Re: Russia/Canada "One Morning" 1/?
anonymous
April 4 2009, 22:08:41 UTC
One Morning
Hope you don't mind a multi-length fill, I love the idea of this so I intend to finish it this weekend. ___________________________________________________________________
Mathieu wasn’t used to getting visitors. Even when he thought people were coming over to stay, once before, things turned out pretty okay.
That was when he was ‘younger’ but certainly not naive. He had been a nation before Francis stumbled off his boats and onto his land; when he was still on the wild edge he’d had after their wars came and went, still trying to cope with their absence and the reason for it. He knew it wasn’t going well and he couldn’t work out why. Before they came, his life had passed with rhythmic harmony hardly found anywhere; but now, their ideas only confused his people and belittled them. In practice, things were just barely holding together.
He knew he had to make his relationship with his neighbors work; Arthur was gone, Francis too so this, this, had to work out.
“So I thought I’d stop over,” Alfred had said, “Figure out why you spend so much time in someplace so cold, haha!”
“It’s not that cold,” Mathieu protested. “I’m not - look, right now things aren’t, I don’t know if now is the right time. I know you and Ivan are having-“ a complete war, minus the missiles, he though -“issues, maybe you shouldn’t be this close.”
“Hey man, I know there’s tension between us,” Alfred started.
“Yes!” Mathieu said. “Yes there is some tension and I don’t want to upset our barely passable peace so-”
“I think he needs to get over it,” Alfred continued with finality. There was a tiny part of Mathieu’s brain that was specifically devoted to giving warning sounds when he realized Alfred’s brash behavior was probably going toppled onto him.
It was hard to hear Al over that sound.
Maybe he thought he’d be over it already. He’d learned his lesson, in the first times he’d spotted Ivan stumbling along in windy snow, when he first saw the sparks of annoyance fly between his two neighbors; he shouldn’t step between them. Then Ivan had joined their side in the war, and it seemed so natural, that really two people who hated each other could nevertheless be on the right side. He thought they could just grow up - but now they were fighting yet again, practically over him.
By then he and Ivan were used to avoiding each other. The early days of walking in between trees and being utterly silent, with a hunter’s eyes had unnerved and thrilled Ivan. But when Francis came, things changed, and they only communicated through letters. It worked better that way, and certainly if Mathieu could ever make it so he never had to come face to face with the Russian, he would have. Life was just like that sometimes.
“Er. I guess Friday then, eh? Give us a good weekend?” Mathieu said helplessly.
“Absolutely bro, I’ll be there first thing in the morning!”
“Conquest and triumph! So perish our enemies and may they shake in their boots long after they have returned home! Let’s have a drink.”
“It’s still the afternoon, Al,” Mathieu said, packing away the pieces. “You might just have a problem there. Like Arthur, you guys are a bit too fond of the drink.”
“My life is high-stress dude. It’s hard being the best, so it’s natural,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, we have our sent those European bastards packing in the war, and now we’re kicking Russian ass in every way - don’t you think we should celebrate?”
Mathieu paused to faux-contemplate this. “Not really Al - besides, Ivan’s not so bad once yo-“
If Alfred’s mood swings were any worse, he’d have been a girl. Lady Liberty and all that. Maybe he was, secretly and every time someone said ‘he’ he never bothered to correct them. The look was enough to make Mathieu stop picking up the pieces.
“Really. I guess you guys had some time to get pretty chummy before Alaska came over to the winning side.” Alfred hissed. “C’mon Matt you’ve seen what he does! He practically bludgeons his allies into submission and terrorizes half the world. The man’s a maniac, no doubt about it. I don’t want you hanging out with him.”
That was one step too far. “B-but Al, you can’t really tell me who I can and can’t make allies with-“Mathieu protested shakily, but Alfred got the message pretty clear.
“Look Matt, it’s either him or me.” A finger nearly jabbed him in the chest. “You can’t hang out with us both; why would you want to hang out with him anyways? Heaven help you, he’d probably crush you soon as he sees you!” He laughed, but it didn’t sound funny at all.
The weird thing is, there was a long time when he knew Ivan was there, peripherally, watching him glide along the snow with ease. Ivan tended to hunch against the wind, instead of rolling with it. He fought his weather every inch, but Mathieu followed its guiding hands with years of practice. Lessons that were seared into his soul. Humankind has not woven the web of life.
We are but one thread within it.
Al had it right for one thing - they never really talked. They hardly had to. It was an understanding as instinctive as walking or breathing. Their lands were just too cold - too bitter - and they couldn’t afford to snub each other. Any hand was a helpful hand, when Ivan was in hopelessly lost in the Taiga forest. When Mathieu was hunched up and shivering for the wind nearly tipping trees down around him, the hand Ivan offered him was always welcome.
“Listen Al, I’ll think about it okay? I can’t just walk over to the prime minister and ask him to forget how many years of our negotiating with Russian.” Lame excuse, but it had its desired effect, and Alfred’s thunderous look cleared.
They worked in silence making dinner for approximately four seconds.
“It’s not that I’m bothered by him Matt - I just don’t want you getting hurt.” Typical Al, he managed to make good intentions fall flat. Mathieu actually smiled, but hid it in his collared shirt. “I know it ain’t your fault where you live” he paused, “then again it might explain your insatiable desire to-“
Mathieu recoiled visibly “I think you can just skip right over that. I thought we had this talk before, about ending your stories one sentence early.”
Al beamed then, sleeves rolled up and stirring the sauce languidly. It only drew attention to the face that he hadn’t been smiling much these past couple of years.
“Where’s the fun in that, huh?” he jibbed, elbowing Matt slightly.
