected him. And Toris knew that wasn’t the case, knew how vehemently the violet-eyed country hated the bitter winter. But he kept on going, stoically putting one foot in front of the other and never seeming to tire. It occurred to the brunette that, as terrified as he was of Ivan, he really couldn’t have chosen a better person to be stranded in a snowstorm with.
It was this thought which comforted him a little, even as the numbness crept over him and finally, for the first time in a very long time, he disobeyed a direct order from Ivan and succumbed to unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes again, he became aware of the sensation of cold wood pressed against his cheek, the sharp smell of dampness and rot pervading his senses. Something warm and heavy was draped around him and he shifted slightly to realise that it was Ivan’s coat which covered him. Shivering violently, he sat up, drawing the beige fabric about himself tightly as he realised that the snow was no longer assaulting him, that the numbness in his hands and feet had been replaced with a sharp, tingling pain as feeling returned to his extremities.
“Ivan...?” he mumbled tiredly, glancing over to what appeared to be a long-neglected hearth. The pale blond was bent over the broken fireplace, clad in the thick blue jumper he’d been wearing under his coat, sparking two stones together and trying to ignite a pitiful supply of wood.
“Ah, Toris.” He looked over at his servant with his usual beatific little smile, as though the situation was the most normal thing in the world. “You decided to wake up. Come and make yourself useful.”
“What...I...?” he crawled forward towards the hearth, keeping the coat wrapped around his shoulders. “Sir...where are we?”
“Had you not decided to go to sleep, my lazy servant, you would know that I found us some shelter,” he admonished softly.
“I’m sorry...I...I...” the brunette began to stammer. “I was so cold and...”
Ivan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Ah, but I cannot blame you this time, Toris,” he said quietly. “The General does not take kindly to trespassers.” Sighing at the non-existant fire, he continued. “It seems that this cabin was used for hunting, perhaps in the summer months. It will do until the worst of the storm passes.”
Wishing Is Cold This Year [4/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 18:31:42 UTC
Toris reached over and began to clumsily help Ivan with the fire, rearranging the sticks in such a way that they would catch light more easily. “I...Ivan...” he said quietly as he watched the sparks from the stones fail to ignite again. “You...you saved me.”
“I know.” The Russian looked at him with a faint curiosity, as though he was wondering why the Lithuanian was stating something so obvious.
“Well...um...thank you...?” Toris said awkwardly, keeping his eyes fixed on the hearth, willing the sticks to burst into flame.
“Ah Litva...” he put one large hand on Lithuania’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it was faintly painful, even through two thick layers of coats. “But you are my property, da? Of course I would not let any harm befall you.”
Lithuania closed his eyes tightly for a moment, unsure of exactly how he felt about that statement. He was already well aware that Ivan’s definition of “harm” did not encompass any injuries he inflicted on Toris himself.
“Besides,” Ivan continued merrily, “Who knows how long we might be trapped here? You know it is...ah...better for both of us if you are the one who is cooking, Toris.”
In spite of himself, Toris let out a tiny chuckle, just as the fireplace sparked into life. And although being trapped indefinitely in the middle of nowhere with Ivan Braginski was undoubtedly an unnerving thought, he couldn’t help but feel reassuredly safe in the larger nation’s presence as he watched the flames lick away at the wood.
Ivan’s lilting voice interrupted his thoughts as he leaned over with an expression of curiosity and lifted a handful of Lithuania’s damp hair away from his face, looking at it as though it were some strange new object. “Wet,” he declared. “My Litva is soaked to the blood. This is not good. You’re too small, you will get ill.”
“I’ll be fine,” Toris replied, stifling the urge to sniffle already. It would be a miracle if he’d made it through such a gruelling trek without coming down with something. But he shook the thought as the warmth from the small fire thawed out his limbs and brought colour back to his cheeks. Eventually he shrugged off the large overcoat and handed it back to Ivan, before solemnly unwinding his scarf and pressing it into the other man’s hand with a grateful squeeze.
Re: Wishing Is Cold This Year [5/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 19:06:29 UTC
He looked around the room hopefully, to see exactly what they had to work with. If they were going to be stuck here for a long time, he would have to clean up, make the place habitable, he reasoned. The floor was thick with dust, but fortunately, there was a broom in the corner. A decent sized pile of reasonably dry firewood still remained, and there was a small wooden table they might be able to burn, if things got really desperate. But he was certain there would be enough, used sparingly, to keep them going long enough for any freshly gathered wood to dry out. There was a small bed in an alcove on the far side of the room, the sheets old and dusty. But with all the snow, Toris reasoned that there would hardly be a problem with water. Their main concern would be food. He hoped there was a residual supply somewhere, perhaps some tins stashed away, but he somehow doubted it.
Almost as though reading his mind, Russia piped up thoughtfully beside him. “It grows dark. Tonight, we will have to go to bed hungry,” he declared ruefully. “Tomorrow, I hunt.”
“Hunt?” Toris blurted out. The thought had not occurred to him. Even the mere idea of stepping out into that blizzard again filled him with horror. Ivan raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face and laughed softly, giving him a light push on the shoulder which almost sent him sprawling.
“Not you, Litva. You will stay here,” he smiled thinly, “This place is hardly pleasant, there is much to be done. I’m sure you’ll earn your keep.”
The smaller nation nodded earnestly, his features relaxing in grateful relief at the prospect of not being forced back out into the snow. He remained on his knees beside the fireplace until he realised that Ivan was looking at him expectantly.
“Starting now, perhaps?” the blonde prompted him quietly, with a deceptively benign smile.
“Oh, right...of course...” he stammered, and scrambled to his feet, while Ivan stretched out in front of the fire. The rest of the dimly lit cabin, outwith the immediate vicinity of the flames, was deathly cold and he began to shiver again as he made his way to the bed, hauling the heavy sheets off and choking on the dust. It was much too late in the evening to start washing them, so he draped them over the backs of two rickety wooden chairs on the other side of the room and began to beat them with the broom to get rid of the worst of the dust. As he began to choke on the dust, Ivan glanced over at him bemusedly, before turning his attentions back to contemplating the flames.
