Virginity [5b/??]
anonymous
October 14 2010, 04:40:29 UTC
Germany’s heart had been beating wildly, like some idiotic schoolboy with his first crush. It just went to show that one can live a thousand years and through countless wars but still manage to learn absolutely nothing. Yet at Russia’s quiet gesture, a feeling of serenity settled over Germany. They were both grown nations, they both enjoyed the freedom of keeping work and personal business separate-and Germany still reveled in the small things they shared.
(Germany still fiercely denied Prussia’s allegations that he was a hopeless romantic, however.)
“Your hand is cold,” Russia remarked idly, stroking Germany’s hand. “Such a pampered climate you have, to be affected by this weather.”
“Compared to what? Below freezing?” Germany snapped, a bit peevish at the insult to his toughness.
“You’re embarrassed,” Russia stated flatly before brightening. “Don’t worry~ France was too when I told him his beloved Napoleon’s fingers turned purple when General Winter came.”
Once upon a time, Germany would’ve taken that as a veiled threat and he wouldn’t have understood half the references made. Now, Germany just regarded it as another one of Russia’s off-color, obscure jokes. “I’ll be sure to bundle up the next time I visit,” Germany replied, keeping his voice hushed so as to not draw attention to the fact that Germany was speaking of his visits as a frequent occurrence and also the fact that they were still holding hands.
Russia turned an interesting shade of off-white. “Oh, you shouldn’t come soon,” and Russia blanched soon, “Belarus has threatened to tear out your spleen and cut off your nose if she saw you on Russian soil again.”
Germany supposed he should be thankful. The first round of threats Belarus had issued all involved body parts necessary to basic survival. Although, if she literally tore out his spleen…
”I…see.”
“Also, I wouldn’t be as willing to sleep with you if you had no nose,” Russia added as an afterthought.
Germany first surveyed the room briefly to make sure nobody had heard that before replying. They were taking quite a few liberties with how their normal conversation as it appeared to others went. Only after was Germany satisfied with his checking did Germany allow himself the luxury of feeling scandalized.
“Be more careful with what you say,” Germany chided, and then paused. He then proceeded to cast his gaze in a different direction out of slight humiliation at his next words. “And I didn’t know my physical appearance was that important.”
“It is,” Russia nodded. “For example, Turkey has a mask tan-which is very distracting.”
Less concerned with how Russia knew that and more with the amusing aspect of his statement, Germany’s lips twitched in the beginning of a laugh. Russia pressed on, seemingly eager to win his lover’s favor again. “Poland’s hair is girly. Latvia is short. England has caterpillar eyebrows-“
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Germany discreetly shook off Russia’s hand as England’s voice reached his ears. Germany withdrew his own hand to his respective side of the rectangular eating surface, hastily defending Russia, “He was…joking.” Germany finished dubiously.
England gave Russia a suspicious look-although, not for the eyebrows comment. Russia isn’t in on the betting, is he? England wondered. The fact that Russia had managed to get the socially-stunted Germany to sit with him was no mean feat. “Oh bother,” England cleared his throat, “I just came to give you this,” and England handed Germany a small notecard containing the address of a pub on it. “I’ll meet you there at seven,” England nodded briskly and strode away.
Russia was possessed with a sudden urge to rip the card into pieces.
Germany looked up and pressed his lips together disapprovingly at Russia’s dark expression. “What?” Germany asked.
Russia was about to give Germany his unvarnished opinion, but-luckily? unluckily?-the speakers cut in. “Would all delegates return to their rooms. Repeat: would all delegates…”
(Germany still fiercely denied Prussia’s allegations that he was a hopeless romantic, however.)
“Your hand is cold,” Russia remarked idly, stroking Germany’s hand. “Such a pampered climate you have, to be affected by this weather.”
“Compared to what? Below freezing?” Germany snapped, a bit peevish at the insult to his toughness.
“You’re embarrassed,” Russia stated flatly before brightening. “Don’t worry~ France was too when I told him his beloved Napoleon’s fingers turned purple when General Winter came.”
Once upon a time, Germany would’ve taken that as a veiled threat and he wouldn’t have understood half the references made. Now, Germany just regarded it as another one of Russia’s off-color, obscure jokes. “I’ll be sure to bundle up the next time I visit,” Germany replied, keeping his voice hushed so as to not draw attention to the fact that Germany was speaking of his visits as a frequent occurrence and also the fact that they were still holding hands.
Russia turned an interesting shade of off-white. “Oh, you shouldn’t come soon,” and Russia blanched soon, “Belarus has threatened to tear out your spleen and cut off your nose if she saw you on Russian soil again.”
Germany supposed he should be thankful. The first round of threats Belarus had issued all involved body parts necessary to basic survival. Although, if she literally tore out his spleen…
”I…see.”
“Also, I wouldn’t be as willing to sleep with you if you had no nose,” Russia added as an afterthought.
Germany first surveyed the room briefly to make sure nobody had heard that before replying. They were taking quite a few liberties with how their normal conversation as it appeared to others went. Only after was Germany satisfied with his checking did Germany allow himself the luxury of feeling scandalized.
“Be more careful with what you say,” Germany chided, and then paused. He then proceeded to cast his gaze in a different direction out of slight humiliation at his next words. “And I didn’t know my physical appearance was that important.”
“It is,” Russia nodded. “For example, Turkey has a mask tan-which is very distracting.”
Less concerned with how Russia knew that and more with the amusing aspect of his statement, Germany’s lips twitched in the beginning of a laugh. Russia pressed on, seemingly eager to win his lover’s favor again. “Poland’s hair is girly. Latvia is short. England has caterpillar eyebrows-“
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Germany discreetly shook off Russia’s hand as England’s voice reached his ears. Germany withdrew his own hand to his respective side of the rectangular eating surface, hastily defending Russia, “He was…joking.” Germany finished dubiously.
England gave Russia a suspicious look-although, not for the eyebrows comment. Russia isn’t in on the betting, is he? England wondered. The fact that Russia had managed to get the socially-stunted Germany to sit with him was no mean feat. “Oh bother,” England cleared his throat, “I just came to give you this,” and England handed Germany a small notecard containing the address of a pub on it. “I’ll meet you there at seven,” England nodded briskly and strode away.
Russia was possessed with a sudden urge to rip the card into pieces.
Germany looked up and pressed his lips together disapprovingly at Russia’s dark expression. “What?” Germany asked.
Russia was about to give Germany his unvarnished opinion, but-luckily? unluckily?-the speakers cut in. “Would all delegates return to their rooms. Repeat: would all delegates…”
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