“Urgh, Al, that was hot - listen, if I have to, I will drop you into the St. Laurence river. Cut it out.” He couldn’t keep the mirth out of his voice, and soon enough making dinner was secondary to horsing around in the kitchen.
“Listen you little hoser, cut it out or the meat’ll get rui-AH! Alfred!” he just laughed harder.
“Don’t worry so much, the meat’s fine. You’ve done this a million time remember?”
“Stop reminding me.” Matt groused, pulling out flecks of potatoes from his hair.
__________________________________ By the time he dropped Al off to his guest room, he was pretty sure Al was tipsy. The beer had been a good start, but maybe pushing him to the whiskey had been a bit much.
“Man I gotta say, I forgot how much fun your house is. You got the good stuff stashed away everywhere.” Mathieu laughed again; he was pretty sure Alfred didn’t know about his other stash but no harm done.
“Just to let you know, I’m shaking my head at you and finding you overall ridiculous.” He said, tossing the American onto the double bed.
“You know I am-“ a yawn, “but that doesn’t stop me from being awesome.” Matt laughed again for no real reason, helped Alfred out of his shirt and left him to sleep off what would probably be a nasty hangover. With any luck at least. Not that he was bitter. __________
The hallway was never intimidating before tonight so why, why Mathieu asked himself, did it seem so dark and foreboding tonight? This was silly. He was silly. Everything about tonight was just silly. Matt walked purposefully to his room, as absurd as it was, and swing it open-
“Ivan!” He plastered himself against his door. How such a large man could be so quiet always startled him.
The blonde looked up from fiddling with the turntable, the one he bought because it talked to you, sang to you; an undemanding companion. The song was quiet and slightly haunting, something Francis always protested was too ghastly. The handsomely simple face smiled at him, only hinting at mania.
“Ah, my friend, you’re back.” He stood just as quietly, without his large pale coat seemed no less formidable.
“Didn’t really know you were coming.” Mathieu pried himself away from the wall, a smile tugging at his mouth uncertainly. He should be terrified, out of his wits really. Alfred would throw a fit.
“Da, well, we are…neighbors, yes? Sometimes it is quite nice to visit somewhere different.” Ivan took his sweater and folded it over a chair and Mathieu murmured his thanks.
“Exhausting would be more accurate.” Matt cracked his neck, trying to work out the tension. “You probably already know that Alfred’s here, don’t you.”
The Russian laughed, a sound felt more than heard, and eased himself onto the corner of Mathieu’s bed. “Da. I am of thinking he would be, how you say? Perhaps angry?” His eyes followed Matt around the room.
“That’d be an understatement. He won’t find out either way, I got him a bit too drunk.” He said, starting the fire in his room. Someday he might have to get actual heating, but this system worked just fine and it was peaceful. “And somehow I don’t think you’re here to talk about him.”
“No киска, you are correct.” A gentle groan came from the bed when Ivan shifted his weight to lie back. “There are not people I can talk to, these days.” The reluctant tone made Mathieu stand up and cross over to stand over the Russian. Firelight seemed to suit his face, and made play over the sharp but handsome features and the quirky smile.
“Really? So what do you want me to say, 'Hard day dear? I’ve heard a good puff can fix that’. I don’t really recall inviting you in, besides.”
Ivan gestured palms outward, a simple crooked smile that flashed out and told Mathieu he had a crazy idea he was going to share: a smile that said, this is for you.
“I was hoping you could ah, forvigness me?” he tried.
“Not like I can kick you out - it just conveniently happens to be a snowing outside, and it’s too late to walk anywhere.” Mathieu said dryly. “And I am so utterly pleased that you have decided to invade my house and spend all your time listening to music. You realize tomorrow I will expect some breakfast, don’t you?”
Ivan sat up again, head tilted perplexedly at him. He was leaning on one arm, delightedly smirking.
“If I am spend night, of course Лапочка.” He reached out, uncertainly towards the smaller man. If this was what Alfred was fighting against so passionately, Mathieu might just have to admit defeat. This was too comfortable, too familiar to let go of. He rolled up his sleeves and lay down on his bed, stretching against the worn quilt.
“Well if you’re willing my toaster’s name is Abigail everything she cooks turns brown and I hate marmalade so don’t even try. Arthur tried for years, never once got met to like the stuff.”
The Russian seemed to relax now that he had his approval for barging in; he too leaned onto his back and stared at Mathieu’s shoulder, watching him roll a join expertly. The fire lapped at them pleasently, it's heat making them drowsy and subdue.
“I will try, if it pleases you.” Ivan said, “it is not like Alfred is making you happy, da?”
“It’s not that - he’s only a little, well look he’s family, right? So you put up with all of their antics because underneath all that crazy, is your family and once they get their head on right, it’ll be okay.” The words spilled out like he had been holding them in; except he hadn’t. What made it so easy to say this to Ivan, his supposed enemy? Maybe it was the fire, the light just hit the Russian perfectly in the hollows of his neck, across his mouth and glittering off bright eyes.
“Лапочка, I am not of understanding -- Perhaps you say again?” Ivan raised his head, trying to look innocent and just shy of succeeding.
“Ah, sorry. It’s nothing important.” Mathieu lit the paper in his hands. “You could teach me Russian - if I keep assuming everyone speaks English I’ll turn into Al.” He passed it over to his guest, and moved further up the bed to the pillows.
“Нет, Нет, that is too hard.” He waved the suggestion away, smoke circling the air above him. “Much faster for English, da? Besides, you would never use it. Much handy for me to learn English better.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I’d use it around you, wouldn’t I? And you’re here often. It, um, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.” He fingered some of the threads, pretending their pattern was more interesting than the man only a foot away.
