He's leaning back in his plain bed and his plain room in his plain house. Feliks shines amidst all this ordinariness. A flower in the mire, a bit of color in the monochrome. He's wearing something that looks like a traditional milkmaid's outfit, only with a lower cut neck. He isn't sure if it's Polish in design or not, but with Feliks, who can tell. They're in a post-coital daze, come-streaked and sore, and Eduard is counting down the seconds before the regret comes.
Eduard always addresses things logically. He pieces together the facts, one by one.
1. Feliks always wears dresses when they fuck. 2. He prays afterwards. 3. He may or may not call out 'Toris' name when he comes 4. They are not in love.
This is the perfect moment for a cigarette, and Eduard almost understands why people do it. It gives them something to do with their hands when their lover-for-the-moment is on their knees in a fit of self-loathing and religious guilt of some supposedly merciful, but in truth cruel god. Supposedly, it's calming, but he can't get over the illogicalness of killing oneself by degrees. Even if he's a nation, even if he could probably live and never get cancer, he doesn't on principle.
Said praying happens so fast that sometimes Feliks falls and bruises himself, slipping on the come that drips off of him, or simply from his own clumsiness. He can conclude that the dress-wearing is more than Feliks being flamboyant or 'fabulous' and closer to internalized homophobia.
He wonders if Feliks is pretending himself as a girl, and thus less damned when they fuck. Possibly. He will have to look into this further. When they fuck again. If they fuck again.
It takes a full two minutes before Feliks rises for his prayers. Fifteen seconds more than last time. He wonders if this is an improvement, or if Feliks is simply more sore this time.
He watches Feliks contort in contrition, his momentary repentance with the eye of someone who does not belong to the same species. Feliks' lips are red from lipstick, from pressure and biting as he silently mouths the words. Confiteor Deo omnipotént...
Eduard acts like he doesn't remember the masses, the tall hats and the smoke, the Latin and the mysteries. He does, though, and Feliks will hit him if he denies it to his face. He remembers god, and believing in god, the one who was supposed to save him from Ivan, save Ivan from himself.
Confiteor Deo Omnipoténti 2/2
anonymous
August 18 2010, 03:19:35 UTC
Feliks always wants a little pain. Not enough to break bones, though. If he wanted that, Ivan would be a better choice than himself. Perhaps that too his atonement, like the prayers on cold floors and flagellation of the monks. He can't ever enjoy it completely; there must be some punishment.
He wonders how they got here, sometimes. Now is one of those times. Loneliness, a bit of Dutch courage and a dark room is how it began; ease is how it continues. Feliks loves God and loves Toris, yet each reject him in their own way. Ergo he goes to the nearest person who will accept him. Eduard just happens to be that person, someone who separates love and fucking at the seams, and is open to whatever Feliks desires.
He rises up, and brushes away his tears. You'd think Feliks wouldn't have any tears left, with all the times his god has let him be conquered, invaded, his people massacred. Did they too, not enter heaven, when they died unjustly, with no last confession?
Feliks pulls down his skirt, shyly. He refuses to take it off when they fuck. It's sticky with his come, and will need to be washed when he returns.
"Don't you have some atoning to do?" Feliks says. "I know a nice priest, he won't judge people like us."
"One: we're not people. Two: I don't partake in such superstitions any longer."
"Like, do you want to go to hell or something?" Feliks says, his lovely face twisting in incredulity.
"Even if there was such a thing as heaven, I hardly think it'd be a place for countries," Eduard says.
Feliks puffs out his cheeks. It's cute, and makes Eduard think of squirrels, or hamsters, though Feliks would probably take offense if he ever says this. It doesn't matter. He knows that he is merely a flesh and skin replacement. And he thinks maybe next time I will say 'Tino' or 'Ravis' when I come. But it's only petty spite, because he never says anything when he comes, rarely says anything at all when it comes to sex. Unless his partner requests a role played, which is always, whether he says so or not.
At least, when he is fucking Feliks, and as much as Eduard separates the fucking from the loving, he only does one at a time. Otherwise emotional ties will strangle him, and it will collapse one by one in a fit of people being chained by love. It's happened to any country, but the Baltics and Slavs have been hit especially hard. Eduard pulls back and fascinates himself with metal and electrical wire a little more.
That way, his heart is safe for a little longer.
Sometimes he wishes he could dismantle his heart and upgrade it. Wires and silicon; a well-oiled machine. Then he wouldn't think of Tino, happily married and Ravis and Feliks, always loving someone else. But alas, he is both flesh and blood an country, a paradox in itself.
