Virginity [3b/??]
anonymous
September 26 2010, 07:28:49 UTC
“By licking my ear?!”
“A means to an end,” France let Germany’s voice slide right off him. “Don’t be so concerned about it.”
“How can I-“
“Perhaps I can,” and France pauses to give him a lecherous wink, “make it up to you. If. You know what I mean.” His suggestive tone concealed none of his intention.
Germany opened his mouth to decline, but France hastily beat him to it. “By which I mean a dinner, of course. My treat.” He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
Now, Germany was no Switzerland, but if somebody offered him a free meal…and France, Germany grudgingly admitted, did know his cuisine. France was also a good business partner (as he had proved through their mutual work in the EU) when he wasn’t chasing skirts.
What was the worst, Germany thought, that could come of it? “I-“
“Germany already said he’d eat with me,” a new voice chimed in.
Now, if had been anybody else, Germany would’ve denied it immediately, since he had, in fact, not made any plans. But…
Germany turned around to face the imposing figure of Russia. His face was slightly skewed to one side with a forced smile, giving off the impression that Russia was severely displeased about something. Germany shuddered a little inwardly. He swiveled back to face France, giving him a stiff bow. “Sorry,” Germany said, and walked away with Russia by his side.
It was dead silent their entire trip to the outside of the building. Their footfalls tapped an irritating staccato as Germany wished for anything, something to be said. Russia seemed entirely unperturbed, however, as they pushed the front doors of the UN building open and stepped into the crisp New York air. They strolled at a leisurely pace until reaching the curb, and Russia hailed one of those garishly yellow taxis.
The two of them got in without a word, their vaguely Middle Eastern-ish driver guiding them to the address on a card Russia handed him. Germany had the faint suspicion that Russia wasn’t speaking not because he wanted to pretend he didn’t speak English (and he did, perfectly) but because Russia wanted to keep their destination a secret from him.
They pulled up to an ornately adorned hall, bedecked with golden, shimmering decorations and tall, white buildings arching to the gray sky. It was appropriately flashy for American standards, Germany decided with a silent snort.
Germany followed Russia wordlessly as Russia trudged darkly into the shiny elevator, and then out again onto the thirtieth floor. Germany followed as Russia shoved his key card into the reader and as Russia pulled him inside and slammed the door behind them.
Russia followed up by shoving Germany against the nearest wall and promptly sticking his tongue down Germany’s throat.
Germany writhed for a few seconds, surprised at the sudden aggressiveness, but quickly controlled himself and gripped Russia’s forearms as Russia crushed him between him and the plaster.
Russia growled, somewhere deep in his throat, and pulled his teeth back to snarl. Their teeth clinked uncomfortably, making a sound like ice cubes in a glass, and Germany nearly bit down on Russia’s tongue (which was currently occupying itself by invading Germany’s mouth) but managed to restrain himself. It would merely exacerbate Russia’s already sorely-tested temper if Germany did that.
Germany’s lips were starting to burn, being so fiercely pressed against Russia’s as they were. He made a sound that shamefully sounded something like a cat whimpering, and Russia wrenched his head back.
“You said,” Germany panted, “we were getting dinner.”
“I told France that,” Russia corrected, “not you.”
“Does that change anything?”
“I am not obliged to tell France the truth,” Russia explained slowly, as if he was revealing the truth to a stupid child.
Germany groaned. “For you, maybe.”
Pause. “This is pointless,” Russia pointed out. “Let’s do something else, yes?”
“A means to an end,” France let Germany’s voice slide right off him. “Don’t be so concerned about it.”
“How can I-“
“Perhaps I can,” and France pauses to give him a lecherous wink, “make it up to you. If. You know what I mean.” His suggestive tone concealed none of his intention.
Germany opened his mouth to decline, but France hastily beat him to it. “By which I mean a dinner, of course. My treat.” He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
Now, Germany was no Switzerland, but if somebody offered him a free meal…and France, Germany grudgingly admitted, did know his cuisine. France was also a good business partner (as he had proved through their mutual work in the EU) when he wasn’t chasing skirts.
What was the worst, Germany thought, that could come of it? “I-“
“Germany already said he’d eat with me,” a new voice chimed in.
Now, if had been anybody else, Germany would’ve denied it immediately, since he had, in fact, not made any plans. But…
Germany turned around to face the imposing figure of Russia. His face was slightly skewed to one side with a forced smile, giving off the impression that Russia was severely displeased about something. Germany shuddered a little inwardly. He swiveled back to face France, giving him a stiff bow. “Sorry,” Germany said, and walked away with Russia by his side.
It was dead silent their entire trip to the outside of the building. Their footfalls tapped an irritating staccato as Germany wished for anything, something to be said. Russia seemed entirely unperturbed, however, as they pushed the front doors of the UN building open and stepped into the crisp New York air. They strolled at a leisurely pace until reaching the curb, and Russia hailed one of those garishly yellow taxis.
The two of them got in without a word, their vaguely Middle Eastern-ish driver guiding them to the address on a card Russia handed him. Germany had the faint suspicion that Russia wasn’t speaking not because he wanted to pretend he didn’t speak English (and he did, perfectly) but because Russia wanted to keep their destination a secret from him.
They pulled up to an ornately adorned hall, bedecked with golden, shimmering decorations and tall, white buildings arching to the gray sky. It was appropriately flashy for American standards, Germany decided with a silent snort.
Germany followed Russia wordlessly as Russia trudged darkly into the shiny elevator, and then out again onto the thirtieth floor. Germany followed as Russia shoved his key card into the reader and as Russia pulled him inside and slammed the door behind them.
Russia followed up by shoving Germany against the nearest wall and promptly sticking his tongue down Germany’s throat.
Germany writhed for a few seconds, surprised at the sudden aggressiveness, but quickly controlled himself and gripped Russia’s forearms as Russia crushed him between him and the plaster.
Russia growled, somewhere deep in his throat, and pulled his teeth back to snarl. Their teeth clinked uncomfortably, making a sound like ice cubes in a glass, and Germany nearly bit down on Russia’s tongue (which was currently occupying itself by invading Germany’s mouth) but managed to restrain himself. It would merely exacerbate Russia’s already sorely-tested temper if Germany did that.
Germany’s lips were starting to burn, being so fiercely pressed against Russia’s as they were. He made a sound that shamefully sounded something like a cat whimpering, and Russia wrenched his head back.
“You said,” Germany panted, “we were getting dinner.”
“I told France that,” Russia corrected, “not you.”
“Does that change anything?”
“I am not obliged to tell France the truth,” Russia explained slowly, as if he was revealing the truth to a stupid child.
Germany groaned. “For you, maybe.”
Pause. “This is pointless,” Russia pointed out. “Let’s do something else, yes?”
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