Hands and face thoroughly smudged with dirt, he was finally satisfied that the sheets were more-or-less fit for human use and he pulled them back onto the bed, arranging them neatly. From beside the fire, he could hear Ivan yawning.
“Um...your bed is ready,” he said softly. “It’s not perfect, but it was the best I could do.”
“Ah, no matter...” Ivan got to his feet wearily and put a heavy hand on Toris’ shoulder. “I am tired. It has been a long day.” And then he added, almost teasingly, “You are not as light as you look, Litva.”
Wishing Is Cold This Year [6/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 20:07:23 UTC
As an embarrassed flush began to creep across Lithuania’s cheeks, Ivan laughed lightly and ruffled his hair roughly, before he made his way towards the bed, clambering under the covers with a contented sigh. The brunette glanced enviously at the thick blankets covering the Russian, before sighing quietly and wrapping his coat around himself, curling up in front of the rapidly dying embers of the fire. As the flamed guttered and the warmth faded, he found himself beginning to shiver again, and he closed his eyes tightly, willing his muscles to stop spasming long enough for him to snatch some sleep.
Ivan cleared his throat and he started slightly, before curling up tighter. The same noise came again, more insistently and he tried to ignore it. Then came an exasperated sigh and a quietly impatient, “Litva?”
He opened his eyes again and shifted to a half-sitting position, squinting over at where Ivan lay in the darkness. “Litva, what are you doing?” the other nation questioned softly.
“Sir?”
“You are soaking wet, it is the middle of winter, there is no heat and you mean to sleep on the floor?” he continued, the puzzlement in his voice clearly evident.
“But I...I thought that you wanted the bed for yourself...” Lithuania began hesitantly.
“It is nice that you know your place, little one,” he informed Toris, as though he were gently explaining something very, very obvious to a small child. “But I do not want to wake up tomorrow and find my servant frozen half to death. So get into bed.”
Toris felt an absurd wave of gratitude as he scrambled to his feet and clambered awkwardly into the small bed. Even under the covers, it was still cold, but it was infinitely preferable to the icy chill from the draught on the floor. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured tiredly, before turning away from Ivan onto his side.
A moment later, something warm enveloped him and he stifled a yelp as he found himself pulled tightly against Ivan’s chest, enveloped in the thick fabric of the other man’s open coat. Being in such close proximity to the larger nation caused his heart to race in a panicked sort of way. It was true that he was, as a rule, utterly terrified of Russia, that he was constantly walking on eggshells and there was always something in the back of his mind screaming at him that the deranged country might snap at any moment. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel desperately glad at the fact that it had been Ivan, and no one else, who had been there to protect him, to haul him to safety. Exhausted, conflicted and overcome with an overwhelming gratitude towards his long time tormentor, his eyes slipped closed as tiredness began to pull him into fitful unconsciousness once more.
“Litva?” Ivan’s voice in his ear roused him from the sleep which had begun to overtake him.
“Sir?”
“If you snore, you will be back on the floor. Is that clear?”
Toris smiled to himself in the darkness, even though he was fairly certain that Ivan was being deadly serious. “Yes, sir...” he murmured quietly, letting his heavy eyelids drop closed once again as he drifted off to sleep, tucked away safely in the folds of Ivan’s coat.
-------------------------------------------------- AN: TBC and I hope OP likes it so far. I'm open to suggestions for things you'd like to see happen, anons... ^^
Re: Wishing Is Cold This Year [6/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 21:19:18 UTC
Not OP but...
I can't decide what I love more, your characterization of Ivan, the fact that you used the name "Litva", or simply this whole fic. Bookmarking and stalking.
Re: Wishing Is Cold This Year [6/??]
anonymous
July 20 2010, 21:55:16 UTC
Also not OP, but I definitely like it so far! I like how you have Toris conflicted about Ivan - having him just hate or just like Ivan is too simple for their relationship.
Wishing Is Cold This Year [7/??]
anonymous
July 21 2010, 16:23:01 UTC
Toris slept surprisingly well, and when his eyes next fluttered open again, he supposed it to be morning. Not that there was much light streaming in through the snow-covered windowpanes, but he could make out just enough to hazard a guess. He shifted a little in bed and realised that he was alone. Sitting up with a start, he swung his legs out of bed and shivered violently at the cold air. It was much worse than even winter at Russia’s house, he realised, fighting the urge to crawl back under the blankets.
“Ivan?” he called out, but there was no sign of him in the dimly lit room. “Sir...?”
But the cabin was completely deserted and Toris wrinkled his nose in confusion. Had Ivan really gone out hunting and left him to sleep peacefully? It seemed so...uncharacteristic. He’d envisaged the Russian kicking him out of bed the following morning with a demand to lay the fire and get the house in some sort of order. He hurried to the front door and opened it a fraction, before closing it again with a slam as the blizzard outside assaulted him immediately. Was Ivan really trekking about in such hideous conditions, looking for a source of food for them? The thought made him feel a twinge of guilt as he glanced at the snow-blocked windows.
He was struck by the urge to make himself equally useful. He had no idea how he could possibly repay the fact that Ivan had saved his life and was now out on his own in the most miserable weather imaginable, just to provide for them, but he supposed that he might start by at least tidying up. It was certainly better than looking out the window and wondering if his captor-turned-protector was being eaten by wolves.
Toris went about inspecting the rest of the cabin for useful items. It was largely open plan, and all cooking seemed to have been done at the stove but there was a reasonable sized cupboard in which he found an old metal bathtub, some pots and pans and even a couple of cracked plates and some old rags that he figured he could use to wash the floor and surfaces with. There was also a large bar of carbolic soap, half open and clearly very old, but probably still up to the job for washing sheets with.