He sometimes hears Feliks' voice saying the familiar prayer of confession which he himself has said so many times when he dreams. Should he ever voice this, Feliks would say that this is god's way of him leading him back. A parable of the shepherd who goes looking for a lost sheep, the prodigal son. .He doesn't voice it, just like he doesn't say everything else deeper.
He looks at Feliks rising to wash himself, which he always does alone (more prayers, he thinks). He watches him push his soft gold hair from his face, a picture of a saint or martyred one - more proof of the kind god who lets his beloved children dies painful deaths. If he voices this, Feliks will say it is an honor to partake in Christ's suffering. He is, as always, outside in this phantasmagoria of rising mad-gods and eating of flesh and blood turned wine and water. Feliks looks angelic in his crying, his fits of passion and faith. Soon he will wipe his tears and go back to his house where his god and his love reside, each as unattainable as far off stars.
Re: Confiteor Deo Omnipoténti 2/2
anonymous
August 18 2010, 03:48:19 UTC
BAAAAAAAW, ANON
w-why you do this to me?
Poor Poland. Poor Estonia. This was beautifully written and I feel for the characters involved - I have my own case of the catholic guilt to deal with, so I guess I can understand feliks pretty well here. But seeing it through eduard's eyes (as he isolates the contradictions involved) make me wince.
baw. now I need some fluff with these two. this pairing is too rare for how well it could work out...
Re: Confiteor Deo Omnipoténti 2/2
anonymous
August 18 2010, 09:04:19 UTC
Woah, woah, WOAH! I never even considered this pairing but this fill is amazing. Terribly sad, though. May I request a sequel, a bit less heartbreaking?
author anon
anonymous
August 19 2010, 05:17:35 UTC
Thank you! I don't know about continuing this 'verse as it's a darker 'verse and I draw a blank when I think for more, but I was thinking of filling more of the pairing in a cute sense anyways and testing how they'd work ♥
Re: Confiteor Deo Omnipoténti 2/2
anonymous
August 18 2010, 19:40:47 UTC
Oh, my heart anon, take it.
I really love how you portrayed both of them in this. Poland with Catholic guilt is kind of my headcanon, but Estonia--oh, his denial at the end and his forced callousness.
The meme needs more of Estonia and this pairing. Thank you anon. <3
Re: Confiteor Deo Omnipoténti 2/2
anonymous
August 18 2010, 22:47:34 UTC
I like this very much, anon. I'm an atheist and I've been for a very long time, but there's a difference between those who simply were raised without a faith and those who fell from grace, so to speak, and you showed this perfectly - I liked how Eduard recognizes precisely the meaning of everything Feliks says and does and understands him on a, let's say 'human' level while keeping him as far as possible on a rational level - and the solution for the both of them is right there, in plain view, but both have their own prejudice and can't see it.
http://www.trosch.org/chu/latin-prayers.html for full translation.
-
He's leaning back in his plain bed and his plain room in his plain house. Feliks shines amidst all this ordinariness. A flower in the mire, a bit of color in the monochrome. He's wearing something that looks like a traditional milkmaid's outfit, only with a lower cut neck. He isn't sure if it's Polish in design or not, but with Feliks, who can tell. They're in a post-coital daze, come-streaked and sore, and Eduard is counting down the seconds before the regret comes.
Eduard always addresses things logically. He pieces together the facts, one by one.
1. Feliks always wears dresses when they fuck.
2. He prays afterwards.
3. He may or may not call out 'Toris' name when he comes
4. They are not in love.
This is the perfect moment for a cigarette, and Eduard almost understands why people do it. It gives them something to do with their hands when their lover-for-the-moment is on their knees in a fit of self-loathing and religious guilt of some supposedly merciful, but in truth cruel god. Supposedly, it's calming, but he can't get over the illogicalness of killing oneself by degrees. Even if he's a nation, even if he could probably live and never get cancer, he doesn't on principle.
Said praying happens so fast that sometimes Feliks falls and bruises himself, slipping on the come that drips off of him, or simply from his own clumsiness. He can conclude that the dress-wearing is more than Feliks being flamboyant or 'fabulous' and closer to internalized homophobia.
He wonders if Feliks is pretending himself as a girl, and thus less damned when they fuck. Possibly. He will have to look into this further. When they fuck again. If they fuck again.
It takes a full two minutes before Feliks rises for his prayers. Fifteen seconds more than last time. He wonders if this is an improvement, or if Feliks is simply more sore this time.