Re: Russia/Canada "One Morning" 5/?
anonymous
April 5 2009, 11:43:52 UTC
Oh hell yes, more Russia/Canada is always welcome with me, and I'm thoroughly enjoying your portrayal of everyone and your take on their relationship so far. Please keep it up! *F5F5F5*
“It, um, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.” He whispered after a moment’s silence.
Ivan didn’t even answer, just slide up further and closer until Matt had nowhere to look but the strong planes and angles of his neck and shoulders. He was close, now, so close that he could feel the nearness of his body heat, pulling him forward helplessly, the soothing smell of his snowy ash and a bit of something that was uniquely his. He was so close, but it felt like there was another impossible distance to cross.
Impossible distances were their specialty though, and when Ivan’s hand touched his neck a long shudder ran throughout Mathieu’s body.
“I am wanting of what I should not want.” Ivan said in a husky, fraught whisper. Was he holding in, or holding back? He leaned in until the aroma of his hair and skin flooded through him, the top of his shirt grazed against Mathieu’s shoulder. His nose brushed the Russian’s cheek, warmed by the hand fluttered over his pulse point.
“But it’s yours to want, to have.” His mouth moved against the paler man’s cheek. Inside his subterranean tomb, under flailing light Mathieu gave in to the deep and sincere feelings that were welling, building ever since he first spotted the other man. There is no cure for instinct. Crusades may rage against it fierce and white, but all in vain, like waves crashing uselessly against the vaulted high rocks.
Their mouths met and everything was quiet now, the world hushed. It was slow and wonderful, Ivan’s mouth so warm and easy against his. Mathieu thought of Ivan’s lower lip, the teasing and sometimes mocking curve of it, and tried to memorise its taste.
He parted his lips, fingers reaching up to the blonde hair, telling him yes, please, more. The Russian’s hand was at his neck, tilting him back that crucial fraction more, deeper, trying to swallow every sound he made, drink the noises down and keep them. His other hand was toying with his shirt, tripping over the buttons, desperate to feel the skin underneath.
When the shirt slide off one of his shoulders, Ivan tore his mouth away.
“Sorry. Извините, I’m sorry.” Ivan gasped.
“What?” said Mathieu.
His chest was sore, maybe for not breathing. The blonde man looked like he was barely containing himself, trying to be gentle and failing and afraid he’d terrify the Canadian away, for good. All he saw was a curved shoulders rising and falling with each pant, mouth in the dim light like a knife wound, ripe and full. He rested his head against Ivan’s, avoiding kissing him again. It seemed like such an achievement.
“It’s okay.” He soothed, finally lying back against the pillow and sliding the burnt-out joint away from the Russian’s hands. Ivan followed him, drawn to the sliver of open skin, teething at the jugular and collar.
“I am sorry - Mathieu, I shouldn’t, never should have-“Mathieu touched his lips, silencing him, calming him.
“It’s nothing.” He said, tender. “I-I know. We aren’t supposed to be- well. With Alfred around, the way things used to be, I’m not sure it can happen.” His hands were fluttering down the other’s clothes, too much clothes, why was he wearing all this still? “I’d like to try though. He doesn’t quite understand, you know, the cold, how much you need someone.”
Ivan’s head slide against his shoulder with Mathieu’s hand still resting in the hair. When he spoke the sound carried into Mathieu’s chest, making his heart skip oddly.
“It is hard, little one, to make another understand. I am feeling your brother understands not your silence, and as such cannot understand your words.”
Ivan traced the indentation line of Mathieu spine with his fingertip, all the way to the waist of the pants, just above the small of his back. He slid his fingers down to touch the skin there, tender and thin and mindlessly hot. Again and again, he traced that hidden skin, curve like a bowl to lick from. He could barely concentrate on words with that hand there.
“And what about you? D’you think you understand silence?” he said, hushed. “You and me, we were always good friends, right? “
The wandering hand found his belt loop, pulling him closer, gravity taking her toll again. Above their heads stretched a deep night, uninterrupted by street lamps or power lines.
“When I am not here, it is all I can hear, it is all I am thinking of,” Ivan promises, this time looking him in the eye. Tugging off Ivan’s shirt gave way to smooth skin so he tossed it somewhere, who knows where, caring only to get closer to the skin. Mathieu only wanted to contain this, save himself from giving in entirely. The pleasure of yielding like this was unknown to him, not a surrender but an agreement.
“There’s this place, you know, where you first saw me - Alfred said it was too cold, the forests too dark. And the trees make every step so faint; you could spend your whole life walking it and never touch the same land twice. It’s something we share, it stretches all the way back to when our lands were connected. We used to be one. We’re still like that, yes? You’ll be with me, won’t you?” He made frantic work of the other’s pants, sliding them hastily away for more warm skin. The back of Ivan’s knee, a long salt plane stretched up the thigh, he drew it closer. “Yes, yes, da” A mantra of yes and yes again until the word was always on the Russian’s breath. Mathieu had to close his eyes and tugged at Ivan’s hair, drawing him closer to kiss the damp side of his face. The hair pulling should’ve eased the urgency, but it was intensifying the belly-deep desire and made fumbling with his jeans a melting blur. Mathieu’s fingers tripped down the taunt, quivering stomach and further, curling deeper to touch Ivan, hot and heavy in his palm.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this but it was so different, really, nothing was the same. The foreskin slid under his hand like a bud unfurling, the hint of head beneath that, sweet and dark, was too intimate for him to watch. Past the surface Ivan’s hands wandered still, deeper into him with his fingers, reaching into a warm tunnel, curling around it. He kept pushing further, the glide of wetness, the dip and crevice with each run of his hands. The Russian words were soothing like Ivan always talked but the tone had changed, and he was moving, the words nonsense again because he was pushing up further and moving deeper and caught Ivan’s mouth in a kiss long, hot, frantic and never once broken. He heard the voice call out dimly, an echo of a name across vast wilderness, finally breaking to the surface to sigh without a sound.