Getting water turned out to be a fairly laborious process, involving dragging the heavy tub outside, filling it with armfuls of snow, and hauling it back inside by the newly set fire, in order to melt it. To occupy himself in the meantime, Toris removed his coat determinedly, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to sweep the floor. He put much more enthusiasm into the task than was necessary, mostly in an attempt to keep warm. By the time the water was melted, he almost felt warm again, and was dreading the prospect of plunging his hands into the icy liquid.
Before he started, he took a few of the larger pots and siphoned off enough clean water to drink for the next day or so. At least all the snow meant they wouldn’t go thirsty. Then he pulled all the blankets from the bed, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got on with it.
As he worked, he couldn’t help but continuously cast anxious glances towards the door, biting his lip every time he heard the scream of the wind. He found himself desperately hoping that Ivan was alright and, every time he did, shaking his head and telling himself that it was only because he was being sensible, because if Ivan didn’t come back he was going to die here, alone and starving, freezing to death once the firewood ran out.
But he worked solidly and, a few hours later, sheets were drying by the fire, the floor and all the surfaces had been washed immaculately clean, the mattress was airing, the hearth was burning brightly, and the windows were cleared from their thick obstructions of snow.
Then Ivan burst in, trekking mud and snow everywhere, and dumped a dead wolf and two dead rabbits in the middle of the floor, sloshing half-frozen blood on Toris’ beautifully clean work. He gasped and a part of him twitched at all the newly created mess. Ivan had a large scratch across his cheek and the front of his coat was splashed with crimson underneath its layer of snow. Immediately, Toris dashed forward to greet him, wringing his hands.
Wishing Is Cold This Year [8/??]
anonymous
July 21 2010, 16:37:48 UTC
“Ivan!” he blurted out, reaching out to put a hand on the Russian’s arm and then thinking better of it.
The blonde clapped a hand roughly on his shoulder in acknowledgement and then pushed past him, making a beeline for the fire. “You’d best get started on cooking, eh Litva?” he said quietly, the exhaustion evident in his voice. The broad-shouldered nation shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to Lithuania, who staggered with it in his arms for a moment before hanging it up on a rusty nail. He would wash the blood out later, he reflected, wondering how much of his life he’d already spent scrubbing crimson out of Russia’s favourite coat.
Toris went to survey Ivan’s kills, wincing at the sight of the gaping knife gash across the largest animal’s throat. It looked like he’d sawn right into the wolf’s trachea. With a nervous glance at Ivan, he eyed the hilt of the hunting knife still tucked in the larger man’s knee-length boot and gestured to it hestitantly.
“Um...could I borrow that...?” he asked. Tiredly, Russia removed it and tossed it in his direction, the large blade clattering on the floor beside the animal corpses. Lithuania wondered if he’d found it lying about the cabin, or if it was just something he happened to carry about his person. It looked a little too well cared for to have been the former, he decided.
He picked up the rabbits and moved them to the table. He was fairly certain he could cook a decent meal from them, especially with pots and a water to boil the meat in. Then he turned his attentions to the wolf.
“I’ve...never cooked wolf before...” he mused aloud, staring at the large corpse and at a complete loss.
“I was hunting rabbits,” Ivan explained casually, “The wolf simply decided to pick a fight. Silly wolf.” As Toris looked at him in startled surprise, the violet eyed man smiled and shrugged. “But meat is meat, da?”
“Right...” the Lithuanian swallowed hard and bit his lip. “Well, I’ll cook the rabbit now, and then I’ll do something with the wolf later. At least we can freeze it, right?” He laughed nervously and Ivan rewarded him with a thin, tired smile.
“If I may suggest, Litva,” he suggested softly, “You may wish to stop talking about cooking and get to work actually making dinner?”
Lithuania made a tiny choking sound and nodded hastily, dragging the wolf into the corner, hung a pot of water over the fire to boil and then got to work on skinning the rabbits. An adept cook, he worked quickly and methodically, eventually relaxing enough to unconsciously murmur a small tune under his breath as he removed the pelt and diced the meat.
He was putting it in the pot when he caught Ivan looking at him curiously.
“Hmmm?” the brunette enquired, so absorbed in his task that he’d almost forgotten whose company he was in.
“Litva?” he enquired, cocking his head to one side, “Do you always sing when you cook?”
“I...” Toris looked flustered for a moment, “I...suppose I do,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, I’ll keep quiet.”
“Ah, Нет,” Ivan waved his hand vaguely, “There are worse noises. You remind me of a bird.” He stared into the fire contemplatively and, after a few moments, murmured to himself, “I wanted to kill some birds today, but I could not trap them so easily.”
The smaller nation swallowed hard and forced himself to nod politely as he finished scraping the rest of the rabbit into the pot. “Dinner should be ready soon,” he said, a little too brightly, by way of a subject change.
Wishing Is Cold This Year [9/??]
anonymous
July 21 2010, 17:34:32 UTC
Eventually, the meat was ready and Toris disappeared with the pot, returning with one large plate and one smaller one. He gave Ivan the lion’s share of the food, allotting himself only the bare minimum. It wasn’t quite enough, but he was well aware of how much Ivan was able to eat. The blonde nodded approvingly when he saw the portion sizes. They sat cross legged on the floor beside the fire, eating in silence.
“Good,” Ivan said eventually, between mouthfuls.
“I’m glad,” the brunette replied sincerely, eyes fixed on his plate.
“You cleaned up.”
“Yes sir.”
“Also good.”
The brief little exchange brought a tiny smile to Toris’ lips and he looked up at the larger nation intently. He felt a faint little glow at the fact that Ivan had acknowledged, in his own way, that the Lithuanian was useful. It salved his pride a little to know that, even if he was utterly dependant on the Russian for survival, at least he could make a small contribution in return.
In spite of his best efforts to eat slowly, he finished his tiny rations all too quickly. He might have licked the plate, if he had been alone, but instead he forced himself to put it down with a slow, controlled movement, ignoring the fact that he was still hungry.
As he watched Ivan continue to eat, his stomach rumbled and he glanced desperately towards the blooded coat. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he said quietly, “I’ll get on with the laundry...”