He watches Feliks contort in contrition, his momentary repentance with the eye of someone who does not belong to the same species. Feliks' lips are red from lipstick, from pressure and biting as he silently mouths the words. Confiteor Deo omnipotént...
Eduard acts like he doesn't remember the masses, the tall hats and the smoke, the Latin and the mysteries. He does, though, and Feliks will hit him if he denies it to his face. He remembers god, and believing in god, the one who was supposed to save him from Ivan, save Ivan from himself.
The one he used to believe in.
Reply
He wonders how they got here, sometimes. Now is one of those times. Loneliness, a bit of Dutch courage and a dark room is how it began; ease is how it continues. Feliks loves God and loves Toris, yet each reject him in their own way. Ergo he goes to the nearest person who will accept him. Eduard just happens to be that person, someone who separates love and fucking at the seams, and is open to whatever Feliks desires.
He rises up, and brushes away his tears. You'd think Feliks wouldn't have any tears left, with all the times his god has let him be conquered, invaded, his people massacred. Did they too, not enter heaven, when they died unjustly, with no last confession?
Feliks pulls down his skirt, shyly. He refuses to take it off when they fuck. It's sticky with his come, and will need to be washed when he returns.
"Don't you have some atoning to do?" Feliks says. "I know a nice priest, he won't judge people like us."
"One: we're not people. Two: I don't partake in such superstitions any longer."
"Like, do you want to go to hell or something?" Feliks says, his lovely face twisting in incredulity.
"Even if there was such a thing as heaven, I hardly think it'd be a place for countries," Eduard says.
Feliks puffs out his cheeks. It's cute, and makes Eduard think of squirrels, or hamsters, though Feliks would probably take offense if he ever says this. It doesn't matter. He knows that he is merely a flesh and skin replacement. And he thinks maybe next time I will say 'Tino' or 'Ravis' when I come. But it's only petty spite, because he never says anything when he comes, rarely says anything at all when it comes to sex. Unless his partner requests a role played, which is always, whether he says so or not.
At least, when he is fucking Feliks, and as much as Eduard separates the fucking from the loving, he only does one at a time. Otherwise emotional ties will strangle him, and it will collapse one by one in a fit of people being chained by love. It's happened to any country, but the Baltics and Slavs have been hit especially hard. Eduard pulls back and fascinates himself with metal and electrical wire a little more.
That way, his heart is safe for a little longer.
Sometimes he wishes he could dismantle his heart and upgrade it. Wires and silicon; a well-oiled machine. Then he wouldn't think of Tino, happily married and Ravis and Feliks, always loving someone else. But alas, he is both flesh and blood an country, a paradox in itself.
He sometimes hears Feliks' voice saying the familiar prayer of confession which he himself has said so many times when he dreams. Should he ever voice this, Feliks would say that this is god's way of him leading him back. A parable of the shepherd who goes looking for a lost sheep, the prodigal son. .He doesn't voice it, just like he doesn't say everything else deeper.
He looks at Feliks rising to wash himself, which he always does alone (more prayers, he thinks). He watches him push his soft gold hair from his face, a picture of a saint or martyred one - more proof of the kind god who lets his beloved children dies painful deaths. If he voices this, Feliks will say it is an honor to partake in Christ's suffering. He is, as always, outside in this phantasmagoria of rising mad-gods and eating of flesh and blood turned wine and water. Feliks looks angelic in his crying, his fits of passion and faith. Soon he will wipe his tears and go back to his house where his god and his love reside, each as unattainable as far off stars.
Eduard reminds himself that he is not in love.
Reply
w-why you do this to me?
Poor Poland. Poor Estonia. This was beautifully written and I feel for the characters involved - I have my own case of the catholic guilt to deal with, so I guess I can understand feliks pretty well here. But seeing it through eduard's eyes (as he isolates the contradictions involved) make me wince.
baw. now I need some fluff with these two. this pairing is too rare for how well it could work out...
Reply
Reply
Also, thank you to everyone else who commented.
Reply
Reply
I really love how you portrayed both of them in this. Poland with Catholic guilt is kind of my headcanon, but Estonia--oh, his denial at the end and his forced callousness.
The meme needs more of Estonia and this pairing. Thank you anon. <3
Reply
Well, I hope that made sense.
Reply
The way that was so understated just... It completely broke my heart anon. Completely. I have such a soft spot for Russia, and it... *sniff*
And the way this whole fill was put together is beautiful. I hope you write more (hopefully happier) fills
Reply
Leave a comment