Child of the Universe [1b/?]
anonymous
September 27 2010, 01:26:30 UTC
Canada, his papers forgotten stood, his hands cradling the organ with so much care Russia's breath refused to come, his lungs locked into position. “Are you sure?” the younger, so much younger, nation asked, fine brows locked together. “How, how do you get it back in?” Russia gestured to his chest, shrugging a little.
“Just push,” he said simply, and Canada eyed him suspiciously.
“I-” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath. Visibly steeling himself, he approached Russia as if one of them was a terrified wild animal, though Russia wasn't sure who was whom. He watched Russia unbutton first his jacket then his shirt, pushing the left shoulders to the side, revealing a strong pale chest. Canada, a pink blush growing steadily on his cheeks, stepped forward, Russia's heart in hand.
One hand, now empty, landed softly on Russia's chest, palm resting on his cool, almost cold, skin, his fingers resting on the beige coat. The other, fingers slightly bloody from the heart, came up the strong chest, resting just a fraction of a millimetre away. “Just push?” he repeated, looking up at Russia, or rather, Russia's chin. Russia made a noise of agreement, maybe encouragement, the noise rumbling in his chest and his throat.
“Da,” he added, as if Canada may have failed to understand the rumbling.
Canada made to do as instructed, pressing the heart against the chest in what he really hoped was the right spot, before stopping, looking at Russia desperately, “I don't, I don't want to hurt you.”
Russia, who didn't know what to say, just placed a large hand on the others smaller, warmer one, and pushed.
“Just push,” he said simply, and Canada eyed him suspiciously.
“I-” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath. Visibly steeling himself, he approached Russia as if one of them was a terrified wild animal, though Russia wasn't sure who was whom. He watched Russia unbutton first his jacket then his shirt, pushing the left shoulders to the side, revealing a strong pale chest. Canada, a pink blush growing steadily on his cheeks, stepped forward, Russia's heart in hand.
One hand, now empty, landed softly on Russia's chest, palm resting on his cool, almost cold, skin, his fingers resting on the beige coat. The other, fingers slightly bloody from the heart, came up the strong chest, resting just a fraction of a millimetre away. “Just push?” he repeated, looking up at Russia, or rather, Russia's chin. Russia made a noise of agreement, maybe encouragement, the noise rumbling in his chest and his throat.
“Da,” he added, as if Canada may have failed to understand the rumbling.
Canada made to do as instructed, pressing the heart against the chest in what he really hoped was the right spot, before stopping, looking at Russia desperately, “I don't, I don't want to hurt you.”
Russia, who didn't know what to say, just placed a large hand on the others smaller, warmer one, and pushed.
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meanwhile, I've been too busy being ill to write my France/Russia one I vaguely promise the OP. But it will happen!
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