Making a move to stand up, he found himself yanked back down again as Ivan reached up and grabbed his forearm, pulling him back down again and staring at him inquisitively.
“Sit,” he commanded softly. And then, with no explanation, “Open your mouth, Litva.”
Toris stared at him for a moment in surprise, before hastily arranging himself cross legged in front of the larger nation and parting his lips hesitantly, green eyes clouded with puzzlement. Ivan took a piece of meat from his plate and popped it in his half-open mouth.
“Eat,” he told him impassively and then, when Lithuania began to chew obediently, he murmured, “Good boy.”
At this, the Lithuanian’s cheeks began to burn, and Ivan chuckled with quiet amusement, reaching out to ruffle his hair possessively. Ivan continued to eat in silence, occasionally hand feeding the smaller nation scraps from his plate. And after the initial humiliation wore off a little, Toris found himself thinking, in spite of himself, that perhaps this really wasn’t so bad after all, that perhaps this was Ivan’s way of showing some kind of affection, in his own inappropriate and controlling sort of way.
He held a last scrap of food in front of his mouth and Toris parted his lips again. The Russian pulled it away teasingly, and the brunette leaned forward before he could stop himself, evoking a low laugh from the other man. Ivan shoved the morsel in, a little too roughly, along with his finger, and Lithuania found himself, for just a split second sucking a little on the digit, closing his eyes briefly. Then he realised what he was doing and pulled back, horrified. Climbing to his feet, he stammered something about the laundry and left the warmth of the fireplace. And as he dumped Ivan's heavy coat in the tub and got to work scrubbing the bloodstains with soap, he could hear the violet eyed nation chuckling merrily to himself under his breath.
-------------------------------
An: Please forgive my italics fail in the last part... orz. And I know this is a bit of a mean place to leave it hanging, but I'm just putting it up as I write it and now I have to go and do chores. ^^;
Also, thank you SO much for the comments so far, dearest anons. <3
Wishing Is Cold This Year [10/??]
anonymous
July 21 2010, 23:39:50 UTC
Once Toris was finished with the coat, his hands were red raw and chapped from scrubbing and his fingers numb from the cold water. But the activity had at least given him something to focus on, even if he did keep casting apprehensive glances towards Ivan, who sat immobile by the fire. Every so often, he would look up and catch the other nation staring at him with an almost predatory look, which forced his eyes back to the task in hand and his cheeks to colour rapidly.
Eventually, he turned his attentions to the biggest problem for the evening (besides, that was, his own uncontrollable embarrassment at the day’s events thus far).
“Ivan...?” he ventured.
“Da?”
“I’m not really sure what to do about the dead wolf on the floor.” Scratching his head with a bewildered expression, he had no idea where to even begin. He wasn’t even sure if he could heave it onto the table.
“Just think of it like a big rabbit,” he said, looking at Lithuania with a bemused smile. “Skin it. Cut the meat and freeze it outside.”
“Right.” And then a long, awkward pause. “Can you help me lift it?”
Russia simply stared at him for a long moment, before sighing gently and clambering to his feet, casting a regretful glance at the fire. He approached him and grabbed the cadaver by the scruff of its neck, hoisting it easily onto the table with one hand.
He picked up the knife in one hand, looked down at it and sighed, before getting to work.
It took him two hours, and by the time he was finished, Toris felt vaguely ill and the table looked like it belonged in a butcher’s shop, the wood splattered with blood and entrails. The meat was cut into manageable portions and wrapped in the cleanest of the rags, buried under the snow outside to freeze. Given how much Ivan ate, Toris estimated that it might last them a good week or so, more if used frugally. But Russia seemed to quite enjoy killing things, so perhaps he wouldn’t be too concerned at the prospect of going out hunting again. He’d buried the bones outside and hung the pelt on the wall. Perhaps he could clean it up and make it into a rug, he thought to himself, and then shook the idea off. After all, it wasn’t as if they were setting up home here, simply taking shelter until the worst of the blizzard passed and they could go for help.
As he mechanically began to scrub the table down, he found himself imagining how the cabin might look if it were fixed up nicely. Sweeping his gaze around the room, he could imagine how homely it might be with the addition of some curtains at the window, if the fireplace were cleaned up, if there was a decent stove to cook and and the floor and furniture were polished and there were rugs on the floor and a tablecloth on the table and... He blinked, shaking his head to himself. He’d clearly been stuck as a domestic servant for far too long if his thoughts were automatically turning to things like curtains and tablecloths.
Wishing Is Cold This Year [11/??]
anonymous
July 21 2010, 23:43:27 UTC
He glanced back to Ivan and watched the look of contentment on his pale face as he stared into the brightly burning flames. It occurred to him that the scene would be much nicer if the cabin had a proper armchair for him to rest in, rather than simply sitting cross-legged on the floor. He allowed his mind to wander a little as he pictured how cozy it might be if every evening went like this, with Toris cooking the food that Ivan had brought home while he relaxed in front of the fire, perhaps in comfortable silence, perhaps swapping snippets of conversation about nothing-in-particular. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so dreadful if they were stuck here. Ivan could provide for them, could keep him safe while he took care of the house. Things were much simpler like this; no politics, no war, no world meetings, no vodka for Ivan to get drunk on and then slap him around.
“Litva?” Ivan’s voice jolted him out of his reverie and he realised that the Russian was looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“S..sir?”
“Why are you staring at me?” Ivan asked innocently, tilting his head to one side. Toris felt a lurch of panic in his stomach as he turned scarlet. Thank God Russia couldn’t read his mind, he thought to himself.
“I...well...I don’t know...” he floundered, looking desperately at the bedsheets and wondering if they were dry yet. “I...suppose I was thinking that it’s...um...it’s lucky you found this place.”
“Da,” the blonde agreed, “It is a good place to wait out the snowstorm. But we will soon be out of firewood and then...it will not be so pleasant.”
“I’ll look for fallen branches in the morning,” Toris offered uncertainly. “If we start drying out wood tomorrow then...”