Afterwards it made no sense to fuss about anything. Mathieu tended to roll away, sensible enough, everyone had to sleep. He was surprised that this had changed, too, and he was possessed by the wondering urge to keep touching, not sure how but resting against Ivan’s chest, moving from his neck to his stomach. This one.
This one.
The fire barely cast a light now, turning the sheets into amber ridges and hollows, nestled against the places of his body not shadowed by Ivan around him. In the silence the Russian started to speak, not in English, finally finding words he needed to say, carrying on until momentum had him pouring everything out.
His voice was soft, like he was trying to keep Mathieu asleep. He recognized one part, and it was enough to bring him out of his haze. ‘Я тебя люблю .’ Over and over again, Я тебя люблю , Я тебя люблю .
Mathieu touched his cheek, eyes still shut, and agreed with him. “Я тебя люблю.” He whispered, falling into sleep, missing the tender look Ivan gave above him. Mathieu wasn’t worried, he knew the man would be there in the morning.
~~
Mathieu woke up earlier than Ivan or Alfred, because he always did, when he learned to get up just before the sun and that habit never left him. It was a new sensation to feel Ivan’s light fine hair against his shoulder, and he wished he didn’t have to move at all.
And besides now - he needed a plan, something to tell Alfred. Something that might make it less than horrible to have breakfast this morning especially considering how many drinks his brother had last night.
Alfred said he would have to choose one or the other, but diplomacy through other means was all Mathieu knew; making things work that shouldn’t was what he did, and he knew nothing had to change. For either of them.
Mathieu moved slowly so as not to wake Ivan, which was easy enough since every cell in his body protested leaving the warm bed. He couldn’t even glance over his shoulder in case his resolve broke. He wrapped himself in a large, flannel shirt; not his own but the scent comforted him, along with the pants. His slippers were in the kitchen and so he started to make coffee in an almost dreamlike trance.
Re: Russia/Canada "One Morning" 10/10
anonymous
April 5 2009, 21:24:51 UTC
It was abruptly broken when Alfred nearly fell down the stairs, collapsing onto a kitchen chair. Matt came within an inch of tipping coffee down his front.
“Sorry about that, Al. I guess I shouldn’t have let you drink that much.”
“Hng, you are damn right you shouldn’t have. Christ, what was in that whiskey.” Al palmed at his eyes, trying to focus. The sunny mid-morning light probably wasn’t helping any, but it did make things more serene.
“Are you making pancakes? Pancakes are pretty tasty. No dude, I just had such a nightmare last night.” Alfred was helping himself to the coffee, pouring in way too much cream.
“Oh? What, like Belarus was coming after you?” He teased.
“Very funny, you know she’s a psycho. No man, I had this nightmare that Ivan came and he was going to take you away from me, and there was nothing I could do.” Even if he tried to play it off like it was nothing, Mathieu knew being alone was something Al couldn’t handle well. It was just really hard not to laugh.
“That’s ridiculous. You know at least geographically I’m still going to be stuck here.” He wasn’t going to make pancakes, but he’d started now so why stop. “And Alfred I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it doesn’t have to be an all or nothing solution. There’s no reason why I can’t get along with him and you, it’s not betrayal.”
“I know, I know, but Matty, the guy has like, no soul. He’s just a maniac looking to take over your land!” Al said.
“Funny, that sound strikingly similar to someone else I know. Maybe you two have more in common than you think.” Matt said, turning his back on his brother to whisk the batter.
“That’s not even funny Matt, seriously, that guy is bad news, I wouldn- I would. If I.” he gibbered, and Mathieu knew that meant one thing; Ivan had come downstairs, forgetting entirely that his brother was here.
The two powerhouse nations stared at each other, both confused and slightly appalled. Of course Alfred spoke first.
“Uh - Matt. Um. What is he doing here?” Al never once took his eyes of the Russian.
“He came over last night, after you passed out. It was too late for him to go home so he…stayed the night.” No need to surprise Alfred, just gloss over the details.
“Okay but why is he wearing your sweater, and why are you wearing a shirt that’s too big?” They kept staring. It was just a different sort of staring. Mathieu’s hands started to shake.
“A-Al. It’s er. No big deal.”
Ivan’s face broke out into a faint, but true smile. “Da, Mathieu was being as good friend and gave me something to sleep in.”
“Yes, absolutely right, and this old thing? Ahaha, Francis left it here, I just picked it up.” He poured batter onto the pan, trying to be as nonchalant as he could. Alfred looked unconvinced, and nearly hissed when Ivan sat himself down at the table as well.
“What? It is not polite for guest to refuse food. Mathieu cook very well.”
Alfred stood up abruptly, chair swaying precariously on its two back legs.
“On second thought Matt I think I’m gonna sleep off the worst of my hangover. Just - leave some leftovers for me.” Al said, bolting from the kitchen and back upstairs.
Mathieu handed Ivan some coffee, and sat down across from him.
“So I thought you were going to make me breakfast - Abigail is still awaiting you.” He said, over the rim. Ivan smiled again, this one brighter and more real.
“Da. Perhaps tomorrow then.” He sounded ridiculously happy. Only, being this happy didn't seem so ridiculous any more.
