Lights Will Guide You Home [3/?]
anonymous
March 27 2009, 23:05:14 UTC
Ivan opened his eyes the next morning, and was greeted by a warm, welcoming scent that filled the air. He sat up from the bed and looked over where Alfred had slept, noticing that he wasn't there. Curiously, he crawled out of bed, and followed the sweetening scent into the kitchen. There he spotted Alfred wide awake and fully dressed with a white apron on, flipping pancakes from the frying pan onto two plates. Alfred turned his head to see Ivan was there, but instead of being surprised he just grinned at him with those pearly whites of his.
"I knew you'd wake up eventually. Not even the dead can resist the smell of my awesome pancakes!"
Ivan couldn't help but smile back, just a little, at the American. "I didn't think you ate anything other than those burgers."
"That's lunch," Alfred stated, then turned his attention back to the pancakes before they burned.
Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down while he waited for the pancakes to be finished. It was strange how Alfred's mood suddenly changed overnight. At first he seemed reluctant to let him stay, but now here he was happily making him breakfast. He was relieved though. Without the Soviet, he really didn't have a place to live in anymore. It just felt so empty without it.
When it had broken down, he had no other place to go. He could've asked Toris, but he really didn't want to risk Warsaw becoming his capital. Everyone else were either people he didn't know well, refused to even speak with him, or was obsessed with marrying him. Then when all seemed lost, he thought about shining blue eyes, sunflowered colored hair, and comforting arms that took in anyone that needed a new home.
He snapped out of his thoughts when a plate was placed in front of him, along with a bottle of maple syrup, a jar of strawberry jelly, and half a stick of butter. He stared at the items blankly, then looked over at Alfred's plate that was practicaly drowned in enough of the items to give anyone normal a heart attack. Only Alfred could shove so much calories and cholesterol into his body, and not show a hint of chubbiness.
"I didn't know how much you wanted, so I left your pancakes plain," Alfred explained, and dug right into the pile of goo on his plate.
Ivan shrugged, then spread a more decent amount of butter and maple syrup onto his portion. After that, he cut up a piece and took a bite, savoring the taste so he could give Alfred an accurate opinion of his cooking. He wound up grinning from ear to ear, and giggled like a little child.
"America is a very good cook," Ivan admitted, taking more bites of Alfred's strangely delicious pancakes.
Alfred blushed a little and rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Aw really? I told you my cooking was good!"
They sat there the rest of the time enjoying their meal, Alfred gabbering on about random things while Ivan simply nodded his head in response. Once they had finished, Ivan was about to help Alfred clean up, but he shook his head.
"You're my guest. Can't let you do the work while you're here."
"I knew you'd wake up eventually. Not even the dead can resist the smell of my awesome pancakes!"
Ivan couldn't help but smile back, just a little, at the American. "I didn't think you ate anything other than those burgers."
"That's lunch," Alfred stated, then turned his attention back to the pancakes before they burned.
Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down while he waited for the pancakes to be finished. It was strange how Alfred's mood suddenly changed overnight. At first he seemed reluctant to let him stay, but now here he was happily making him breakfast. He was relieved though. Without the Soviet, he really didn't have a place to live in anymore. It just felt so empty without it.
When it had broken down, he had no other place to go. He could've asked Toris, but he really didn't want to risk Warsaw becoming his capital. Everyone else were either people he didn't know well, refused to even speak with him, or was obsessed with marrying him. Then when all seemed lost, he thought about shining blue eyes, sunflowered colored hair, and comforting arms that took in anyone that needed a new home.
He snapped out of his thoughts when a plate was placed in front of him, along with a bottle of maple syrup, a jar of strawberry jelly, and half a stick of butter. He stared at the items blankly, then looked over at Alfred's plate that was practicaly drowned in enough of the items to give anyone normal a heart attack. Only Alfred could shove so much calories and cholesterol into his body, and not show a hint of chubbiness.
"I didn't know how much you wanted, so I left your pancakes plain," Alfred explained, and dug right into the pile of goo on his plate.
Ivan shrugged, then spread a more decent amount of butter and maple syrup onto his portion. After that, he cut up a piece and took a bite, savoring the taste so he could give Alfred an accurate opinion of his cooking. He wound up grinning from ear to ear, and giggled like a little child.
"America is a very good cook," Ivan admitted, taking more bites of Alfred's strangely delicious pancakes.
Alfred blushed a little and rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Aw really? I told you my cooking was good!"
They sat there the rest of the time enjoying their meal, Alfred gabbering on about random things while Ivan simply nodded his head in response. Once they had finished, Ivan was about to help Alfred clean up, but he shook his head.
"You're my guest. Can't let you do the work while you're here."
Then suddenly, the phone started to ring.
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