“You, little one, will not leave the house,” Ivan cut him off firmly, causing the Lithuanian to stare at him in surprise. “In here, I can keep you from the General. Out in the storm, not so much.”
Toris looked at Ivan, open mouthed, a warm, happy feeling coursing through him at the firm, protective tone in the other man’s voice. Flustered, he nodded and turned his attentions to the sheets, pulling them from where he’d set them to dry and setting to work making the bed. Their bed, he thought to himself, and then frowned, shaking his head.
When he was finished, he all but jumped as he turned around to find Ivan hovering over him, holding out his blue jumper in his hand. He had a dark woollen shirt underneath and Toris found himself wondering just how many layers of clothing he actually wore.
“Y...you want me to wash it?” he enquired.
“Нет, Toris,” Ivan began, in the patient tone of someone who is addressing an idiot child, “I want you to wear it.” He gestured to the Lithuanian’s own shirt, which was covered in blood and dust and grime from the day’s activities. “You are not getting into my bed wearing something so filthy.”
“Oh...” Toris bit his lip, embarrassed, and began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off and hanging it over one of the bedposts. It was fairly ruined, but he reasoned that he could wash the worst of it the next day and perhaps keep it to wear while doing housework. He turned around and realised that Ivan had been gazing rather intently at his back. Right. My scars.
He looked at the expression on the violet-eyed man’s countenance, desperately seeking some evidence that there was a hint of remorse. But he found nothing that he could convince himself of. Ivan’s expression was utterly unreadable, and Toris gave up, slipping the warm jumper over his head. Ivan continued to study him, to the point where the other man’s stare was making him uncomfortable. Eventually, he looked away and climbed into bed and the Lithuanian found himself standing there awkwardly for a few moments, before following suit.
Removing his scarf, Ivan shivered a little as he wound it around Toris’ neck, still propping the little country up with his free hand, never relinquishing his hold on his arm. “So weak, little Litva,” he murmured to himself as the Lithuanian swayed on his feet. With a clucking noise, he suddenly hauled the little nation towards his burly chest and, before Toris could even register what was happening, he found himself slung over Ivan’s broad shoulder, dangling there helplessly. He barely had the energy to murmur a protest.
“This will be faster,” Ivan mused aloud, setting off at a pace which was so much quicker that the Lithuanian could only feel a vague sense of shame at how dramatically he’d been slowing them both down. The larger man carried him as though he weighed nothing, ploughing on through the snow as though it barely affected him. And Toris knew that wasn’t the case, knew how vehemently the violet-eyed country hated the bitter winter. But he kept on going, stoically putting one foot in front of the other and never seeming to tire. It occurred to the brunette that, as terrified as he was of Ivan, he really couldn’t have chosen a better person to be stranded in a snowstorm with.
It was this thought which comforted him a little, even as the numbness crept over him and finally, for the first time in a very long time, he disobeyed a direct order from Ivan and succumbed to unconsciousness.
---------------------------------------------------------------
When he opened his eyes again, he became aware of the sensation of cold wood pressed against his cheek, the sharp smell of dampness and rot pervading his senses. Something warm and heavy was draped around him and he shifted slightly to realise that it was Ivan’s coat which covered him. Shivering violently, he sat up, drawing the beige fabric about himself tightly as he realised that the snow was no longer assaulting him, that the numbness in his hands and feet had been replaced with a sharp, tingling pain as feeling returned to his extremities.
“Ivan...?” he mumbled tiredly, glancing over to what appeared to be a long-neglected hearth. The pale blond was bent over the broken fireplace, clad in the thick blue jumper he’d been wearing under his coat, sparking two stones together and trying to ignite a pitiful supply of wood.
“Ah, Toris.” He looked over at his servant with his usual beatific little smile, as though the situation was the most normal thing in the world. “You decided to wake up. Come and make yourself useful.”
“What...I...?” he crawled forward towards the hearth, keeping the coat wrapped around his shoulders. “Sir...where are we?”
“Had you not decided to go to sleep, my lazy servant, you would know that I found us some shelter,” he admonished softly.
“I’m sorry...I...I...” the brunette began to stammer. “I was so cold and...”
Ivan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Ah, but I cannot blame you this time, Toris,” he said quietly. “The General does not take kindly to trespassers.” Sighing at the non-existant fire, he continued. “It seems that this cabin was used for hunting, perhaps in the summer months. It will do until the worst of the storm passes.”
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“I know.” The Russian looked at him with a faint curiosity, as though he was wondering why the Lithuanian was stating something so obvious.
“Well...um...thank you...?” Toris said awkwardly, keeping his eyes fixed on the hearth, willing the sticks to burst into flame.
“Ah Litva...” he put one large hand on Lithuania’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it was faintly painful, even through two thick layers of coats. “But you are my property, da? Of course I would not let any harm befall you.”
Lithuania closed his eyes tightly for a moment, unsure of exactly how he felt about that statement. He was already well aware that Ivan’s definition of “harm” did not encompass any injuries he inflicted on Toris himself.
“Besides,” Ivan continued merrily, “Who knows how long we might be trapped here? You know it is...ah...better for both of us if you are the one who is cooking, Toris.”
In spite of himself, Toris let out a tiny chuckle, just as the fireplace sparked into life. And although being trapped indefinitely in the middle of nowhere with Ivan Braginski was undoubtedly an unnerving thought, he couldn’t help but feel reassuredly safe in the larger nation’s presence as he watched the flames lick away at the wood.
Ivan’s lilting voice interrupted his thoughts as he leaned over with an expression of curiosity and lifted a handful of Lithuania’s damp hair away from his face, looking at it as though it were some strange new object. “Wet,” he declared. “My Litva is soaked to the blood. This is not good. You’re too small, you will get ill.”
“I’ll be fine,” Toris replied, stifling the urge to sniffle already. It would be a miracle if he’d made it through such a gruelling trek without coming down with something. But he shook the thought as the warmth from the small fire thawed out his limbs and brought colour back to his cheeks. Eventually he shrugged off the large overcoat and handed it back to Ivan, before solemnly unwinding his scarf and pressing it into the other man’s hand with a grateful squeeze.