Re: Russia/Canada "One Morning" 10/10
anonymous
April 6 2009, 05:36:40 UTC
WQ3RH2938RFBNIUEWBFIWBFQOEI OMG I THINK I LOVE YOU.
This is hot. And sweet. And pretty interesting take on the characters. (is requesternon of the other prompt below, btw, and has been stalking this thread and couldn't be happier over this <3)
Hope you don't mind a multi-length fill, I love the idea of this so I intend to finish it this weekend.
___________________________________________________________________
Mathieu wasn’t used to getting visitors. Even when he thought people were coming over to stay, once before, things turned out pretty okay.
That was when he was ‘younger’ but certainly not naive. He had been a nation before Francis stumbled off his boats and onto his land; when he was still on the wild edge he’d had after their wars came and went, still trying to cope with their absence and the reason for it. He knew it wasn’t going well and he couldn’t work out why. Before they came, his life had passed with rhythmic harmony hardly found anywhere; but now, their ideas only confused his people and belittled them. In practice, things were just barely holding together.
He knew he had to make his relationship with his neighbors work; Arthur was gone, Francis too so this, this, had to work out.
“So I thought I’d stop over,” Alfred had said, “Figure out why you spend so much time in someplace so cold, haha!”
“It’s not that cold,” Mathieu protested. “I’m not - look, right now things aren’t, I don’t know if now is the right time. I know you and Ivan are having-“ a complete war, minus the missiles, he though -“issues, maybe you shouldn’t be this close.”
“Hey man, I know there’s tension between us,” Alfred started.
“Yes!” Mathieu said. “Yes there is some tension and I don’t want to upset our barely passable peace so-”
“I think he needs to get over it,” Alfred continued with finality. There was a tiny part of Mathieu’s brain that was specifically devoted to giving warning sounds when he realized Alfred’s brash behavior was probably going toppled onto him.
It was hard to hear Al over that sound.
Maybe he thought he’d be over it already. He’d learned his lesson, in the first times he’d spotted Ivan stumbling along in windy snow, when he first saw the sparks of annoyance fly between his two neighbors; he shouldn’t step between them. Then Ivan had joined their side in the war, and it seemed so natural, that really two people who hated each other could nevertheless be on the right side. He thought they could just grow up - but now they were fighting yet again, practically over him.
By then he and Ivan were used to avoiding each other. The early days of walking in between trees and being utterly silent, with a hunter’s eyes had unnerved and thrilled Ivan. But when Francis came, things changed, and they only communicated through letters. It worked better that way, and certainly if Mathieu could ever make it so he never had to come face to face with the Russian, he would have. Life was just like that sometimes.
“Er. I guess Friday then, eh? Give us a good weekend?” Mathieu said helplessly.
“Absolutely bro, I’ll be there first thing in the morning!”
It was enough to make him sick.
Reply
“I win!,” Alfred laughed over the board game.
“Conquest and triumph! So perish our enemies and may they shake in their boots long after they have returned home! Let’s have a drink.”
“It’s still the afternoon, Al,” Mathieu said, packing away the pieces. “You might just have a problem there. Like Arthur, you guys are a bit too fond of the drink.”
“My life is high-stress dude. It’s hard being the best, so it’s natural,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, we have our sent those European bastards packing in the war, and now we’re kicking Russian ass in every way - don’t you think we should celebrate?”
Mathieu paused to faux-contemplate this. “Not really Al - besides, Ivan’s not so bad once yo-“
If Alfred’s mood swings were any worse, he’d have been a girl. Lady Liberty and all that. Maybe he was, secretly and every time someone said ‘he’ he never bothered to correct them. The look was enough to make Mathieu stop picking up the pieces.
“Really. I guess you guys had some time to get pretty chummy before Alaska came over to the winning side.” Alfred hissed. “C’mon Matt you’ve seen what he does! He practically bludgeons his allies into submission and terrorizes half the world. The man’s a maniac, no doubt about it. I don’t want you hanging out with him.”
That was one step too far. “B-but Al, you can’t really tell me who I can and can’t make allies with-“Mathieu protested shakily, but Alfred got the message pretty clear.
“Look Matt, it’s either him or me.” A finger nearly jabbed him in the chest. “You can’t hang out with us both; why would you want to hang out with him anyways? Heaven help you, he’d probably crush you soon as he sees you!” He laughed, but it didn’t sound funny at all.
The weird thing is, there was a long time when he knew Ivan was there, peripherally, watching him glide along the snow with ease. Ivan tended to hunch against the wind, instead of rolling with it. He fought his weather every inch, but Mathieu followed its guiding hands with years of practice. Lessons that were seared into his soul. Humankind has not woven the web of life.
We are but one thread within it.
Al had it right for one thing - they never really talked. They hardly had to. It was an understanding as instinctive as walking or breathing. Their lands were just too cold - too bitter - and they couldn’t afford to snub each other. Any hand was a helpful hand, when Ivan was in hopelessly lost in the Taiga forest. When Mathieu was hunched up and shivering for the wind nearly tipping trees down around him, the hand Ivan offered him was always welcome.
Reply
“Listen Al, I’ll think about it okay? I can’t just walk over to the prime minister and ask him to forget how many years of our negotiating with Russian.” Lame excuse, but it had its desired effect, and Alfred’s thunderous look cleared.
They worked in silence making dinner for approximately four seconds.
“It’s not that I’m bothered by him Matt - I just don’t want you getting hurt.” Typical Al, he managed to make good intentions fall flat. Mathieu actually smiled, but hid it in his collared shirt. “I know it ain’t your fault where you live” he paused, “then again it might explain your insatiable desire to-“
Mathieu recoiled visibly “I think you can just skip right over that. I thought we had this talk before, about ending your stories one sentence early.”
