Warm (4b/?)
anonymous
August 10 2010, 21:13:55 UTC
The most awkward problem they encountered was that of the sleeping arrangements, as Russia’s apartment contained only a single large bed. Iceland said that he would sleep on the couch, as he was the guest, but Russia wouldn’t hear of it.
“It’s already fall,” he pointed out, as he and Iceland sat at the kitchen table, sharing a few glasses of vodka after dinner. “It’ll be too cold out here.” He hesitated awkwardly a moment, staring into the clear liquid. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “we should share.” He glanced up at Iceland. “To keep warm.”
Iceland blinked at him, holding the glass by his lips. He swallowed, coughed, and then answered, “Sure. If you think so.”
Russia smiled. “I used to do it all the time with my sisters when I was younger. Sometimes it’s the only way to stay warm. And, as long as you’re sick, we have to make sure you stay warm.”
Iceland returned Russia’ smile and took a quick sip of vodka. Later that night, as he lay stiff on his back, staring up at the darkened ceiling and listening to Russia’s heavy breathing, Iceland had to question if that had been such a wise choice.
He would admit that the bed was incredibly warm with the two of them bundled under piles of blankets, but it was also difficult for him to forget that the other nation was Russia. The large, powerful nation, the former mighty empire, who had spent years crushing smaller countries such as Iceland like eggshells beneath his boots; that was the nation who was curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully.
But, the bed was warm, and Iceland found himself imagining how comforting and safe it would be to be curled up in Russia’s long, powerful arms. That morning, for the second time, he woke up with his head resting on Russia’s chest, and had to scurry back to the other side of the bed before Russia himself awoke. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that.
At that point, he stopped letting it bother him. On the third day, he burrowed further into Russia’s warmth, listening as the other nation yawned. Russia reached his arm around and stroked Iceland’s hair, murmuring a quiet good morning.
“Morning,” Iceland responded.
Russia sighed and pressed his face into Iceland’s hair. “You know,” he said clearly, “I haven’t slept this well in months.”
Iceland’s stomach twisted as he realized that he was much the same. The first night in St. Petersburg was probably the first time in months that he had topped five hours of sleep. He felt as if he should say that to Russia, to share how important the other country was to him.
However, there didn’t seem to be any way for him to put those thoughts into words. Instead, he settled for mumbling a quiet agreement into Russia’s chest. He didn’t need to worry about those thoughts now. He could concentrate on the warmth of the bed and Russia cheerfully burbling about everything that they would that day.
“It’s already fall,” he pointed out, as he and Iceland sat at the kitchen table, sharing a few glasses of vodka after dinner. “It’ll be too cold out here.” He hesitated awkwardly a moment, staring into the clear liquid. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “we should share.” He glanced up at Iceland. “To keep warm.”
Iceland blinked at him, holding the glass by his lips. He swallowed, coughed, and then answered, “Sure. If you think so.”
Russia smiled. “I used to do it all the time with my sisters when I was younger. Sometimes it’s the only way to stay warm. And, as long as you’re sick, we have to make sure you stay warm.”
Iceland returned Russia’ smile and took a quick sip of vodka. Later that night, as he lay stiff on his back, staring up at the darkened ceiling and listening to Russia’s heavy breathing, Iceland had to question if that had been such a wise choice.
He would admit that the bed was incredibly warm with the two of them bundled under piles of blankets, but it was also difficult for him to forget that the other nation was Russia. The large, powerful nation, the former mighty empire, who had spent years crushing smaller countries such as Iceland like eggshells beneath his boots; that was the nation who was curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully.
But, the bed was warm, and Iceland found himself imagining how comforting and safe it would be to be curled up in Russia’s long, powerful arms. That morning, for the second time, he woke up with his head resting on Russia’s chest, and had to scurry back to the other side of the bed before Russia himself awoke. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that.
At that point, he stopped letting it bother him. On the third day, he burrowed further into Russia’s warmth, listening as the other nation yawned. Russia reached his arm around and stroked Iceland’s hair, murmuring a quiet good morning.
“Morning,” Iceland responded.
Russia sighed and pressed his face into Iceland’s hair. “You know,” he said clearly, “I haven’t slept this well in months.”
Iceland’s stomach twisted as he realized that he was much the same. The first night in St. Petersburg was probably the first time in months that he had topped five hours of sleep. He felt as if he should say that to Russia, to share how important the other country was to him.
However, there didn’t seem to be any way for him to put those thoughts into words. Instead, he settled for mumbling a quiet agreement into Russia’s chest. He didn’t need to worry about those thoughts now. He could concentrate on the warmth of the bed and Russia cheerfully burbling about everything that they would that day.
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Sooooo cute.
Will you ever let us peek inside Russia's mind? I'm so curious to know what he's thinkinggg
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