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Almost as though reading his mind, Russia piped up thoughtfully beside him. “It grows dark. Tonight, we will have to go to bed hungry,” he declared ruefully. “Tomorrow, I hunt.”
“Hunt?” Toris blurted out. The thought had not occurred to him. Even the mere idea of stepping out into that blizzard again filled him with horror. Ivan raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face and laughed softly, giving him a light push on the shoulder which almost sent him sprawling.
“Not you, Litva. You will stay here,” he smiled thinly, “This place is hardly pleasant, there is much to be done. I’m sure you’ll earn your keep.”
The smaller nation nodded earnestly, his features relaxing in grateful relief at the prospect of not being forced back out into the snow. He remained on his knees beside the fireplace until he realised that Ivan was looking at him expectantly.
“Starting now, perhaps?” the blonde prompted him quietly, with a deceptively benign smile.
“Oh, right...of course...” he stammered, and scrambled to his feet, while Ivan stretched out in front of the fire. The rest of the dimly lit cabin, outwith the immediate vicinity of the flames, was deathly cold and he began to shiver again as he made his way to the bed, hauling the heavy sheets off and choking on the dust. It was much too late in the evening to start washing them, so he draped them over the backs of two rickety wooden chairs on the other side of the room and began to beat them with the broom to get rid of the worst of the dust. As he began to choke on the dust, Ivan glanced over at him bemusedly, before turning his attentions back to contemplating the flames.
Hands and face thoroughly smudged with dirt, he was finally satisfied that the sheets were more-or-less fit for human use and he pulled them back onto the bed, arranging them neatly. From beside the fire, he could hear Ivan yawning.
“Um...your bed is ready,” he said softly. “It’s not perfect, but it was the best I could do.”
“Ah, no matter...” Ivan got to his feet wearily and put a heavy hand on Toris’ shoulder. “I am tired. It has been a long day.” And then he added, almost teasingly, “You are not as light as you look, Litva.”
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Ivan cleared his throat and he started slightly, before curling up tighter. The same noise came again, more insistently and he tried to ignore it. Then came an exasperated sigh and a quietly impatient, “Litva?”
He opened his eyes again and shifted to a half-sitting position, squinting over at where Ivan lay in the darkness. “Litva, what are you doing?” the other nation questioned softly.
“Sir?”
“You are soaking wet, it is the middle of winter, there is no heat and you mean to sleep on the floor?” he continued, the puzzlement in his voice clearly evident.
“But I...I thought that you wanted the bed for yourself...” Lithuania began hesitantly.
“It is nice that you know your place, little one,” he informed Toris, as though he were gently explaining something very, very obvious to a small child. “But I do not want to wake up tomorrow and find my servant frozen half to death. So get into bed.”
Toris felt an absurd wave of gratitude as he scrambled to his feet and clambered awkwardly into the small bed. Even under the covers, it was still cold, but it was infinitely preferable to the icy chill from the draught on the floor. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured tiredly, before turning away from Ivan onto his side.
A moment later, something warm enveloped him and he stifled a yelp as he found himself pulled tightly against Ivan’s chest, enveloped in the thick fabric of the other man’s open coat. Being in such close proximity to the larger nation caused his heart to race in a panicked sort of way. It was true that he was, as a rule, utterly terrified of Russia, that he was constantly walking on eggshells and there was always something in the back of his mind screaming at him that the deranged country might snap at any moment. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel desperately glad at the fact that it had been Ivan, and no one else, who had been there to protect him, to haul him to safety. Exhausted, conflicted and overcome with an overwhelming gratitude towards his long time tormentor, his eyes slipped closed as tiredness began to pull him into fitful unconsciousness once more.
“Litva?” Ivan’s voice in his ear roused him from the sleep which had begun to overtake him.
“Sir?”
“If you snore, you will be back on the floor. Is that clear?”
Toris smiled to himself in the darkness, even though he was fairly certain that Ivan was being deadly serious. “Yes, sir...” he murmured quietly, letting his heavy eyelids drop closed once again as he drifted off to sleep, tucked away safely in the folds of Ivan’s coat.
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AN: TBC and I hope OP likes it so far. I'm open to suggestions for things you'd like to see happen, anons... ^^
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I can't decide what I love more, your characterization of Ivan, the fact that you used the name "Litva", or simply this whole fic. Bookmarking and stalking.
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(I hope there will be smut!)
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<3
recaptcha: that Emmett XDDD wrong fandom recaptcha
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“Ivan?” he called out, but there was no sign of him in the dimly lit room. “Sir...?”
But the cabin was completely deserted and Toris wrinkled his nose in confusion. Had Ivan really gone out hunting and left him to sleep peacefully? It seemed so...uncharacteristic. He’d envisaged the Russian kicking him out of bed the following morning with a demand to lay the fire and get the house in some sort of order. He hurried to the front door and opened it a fraction, before closing it again with a slam as the blizzard outside assaulted him immediately. Was Ivan really trekking about in such hideous conditions, looking for a source of food for them? The thought made him feel a twinge of guilt as he glanced at the snow-blocked windows.
He was struck by the urge to make himself equally useful. He had no idea how he could possibly repay the fact that Ivan had saved his life and was now out on his own in the most miserable weather imaginable, just to provide for them, but he supposed that he might start by at least tidying up. It was certainly better than looking out the window and wondering if his captor-turned-protector was being eaten by wolves.
Toris went about inspecting the rest of the cabin for useful items. It was largely open plan, and all cooking seemed to have been done at the stove but there was a reasonable sized cupboard in which he found an old metal bathtub, some pots and pans and even a couple of cracked plates and some old rags that he figured he could use to wash the floor and surfaces with. There was also a large bar of carbolic soap, half open and clearly very old, but probably still up to the job for washing sheets with.