Al beamed then, sleeves rolled up and stirring the sauce languidly. It only drew attention to the face that he hadn’t been smiling much these past couple of years.
“Where’s the fun in that, huh?” he jibbed, elbowing Matt slightly.
“Urgh, Al, that was hot - listen, if I have to, I will drop you into the St. Laurence river. Cut it out.” He couldn’t keep the mirth out of his voice, and soon enough making dinner was secondary to horsing around in the kitchen.
“Listen you little hoser, cut it out or the meat’ll get rui-AH! Alfred!” he just laughed harder.
“Don’t worry so much, the meat’s fine. You’ve done this a million time remember?”
“Stop reminding me.” Matt groused, pulling out flecks of potatoes from his hair.
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By the time he dropped Al off to his guest room, he was pretty sure Al was tipsy. The beer had been a good start, but maybe pushing him to the whiskey had been a bit much.
“Man I gotta say, I forgot how much fun your house is. You got the good stuff stashed away everywhere.” Mathieu laughed again; he was pretty sure Alfred didn’t know about his other stash but no harm done.
“Just to let you know, I’m shaking my head at you and finding you overall ridiculous.” He said, tossing the American onto the double bed.
“You know I am-“ a yawn, “but that doesn’t stop me from being awesome.” Matt laughed again for no real reason, helped Alfred out of his shirt and left him to sleep off what would probably be a nasty hangover. With any luck at least. Not that he was bitter.
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(after this there is Ivan, do not worry OP)
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The hallway was never intimidating before tonight so why, why Mathieu asked himself, did it seem so dark and foreboding tonight? This was silly. He was silly. Everything about tonight was just silly. Matt walked purposefully to his room, as absurd as it was, and swing it open-
“Ivan!” He plastered himself against his door. How such a large man could be so quiet always startled him.
The blonde looked up from fiddling with the turntable, the one he bought because it talked to you, sang to you; an undemanding companion. The song was quiet and slightly haunting, something Francis always protested was too ghastly. The handsomely simple face smiled at him, only hinting at mania.
“Ah, my friend, you’re back.” He stood just as quietly, without his large pale coat seemed no less formidable.
“Didn’t really know you were coming.” Mathieu pried himself away from the wall, a smile tugging at his mouth uncertainly. He should be terrified, out of his wits really. Alfred would throw a fit.
“Da, well, we are…neighbors, yes? Sometimes it is quite nice to visit somewhere different.” Ivan took his sweater and folded it over a chair and Mathieu murmured his thanks.
“Exhausting would be more accurate.” Matt cracked his neck, trying to work out the tension. “You probably already know that Alfred’s here, don’t you.”
The Russian laughed, a sound felt more than heard, and eased himself onto the corner of Mathieu’s bed. “Da. I am of thinking he would be, how you say? Perhaps angry?” His eyes followed Matt around the room.
“That’d be an understatement. He won’t find out either way, I got him a bit too drunk.” He said, starting the fire in his room. Someday he might have to get actual heating, but this system worked just fine and it was peaceful. “And somehow I don’t think you’re here to talk about him.”
“No киска, you are correct.” A gentle groan came from the bed when Ivan shifted his weight to lie back. “There are not people I can talk to, these days.” The reluctant tone made Mathieu stand up and cross over to stand over the Russian. Firelight seemed to suit his face, and made play over the sharp but handsome features and the quirky smile.
“Really? So what do you want me to say, 'Hard day dear? I’ve heard a good puff can fix that’. I don’t really recall inviting you in, besides.”
Ivan gestured palms outward, a simple crooked smile that flashed out and told Mathieu he had a crazy idea he was going to share: a smile that said, this is for you.
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“I was hoping you could ah, forvigness me?” he tried.
“Not like I can kick you out - it just conveniently happens to be a snowing outside, and it’s too late to walk anywhere.” Mathieu said dryly. “And I am so utterly pleased that you have decided to invade my house and spend all your time listening to music. You realize tomorrow I will expect some breakfast, don’t you?”
Ivan sat up again, head tilted perplexedly at him. He was leaning on one arm, delightedly smirking.
“If I am spend night, of course Лапочка.” He reached out, uncertainly towards the smaller man. If this was what Alfred was fighting against so passionately, Mathieu might just have to admit defeat. This was too comfortable, too familiar to let go of. He rolled up his sleeves and lay down on his bed, stretching against the worn quilt.
“Well if you’re willing my toaster’s name is Abigail everything she cooks turns brown and I hate marmalade so don’t even try. Arthur tried for years, never once got met to like the stuff.”
The Russian seemed to relax now that he had his approval for barging in; he too leaned onto his back and stared at Mathieu’s shoulder, watching him roll a join expertly. The fire lapped at them pleasently, it's heat making them drowsy and subdue.
“I will try, if it pleases you.” Ivan said, “it is not like Alfred is making you happy, da?”
“It’s not that - he’s only a little, well look he’s family, right? So you put up with all of their antics because underneath all that crazy, is your family and once they get their head on right, it’ll be okay.” The words spilled out like he had been holding them in; except he hadn’t. What made it so easy to say this to Ivan, his supposed enemy? Maybe it was the fire, the light just hit the Russian perfectly in the hollows of his neck, across his mouth and glittering off bright eyes.
“Лапочка, I am not of understanding -- Perhaps you say again?” Ivan raised his head, trying to look innocent and just shy of succeeding.
“Ah, sorry. It’s nothing important.” Mathieu lit the paper in his hands. “You could teach me Russian - if I keep assuming everyone speaks English I’ll turn into Al.” He passed it over to his guest, and moved further up the bed to the pillows.
