Envious (2/6)
anonymous
April 1 2009, 08:05:54 UTC
However, despite all this, there hadn’t ever been the level of understanding between them that the Baltic Brothers possessed. He’d never felt the need to comfort his sisters as Lithuania does Latvia, and to a lesser extent, Estonia. Belarus isn’t dependent, despite her current disposition to hang off his neck at any opportunity, not like Latvia sometimes does. Whilst Estonia’s quiet calm - oddly enough, when he wasn’t in the same room - was like a breath of fresh air for his siblings in a way that Ukraine’s logic and know-how wasn’t.
Overall, their emotional closeness was completely different to what Ivan knew of. Nor was there the sense of dependence between them because of those strands. He and his siblings didn’t need each other to survive, didn’t need each other’s arms or ears.
Ivan is somewhat envious. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself outside Estonia’s bedroom window, watching as Lithuania draws Latvia against him and Estonia sits beside them with an arm around each of their shoulders. They seemed to have abandoned their tea.
He can’t hear them despite the window’s half open state, they’re murmuring so quietly, practically slipping their words straight into each other’s ears. He can imagine Lithuania whispering, “It’s alright. Shhh, settle down Raivis.” As the boy continues to sob and shake. He’s like a leaf in a storm. Fragile, clinging to his branch desperately…
“He’s not here,” Ivan whispers to himself, in place of Estonia, who’s nuzzling Latvia’s pale head, “Here’s not here. We’re - We’re safe.”
They stay seated like that, in the centre of Estonia’s bed for what seems like hours. Ivan also doesn’t move, despite the aching in his limbs. But his legs are strong and he’s in possession of the endurance of a mountain - one must be when they’re faced with sub-zero temperatures, blizzards, drought and flooding every year - he can wait.
And so he does. Watching as Lithuania rocks his youngest sibling, and Estonia rubs both of their backs with big circles.
Half an hour later, the bed creaks and Ivan’s eyes are sweeping over each of the brothers. They move with slow, deliberate actions, ones that have them standing on the floor. Everything is open, obvious - dangerously so, in Ivan’s opinion - as Lithuania presses a soft kiss to Latvia’s brow, then his cheeks and then his nose. That always earns him a small smile. Estonia in turn pecks Lithuania on the head and they’re all giggling again when he sneezes mildly.
Ivan’s chest hurts watching them. Especially as Lithuania’s hands smooth down Latvia’s back - “Do you feel better now? Not even he would bother us now,” - and his eyes find Estonia’s cobalt ones - “We’re safe.”
They divest each other’s shirts, slowly, always slowly, one button at a time, patient, understanding, knowingly - they need to know what each of them is doing, what each of them is going to do. It’s comforting from what Ivan has seen.
Latvia’s small fingers are the most capable with buttons, steadier than normal as they uncouple them. His fingertips linger on Estonia’s stomach, just above his waist line, before he’s undoing his own and Lithuania’s hands are inside, under the red cloth. Lithuania is the most effective at removing clothes (Ivan knows, he’s asked him to do so often enough), whilst Estonia’s folding is quick and efficient, finger tips ghosting across the others’.
Then they kick off their boots.
Ivan shifts minutely, leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look - the cream curtain is getting in the way (damn it). The fun is starting and he doesn’t want to miss a thing.
Overall, their emotional closeness was completely different to what Ivan knew of. Nor was there the sense of dependence between them because of those strands. He and his siblings didn’t need each other to survive, didn’t need each other’s arms or ears.
Ivan is somewhat envious. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself outside Estonia’s bedroom window, watching as Lithuania draws Latvia against him and Estonia sits beside them with an arm around each of their shoulders. They seemed to have abandoned their tea.
He can’t hear them despite the window’s half open state, they’re murmuring so quietly, practically slipping their words straight into each other’s ears. He can imagine Lithuania whispering, “It’s alright. Shhh, settle down Raivis.” As the boy continues to sob and shake. He’s like a leaf in a storm. Fragile, clinging to his branch desperately…
“He’s not here,” Ivan whispers to himself, in place of Estonia, who’s nuzzling Latvia’s pale head, “Here’s not here. We’re - We’re safe.”
They stay seated like that, in the centre of Estonia’s bed for what seems like hours. Ivan also doesn’t move, despite the aching in his limbs. But his legs are strong and he’s in possession of the endurance of a mountain - one must be when they’re faced with sub-zero temperatures, blizzards, drought and flooding every year - he can wait.
And so he does. Watching as Lithuania rocks his youngest sibling, and Estonia rubs both of their backs with big circles.
Half an hour later, the bed creaks and Ivan’s eyes are sweeping over each of the brothers. They move with slow, deliberate actions, ones that have them standing on the floor. Everything is open, obvious - dangerously so, in Ivan’s opinion - as Lithuania presses a soft kiss to Latvia’s brow, then his cheeks and then his nose. That always earns him a small smile. Estonia in turn pecks Lithuania on the head and they’re all giggling again when he sneezes mildly.
Ivan’s chest hurts watching them. Especially as Lithuania’s hands smooth down Latvia’s back - “Do you feel better now? Not even he would bother us now,” - and his eyes find Estonia’s cobalt ones - “We’re safe.”
They divest each other’s shirts, slowly, always slowly, one button at a time, patient, understanding, knowingly - they need to know what each of them is doing, what each of them is going to do. It’s comforting from what Ivan has seen.
Latvia’s small fingers are the most capable with buttons, steadier than normal as they uncouple them. His fingertips linger on Estonia’s stomach, just above his waist line, before he’s undoing his own and Lithuania’s hands are inside, under the red cloth. Lithuania is the most effective at removing clothes (Ivan knows, he’s asked him to do so often enough), whilst Estonia’s folding is quick and efficient, finger tips ghosting across the others’.
Then they kick off their boots.
Ivan shifts minutely, leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look - the cream curtain is getting in the way (damn it). The fun is starting and he doesn’t want to miss a thing.
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