Getting water turned out to be a fairly laborious process, involving dragging the heavy tub outside, filling it with armfuls of snow, and hauling it back inside by the newly set fire, in order to melt it. To occupy himself in the meantime, Toris removed his coat determinedly, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to sweep the floor. He put much more enthusiasm into the task than was necessary, mostly in an attempt to keep warm. By the time the water was melted, he almost felt warm again, and was dreading the prospect of plunging his hands into the icy liquid.
Before he started, he took a few of the larger pots and siphoned off enough clean water to drink for the next day or so. At least all the snow meant they wouldn’t go thirsty. Then he pulled all the blankets from the bed, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got on with it.
As he worked, he couldn’t help but continuously cast anxious glances towards the door, biting his lip every time he heard the scream of the wind. He found himself desperately hoping that Ivan was alright and, every time he did, shaking his head and telling himself that it was only because he was being sensible, because if Ivan didn’t come back he was going to die here, alone and starving, freezing to death once the firewood ran out.
But he worked solidly and, a few hours later, sheets were drying by the fire, the floor and all the surfaces had been washed immaculately clean, the mattress was airing, the hearth was burning brightly, and the windows were cleared from their thick obstructions of snow.
Then Ivan burst in, trekking mud and snow everywhere, and dumped a dead wolf and two dead rabbits in the middle of the floor, sloshing half-frozen blood on Toris’ beautifully clean work. He gasped and a part of him twitched at all the newly created mess. Ivan had a large scratch across his cheek and the front of his coat was splashed with crimson underneath its layer of snow. Immediately, Toris dashed forward to greet him, wringing his hands.
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The blonde clapped a hand roughly on his shoulder in acknowledgement and then pushed past him, making a beeline for the fire. “You’d best get started on cooking, eh Litva?” he said quietly, the exhaustion evident in his voice. The broad-shouldered nation shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to Lithuania, who staggered with it in his arms for a moment before hanging it up on a rusty nail. He would wash the blood out later, he reflected, wondering how much of his life he’d already spent scrubbing crimson out of Russia’s favourite coat.
Toris went to survey Ivan’s kills, wincing at the sight of the gaping knife gash across the largest animal’s throat. It looked like he’d sawn right into the wolf’s trachea. With a nervous glance at Ivan, he eyed the hilt of the hunting knife still tucked in the larger man’s knee-length boot and gestured to it hestitantly.
“Um...could I borrow that...?” he asked. Tiredly, Russia removed it and tossed it in his direction, the large blade clattering on the floor beside the animal corpses. Lithuania wondered if he’d found it lying about the cabin, or if it was just something he happened to carry about his person. It looked a little too well cared for to have been the former, he decided.
He picked up the rabbits and moved them to the table. He was fairly certain he could cook a decent meal from them, especially with pots and a water to boil the meat in. Then he turned his attentions to the wolf.
“I’ve...never cooked wolf before...” he mused aloud, staring at the large corpse and at a complete loss.
“I was hunting rabbits,” Ivan explained casually, “The wolf simply decided to pick a fight. Silly wolf.” As Toris looked at him in startled surprise, the violet eyed man smiled and shrugged. “But meat is meat, da?”
“Right...” the Lithuanian swallowed hard and bit his lip. “Well, I’ll cook the rabbit now, and then I’ll do something with the wolf later. At least we can freeze it, right?” He laughed nervously and Ivan rewarded him with a thin, tired smile.
“If I may suggest, Litva,” he suggested softly, “You may wish to stop talking about cooking and get to work actually making dinner?”
Lithuania made a tiny choking sound and nodded hastily, dragging the wolf into the corner, hung a pot of water over the fire to boil and then got to work on skinning the rabbits. An adept cook, he worked quickly and methodically, eventually relaxing enough to unconsciously murmur a small tune under his breath as he removed the pelt and diced the meat.
He was putting it in the pot when he caught Ivan looking at him curiously.
“Hmmm?” the brunette enquired, so absorbed in his task that he’d almost forgotten whose company he was in.
“Litva?” he enquired, cocking his head to one side, “Do you always sing when you cook?”
“I...” Toris looked flustered for a moment, “I...suppose I do,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, I’ll keep quiet.”
“Ah, Нет,” Ivan waved his hand vaguely, “There are worse noises. You remind me of a bird.” He stared into the fire contemplatively and, after a few moments, murmured to himself, “I wanted to kill some birds today, but I could not trap them so easily.”
The smaller nation swallowed hard and forced himself to nod politely as he finished scraping the rest of the rabbit into the pot. “Dinner should be ready soon,” he said, a little too brightly, by way of a subject change.
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“Good,” Ivan said eventually, between mouthfuls.
“I’m glad,” the brunette replied sincerely, eyes fixed on his plate.
“You cleaned up.”
“Yes sir.”
“Also good.”
The brief little exchange brought a tiny smile to Toris’ lips and he looked up at the larger nation intently. He felt a faint little glow at the fact that Ivan had acknowledged, in his own way, that the Lithuanian was useful. It salved his pride a little to know that, even if he was utterly dependant on the Russian for survival, at least he could make a small contribution in return.
In spite of his best efforts to eat slowly, he finished his tiny rations all too quickly. He might have licked the plate, if he had been alone, but instead he forced himself to put it down with a slow, controlled movement, ignoring the fact that he was still hungry.
As he watched Ivan continue to eat, his stomach rumbled and he glanced desperately towards the blooded coat. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he said quietly, “I’ll get on with the laundry...”
Making a move to stand up, he found himself yanked back down again as Ivan reached up and grabbed his forearm, pulling him back down again and staring at him inquisitively.
“Sit,” he commanded softly. And then, with no explanation, “Open your mouth, Litva.”
Toris stared at him for a moment in surprise, before hastily arranging himself cross legged in front of the larger nation and parting his lips hesitantly, green eyes clouded with puzzlement. Ivan took a piece of meat from his plate and popped it in his half-open mouth.
“Eat,” he told him impassively and then, when Lithuania began to chew obediently, he murmured, “Good boy.”