“Нет, Нет, that is too hard.” He waved the suggestion away, smoke circling the air above him. “Much faster for English, da? Besides, you would never use it. Much handy for me to learn English better.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I’d use it around you, wouldn’t I? And you’re here often. It, um, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.” He fingered some of the threads, pretending their pattern was more interesting than the man only a foot away.
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“It, um, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.” He whispered after a moment’s silence.
Ivan didn’t even answer, just slide up further and closer until Matt had nowhere to look but the strong planes and angles of his neck and shoulders. He was close, now, so close that he could feel the nearness of his body heat, pulling him forward helplessly, the soothing smell of his snowy ash and a bit of something that was uniquely his. He was so close, but it felt like there was another impossible distance to cross.
Impossible distances were their specialty though, and when Ivan’s hand touched his neck a long shudder ran throughout Mathieu’s body.
“I am wanting of what I should not want.” Ivan said in a husky, fraught whisper. Was he holding in, or holding back? He leaned in until the aroma of his hair and skin flooded through him, the top of his shirt grazed against Mathieu’s shoulder. His nose brushed the Russian’s cheek, warmed by the hand fluttered over his pulse point.
“But it’s yours to want, to have.” His mouth moved against the paler man’s cheek. Inside his subterranean tomb, under flailing light Mathieu gave in to the deep and sincere feelings that were welling, building ever since he first spotted the other man. There is no cure for instinct. Crusades may rage against it fierce and white, but all in vain, like waves crashing uselessly against the vaulted high rocks.
Their mouths met and everything was quiet now, the world hushed. It was slow and wonderful, Ivan’s mouth so warm and easy against his. Mathieu thought of Ivan’s lower lip, the teasing and sometimes mocking curve of it, and tried to memorise its taste.
He parted his lips, fingers reaching up to the blonde hair, telling him yes, please, more. The Russian’s hand was at his neck, tilting him back that crucial fraction more, deeper, trying to swallow every sound he made, drink the noises down and keep them. His other hand was toying with his shirt, tripping over the buttons, desperate to feel the skin underneath.
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When the shirt slide off one of his shoulders, Ivan tore his mouth away.
“Sorry. Извините, I’m sorry.” Ivan gasped.
“What?” said Mathieu.
His chest was sore, maybe for not breathing. The blonde man looked like he was barely containing himself, trying to be gentle and failing and afraid he’d terrify the Canadian away, for good. All he saw was a curved shoulders rising and falling with each pant, mouth in the dim light like a knife wound, ripe and full. He rested his head against Ivan’s, avoiding kissing him again. It seemed like such an achievement.
“It’s okay.” He soothed, finally lying back against the pillow and sliding the burnt-out joint away from the Russian’s hands. Ivan followed him, drawn to the sliver of open skin, teething at the jugular and collar.
“I am sorry - Mathieu, I shouldn’t, never should have-“Mathieu touched his lips, silencing him, calming him.
“It’s nothing.” He said, tender. “I-I know. We aren’t supposed to be- well. With Alfred around, the way things used to be, I’m not sure it can happen.” His hands were fluttering down the other’s clothes, too much clothes, why was he wearing all this still? “I’d like to try though. He doesn’t quite understand, you know, the cold, how much you need someone.”
Ivan’s head slide against his shoulder with Mathieu’s hand still resting in the hair. When he spoke the sound carried into Mathieu’s chest, making his heart skip oddly.
“It is hard, little one, to make another understand. I am feeling your brother understands not your silence, and as such cannot understand your words.”
Ivan traced the indentation line of Mathieu spine with his fingertip, all the way to the waist of the pants, just above the small of his back. He slid his fingers down to touch the skin there, tender and thin and mindlessly hot. Again and again, he traced that hidden skin, curve like a bowl to lick from. He could barely concentrate on words with that hand there.
“And what about you? D’you think you understand silence?” he said, hushed. “You and me, we were always good friends, right? “
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The wandering hand found his belt loop, pulling him closer, gravity taking her toll again. Above their heads stretched a deep night, uninterrupted by street lamps or power lines.
“When I am not here, it is all I can hear, it is all I am thinking of,” Ivan promises, this time looking him in the eye. Tugging off Ivan’s shirt gave way to smooth skin so he tossed it somewhere, who knows where, caring only to get closer to the skin. Mathieu only wanted to contain this, save himself from giving in entirely. The pleasure of yielding like this was unknown to him, not a surrender but an agreement.
“There’s this place, you know, where you first saw me - Alfred said it was too cold, the forests too dark. And the trees make every step so faint; you could spend your whole life walking it and never touch the same land twice. It’s something we share, it stretches all the way back to when our lands were connected. We used to be one. We’re still like that, yes? You’ll be with me, won’t you?” He made frantic work of the other’s pants, sliding them hastily away for more warm skin. The back of Ivan’s knee, a long salt plane stretched up the thigh, he drew it closer.
“Yes, yes, da” A mantra of yes and yes again until the word was always on the Russian’s breath. Mathieu had to close his eyes and tugged at Ivan’s hair, drawing him closer to kiss the damp side of his face. The hair pulling should’ve eased the urgency, but it was intensifying the belly-deep desire and made fumbling with his jeans a melting blur. Mathieu’s fingers tripped down the taunt, quivering stomach and further, curling deeper to touch Ivan, hot and heavy in his palm.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this but it was so different, really, nothing was the same. The foreskin slid under his hand like a bud unfurling, the hint of head beneath that, sweet and dark, was too intimate for him to watch. Past the surface Ivan’s hands wandered still, deeper into him with his fingers, reaching into a warm tunnel, curling around it. He kept pushing further, the glide of wetness, the dip and crevice with each run of his hands. The Russian words were soothing like Ivan always talked but the tone had changed, and he was moving, the words nonsense again because he was pushing up further and moving deeper and caught Ivan’s mouth in a kiss long, hot, frantic and never once broken. He heard the voice call out dimly, an echo of a name across vast wilderness, finally breaking to the surface to sigh without a sound.
