Seven Years [3a/7]
anonymous
July 27 2010, 02:49:24 UTC
1994, February The 1994 Winter Olympic games go on for the better part of February. When Canada realizes this, he is thrilled. He knows that his boss will be going to the games, at least a great deal of them, and Canada decides that he should take the two weeks off to go to the games-it is, in fact, customary for nations to take at least a week off to view the games.
This is how Canada comes to be laying in a bed with Russia in Norway, in a hotel room with a view that would be nice had Canada been facing the window and standing up. Russia is sleeping, behind him, but keeps one possessive arm around Canada’s waist. Canada wonders, often, if this is because Russia thinks he will leave, if Russia does not hold on to him. And while it’s true that Canada would probably get out of bed if he could get out of Russia’s grasp, the bathroom was less than ten feet away and he would definitely have been coming back. But, Canada knows, even the day after their two year anniversary, Russia is hard pressed to accept that they are together. Sometimes Canada hardly believes it, either.
Maybe next year, Canada hopes.
He and Russia are planning to tell Russia’s sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, when Canada flies into Moscow in May to spend the Russian Orthodox Easter holiday with Russia. Canada doesn’t exactly understand why Russia is so scared to tell his own sisters, but Canada supposes that perhaps he thinks they won’t approve. Anyway, he doesn’t know Belarus very well at all and though he and Ukraine’s countries have been betting along very well, and though Canada sympathizes with Ukraine very much (many of her citizens have become his citizens), Canada’s relationship with Russia has in fact prevented him from getting closer to her. After all, the fall of the Soviet Union and the loss of all of the nations who had lived in his house had shaken Russia very badly. So, Canada tries to talk to Ukraine only for matters of the state, no matter what his country does.
All of these plans and considerations go right out the door when Ukraine walks in, calling out, “Vanya, do you want-” and stopping abruptly at the sight of someone in her brother’s bed. She says, flushed, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll just… er, Canada?”
“Uh, hi, Ukraine,” Canada replies awkwardly. He’s very glad at that moment for the blanket which covers the lower half of his body. He sits up, finally applying strength to the task of getting out of Russia’s grasp. It wakes his boyfriend up, which is regrettable, but at least the grumble of awakening that Russia lets out means that he won’t have to talk to Ukraine alone. As it is, they stare awkwardly at each other for long moments until Russia finally sits up, wrapping his arms around Canada’s waist.
It becomes obvious that he hasn’t noticed Ukraine around then, because he mumbles, “Good morning, dorogoy,” and places a wet kiss to Canada’s neck which would have started a really nice round of morning sex, if they had been alone in the room. They aren’t, though, so it makes Canada turn bright red and squeak.
“Vanya,” Ukraine says. To Canada’s ear, she sounds pleased. So, perhaps revealing their relationship to her now isn’t so horrible, Canada thinks. He knows that Russia wanted it to happen over Easter, but there doesn’t seem to be any use to it now. And if Ukraine continues to look so very pleased, Canada will surely be invited to Easter anyway.
Russia doesn’t think that way, though, clearly, because now that Ukraine has made herself known, he lets go of Canada like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sister,” he mumbles. He sounds guilty.
Ukraine looks between them. She asks, “How long, Vanya? Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Two years yesterday,” Russia sighs to her, “I was going to bring him home for Easter.”
The 1994 Winter Olympic games go on for the better part of February. When Canada realizes this, he is thrilled. He knows that his boss will be going to the games, at least a great deal of them, and Canada decides that he should take the two weeks off to go to the games-it is, in fact, customary for nations to take at least a week off to view the games.
This is how Canada comes to be laying in a bed with Russia in Norway, in a hotel room with a view that would be nice had Canada been facing the window and standing up. Russia is sleeping, behind him, but keeps one possessive arm around Canada’s waist. Canada wonders, often, if this is because Russia thinks he will leave, if Russia does not hold on to him. And while it’s true that Canada would probably get out of bed if he could get out of Russia’s grasp, the bathroom was less than ten feet away and he would definitely have been coming back. But, Canada knows, even the day after their two year anniversary, Russia is hard pressed to accept that they are together. Sometimes Canada hardly believes it, either.
Maybe next year, Canada hopes.
He and Russia are planning to tell Russia’s sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, when Canada flies into Moscow in May to spend the Russian Orthodox Easter holiday with Russia. Canada doesn’t exactly understand why Russia is so scared to tell his own sisters, but Canada supposes that perhaps he thinks they won’t approve. Anyway, he doesn’t know Belarus very well at all and though he and Ukraine’s countries have been betting along very well, and though Canada sympathizes with Ukraine very much (many of her citizens have become his citizens), Canada’s relationship with Russia has in fact prevented him from getting closer to her. After all, the fall of the Soviet Union and the loss of all of the nations who had lived in his house had shaken Russia very badly. So, Canada tries to talk to Ukraine only for matters of the state, no matter what his country does.
All of these plans and considerations go right out the door when Ukraine walks in, calling out, “Vanya, do you want-” and stopping abruptly at the sight of someone in her brother’s bed. She says, flushed, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll just… er, Canada?”
“Uh, hi, Ukraine,” Canada replies awkwardly. He’s very glad at that moment for the blanket which covers the lower half of his body. He sits up, finally applying strength to the task of getting out of Russia’s grasp. It wakes his boyfriend up, which is regrettable, but at least the grumble of awakening that Russia lets out means that he won’t have to talk to Ukraine alone. As it is, they stare awkwardly at each other for long moments until Russia finally sits up, wrapping his arms around Canada’s waist.
It becomes obvious that he hasn’t noticed Ukraine around then, because he mumbles, “Good morning, dorogoy,” and places a wet kiss to Canada’s neck which would have started a really nice round of morning sex, if they had been alone in the room. They aren’t, though, so it makes Canada turn bright red and squeak.
“Vanya,” Ukraine says. To Canada’s ear, she sounds pleased. So, perhaps revealing their relationship to her now isn’t so horrible, Canada thinks. He knows that Russia wanted it to happen over Easter, but there doesn’t seem to be any use to it now. And if Ukraine continues to look so very pleased, Canada will surely be invited to Easter anyway.
Russia doesn’t think that way, though, clearly, because now that Ukraine has made herself known, he lets go of Canada like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sister,” he mumbles. He sounds guilty.
Ukraine looks between them. She asks, “How long, Vanya? Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Two years yesterday,” Russia sighs to her, “I was going to bring him home for Easter.”
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