At this, the Lithuanian’s cheeks began to burn, and Ivan chuckled with quiet amusement, reaching out to ruffle his hair possessively. Ivan continued to eat in silence, occasionally hand feeding the smaller nation scraps from his plate. And after the initial humiliation wore off a little, Toris found himself thinking, in spite of himself, that perhaps this really wasn’t so bad after all, that perhaps this was Ivan’s way of showing some kind of affection, in his own inappropriate and controlling sort of way.
He held a last scrap of food in front of his mouth and Toris parted his lips again. The Russian pulled it away teasingly, and the brunette leaned forward before he could stop himself, evoking a low laugh from the other man. Ivan shoved the morsel in, a little too roughly, along with his finger, and Lithuania found himself, for just a split second sucking a little on the digit, closing his eyes briefly. Then he realised what he was doing and pulled back, horrified. Climbing to his feet, he stammered something about the laundry and left the warmth of the fireplace. And as he dumped Ivan's heavy coat in the tub and got to work scrubbing the bloodstains with soap, he could hear the violet eyed nation chuckling merrily to himself under his breath.
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An: Please forgive my italics fail in the last part... orz. And I know this is a bit of a mean place to leave it hanging, but I'm just putting it up as I write it and now I have to go and do chores. ^^;
Also, thank you SO much for the comments so far, dearest anons. <3
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/F5 party
/prays author!anon will update soon
/makes camp to wait for updates
:D
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Eventually, he turned his attentions to the biggest problem for the evening (besides, that was, his own uncontrollable embarrassment at the day’s events thus far).
“Ivan...?” he ventured.
“Da?”
“I’m not really sure what to do about the dead wolf on the floor.” Scratching his head with a bewildered expression, he had no idea where to even begin. He wasn’t even sure if he could heave it onto the table.
“Just think of it like a big rabbit,” he said, looking at Lithuania with a bemused smile. “Skin it. Cut the meat and freeze it outside.”
“Right.” And then a long, awkward pause. “Can you help me lift it?”
Russia simply stared at him for a long moment, before sighing gently and clambering to his feet, casting a regretful glance at the fire. He approached him and grabbed the cadaver by the scruff of its neck, hoisting it easily onto the table with one hand.
He picked up the knife in one hand, looked down at it and sighed, before getting to work.
It took him two hours, and by the time he was finished, Toris felt vaguely ill and the table looked like it belonged in a butcher’s shop, the wood splattered with blood and entrails. The meat was cut into manageable portions and wrapped in the cleanest of the rags, buried under the snow outside to freeze. Given how much Ivan ate, Toris estimated that it might last them a good week or so, more if used frugally. But Russia seemed to quite enjoy killing things, so perhaps he wouldn’t be too concerned at the prospect of going out hunting again. He’d buried the bones outside and hung the pelt on the wall. Perhaps he could clean it up and make it into a rug, he thought to himself, and then shook the idea off. After all, it wasn’t as if they were setting up home here, simply taking shelter until the worst of the blizzard passed and they could go for help.
As he mechanically began to scrub the table down, he found himself imagining how the cabin might look if it were fixed up nicely. Sweeping his gaze around the room, he could imagine how homely it might be with the addition of some curtains at the window, if the fireplace were cleaned up, if there was a decent stove to cook and and the floor and furniture were polished and there were rugs on the floor and a tablecloth on the table and... He blinked, shaking his head to himself. He’d clearly been stuck as a domestic servant for far too long if his thoughts were automatically turning to things like curtains and tablecloths.
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“Litva?” Ivan’s voice jolted him out of his reverie and he realised that the Russian was looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“S..sir?”
“Why are you staring at me?” Ivan asked innocently, tilting his head to one side. Toris felt a lurch of panic in his stomach as he turned scarlet. Thank God Russia couldn’t read his mind, he thought to himself.
“I...well...I don’t know...” he floundered, looking desperately at the bedsheets and wondering if they were dry yet. “I...suppose I was thinking that it’s...um...it’s lucky you found this place.”
“Da,” the blonde agreed, “It is a good place to wait out the snowstorm. But we will soon be out of firewood and then...it will not be so pleasant.”
“I’ll look for fallen branches in the morning,” Toris offered uncertainly. “If we start drying out wood tomorrow then...”
“You, little one, will not leave the house,” Ivan cut him off firmly, causing the Lithuanian to stare at him in surprise. “In here, I can keep you from the General. Out in the storm, not so much.”
Toris looked at Ivan, open mouthed, a warm, happy feeling coursing through him at the firm, protective tone in the other man’s voice. Flustered, he nodded and turned his attentions to the sheets, pulling them from where he’d set them to dry and setting to work making the bed. Their bed, he thought to himself, and then frowned, shaking his head.
When he was finished, he all but jumped as he turned around to find Ivan hovering over him, holding out his blue jumper in his hand. He had a dark woollen shirt underneath and Toris found himself wondering just how many layers of clothing he actually wore.
“Y...you want me to wash it?” he enquired.
“Нет, Toris,” Ivan began, in the patient tone of someone who is addressing an idiot child, “I want you to wear it.” He gestured to the Lithuanian’s own shirt, which was covered in blood and dust and grime from the day’s activities. “You are not getting into my bed wearing something so filthy.”
“Oh...” Toris bit his lip, embarrassed, and began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off and hanging it over one of the bedposts. It was fairly ruined, but he reasoned that he could wash the worst of it the next day and perhaps keep it to wear while doing housework. He turned around and realised that Ivan had been gazing rather intently at his back. Right. My scars.
He looked at the expression on the violet-eyed man’s countenance, desperately seeking some evidence that there was a hint of remorse. But he found nothing that he could convince himself of. Ivan’s expression was utterly unreadable, and Toris gave up, slipping the warm jumper over his head. Ivan continued to study him, to the point where the other man’s stare was making him uncomfortable. Eventually, he looked away and climbed into bed and the Lithuanian found himself standing there awkwardly for a few moments, before following suit.
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