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Afterwards it made no sense to fuss about anything. Mathieu tended to roll away, sensible enough, everyone had to sleep. He was surprised that this had changed, too, and he was possessed by the wondering urge to keep touching, not sure how but resting against Ivan’s chest, moving from his neck to his stomach. This one.
This one.
The fire barely cast a light now, turning the sheets into amber ridges and hollows, nestled against the places of his body not shadowed by Ivan around him. In the silence the Russian started to speak, not in English, finally finding words he needed to say, carrying on until momentum had him pouring everything out.
His voice was soft, like he was trying to keep Mathieu asleep. He recognized one part, and it was enough to bring him out of his haze. ‘Я тебя люблю .’ Over and over again, Я тебя люблю , Я тебя люблю .
Mathieu touched his cheek, eyes still shut, and agreed with him. “Я тебя люблю.” He whispered, falling into sleep, missing the tender look Ivan gave above him. Mathieu wasn’t worried, he knew the man would be there in the morning.
~~
Mathieu woke up earlier than Ivan or Alfred, because he always did, when he learned to get up just before the sun and that habit never left him. It was a new sensation to feel Ivan’s light fine hair against his shoulder, and he wished he didn’t have to move at all.
And besides now - he needed a plan, something to tell Alfred. Something that might make it less than horrible to have breakfast this morning especially considering how many drinks his brother had last night.
Alfred said he would have to choose one or the other, but diplomacy through other means was all Mathieu knew; making things work that shouldn’t was what he did, and he knew nothing had to change. For either of them.
Mathieu moved slowly so as not to wake Ivan, which was easy enough since every cell in his body protested leaving the warm bed. He couldn’t even glance over his shoulder in case his resolve broke. He wrapped himself in a large, flannel shirt; not his own but the scent comforted him, along with the pants. His slippers were in the kitchen and so he started to make coffee in an almost dreamlike trance.
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“Sorry about that, Al. I guess I shouldn’t have let you drink that much.”
“Hng, you are damn right you shouldn’t have. Christ, what was in that whiskey.” Al palmed at his eyes, trying to focus. The sunny mid-morning light probably wasn’t helping any, but it did make things more serene.
“Are you making pancakes? Pancakes are pretty tasty. No dude, I just had such a nightmare last night.” Alfred was helping himself to the coffee, pouring in way too much cream.
“Oh? What, like Belarus was coming after you?” He teased.
“Very funny, you know she’s a psycho. No man, I had this nightmare that Ivan came and he was going to take you away from me, and there was nothing I could do.” Even if he tried to play it off like it was nothing, Mathieu knew being alone was something Al couldn’t handle well. It was just really hard not to laugh.
“That’s ridiculous. You know at least geographically I’m still going to be stuck here.” He wasn’t going to make pancakes, but he’d started now so why stop. “And Alfred I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it doesn’t have to be an all or nothing solution. There’s no reason why I can’t get along with him and you, it’s not betrayal.”
“I know, I know, but Matty, the guy has like, no soul. He’s just a maniac looking to take over your land!” Al said.
“Funny, that sound strikingly similar to someone else I know. Maybe you two have more in common than you think.” Matt said, turning his back on his brother to whisk the batter.
“That’s not even funny Matt, seriously, that guy is bad news, I wouldn- I would. If I.” he gibbered, and Mathieu knew that meant one thing; Ivan had come downstairs, forgetting entirely that his brother was here.
The two powerhouse nations stared at each other, both confused and slightly appalled. Of course Alfred spoke first.
“Uh - Matt. Um. What is he doing here?” Al never once took his eyes of the Russian.
“He came over last night, after you passed out. It was too late for him to go home so he…stayed the night.” No need to surprise Alfred, just gloss over the details.
“Okay but why is he wearing your sweater, and why are you wearing a shirt that’s too big?” They kept staring. It was just a different sort of staring. Mathieu’s hands started to shake.
“A-Al. It’s er. No big deal.”
Ivan’s face broke out into a faint, but true smile. “Da, Mathieu was being as good friend and gave me something to sleep in.”
“Yes, absolutely right, and this old thing? Ahaha, Francis left it here, I just picked it up.” He poured batter onto the pan, trying to be as nonchalant as he could. Alfred looked unconvinced, and nearly hissed when Ivan sat himself down at the table as well.
“What? It is not polite for guest to refuse food. Mathieu cook very well.”
Alfred stood up abruptly, chair swaying precariously on its two back legs.
“On second thought Matt I think I’m gonna sleep off the worst of my hangover. Just - leave some leftovers for me.” Al said, bolting from the kitchen and back upstairs.
Mathieu handed Ivan some coffee, and sat down across from him.
“So I thought you were going to make me breakfast - Abigail is still awaiting you.” He said, over the rim. Ivan smiled again, this one brighter and more real.
“Da. Perhaps tomorrow then.” He sounded ridiculously happy. Only, being this happy didn't seem so ridiculous any more.
_____________________________fin_________________________________
*pantpant* I hope OP likes. <3 enjoy~~!
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This is hot. And sweet. And pretty interesting take on the characters.
(is requesternon of the other prompt below, btw, and has been stalking this thread and couldn't be happier over this <3)
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