Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
"Perhaps not ended," Russia replied gently, tucking a lock of hair behind Canada's ear, "but merely paused?"
"Ivan..." he began, like a warning.
"I did not carry on with anybody else after you," Russia continued, his voice quiet and imploring. "I could not do it. Not for lack of trying - there was Afghanistan, and then Belarus has always had her interests. But -" and here he let his hand fall, slip gracefully past Canada's shoulder down his arm to hold his hand loosely with two fingers, as though wondering whether he would be granted permission for such an act, "I had never wanted you nearly so badly as when your brother made it perfectly clear you were off-limits. And there has been no one for me since."
Canada cursed himself for how readily he responded even after thirty years' worth of silence between them, turning his palm to accept Russia's fingers between his, letting Russia in while thinking, this is stupid, there is still so much between us...
But, on the other hand, there really wasn't. Russia - now the Russian Federation, ostensibly a democracy - was on decent terms with America. Even if that were nothing but America smiling pretty for cameras and paying ridiculous amounts of lip service, he could put his money where his mouth was and chew on that for awhile, because he no longer had a decent political reason to nix his brother's romantic relationships anymore as he apparently had once done.
"My brother doesn't control who I see or don't see," Canada said, taking Russia's other hand in his as well. "He didn't then, and he doesn't now. If - if what could have happened, had happened, it would have been my decision -"
"Your decision, made with the intelligence America wanted you to have -" Russia pointed out.
"I spoke to England too!" Canada protested. "And he was also in the region at the time! ...Which I'm not supposed to tell you, actually," he finished lamely.
Russia grinned, and leaned in, touching their foreheads together. "It's not like I didn't suspect it. At least England is less obvious about his SAS forces than America with his secret services!"
They spent a moment in a silence broken only by the occasional deep breath. It required more effort than Canada had imagined to lift his eyes to Russia's so he did it in stages: first his neck, where he remembered planting kisses and knew exactly where to focus his attention to drive Ivan mad - that scarf used to cover up a lot more than just Finland's idea of a Christmas gift from 1939. Then his jawline, his lips - that mouth was warmer than he had first thought it'd be. Even though touching Ivan was a blessing whenever they met in the Middle East (channelling his own winters only went so far, it was easier with Ivan there, holding him, and they could intertwine their limbs all they liked without feeling sweaty and sticky), that heat never faded and whenever they met somewhere colder it was comforting, soothing, and tore from him cries louder than he normally shouted. Then his cheeks, his nose - that nose that had never seemed too big or too awkward even though he knew Ivan felt self-conscious, it rested perfectly against his when they kissed, the rapid exhalation of breath on his cheek a comfort, a joy, to be so intimate with him.
They had been more than just lovers, more than just a fling. And with that Canada made eye contact and held it, licking his lips reflexively. Ivan's eyes seemed less purple in the feeble emergency lighting and more an unidentifiable light shade, his pupils dilated from the darkness and how near they were standing to one another -
And perhaps, he thought, as Ivan stepped closer still and tilted his head to press their mouths together chastely, and he closed his eyes, dilated for some other reason -
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