Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 5/?
anonymous
April 7 2009, 17:18:01 UTC
“For tonight, since there is nothing else, you sleep beside me.” Ivan said, towelling his hair. He tossed it aside to the silk couch by the window, moving to the younger man. Outside there was the distant sound of revolution, and if he tried he could smell smoke on the air.
“Sir?” he said. Puzzlement was such an endearing look on him.
Ivan stalked closer now, trying to move slowly for all his desire. He was halfway there when Mathieu’s eyes narrowed, open only a fraction. Maybe he was tracking his movements from his lowered eyes, Ivan couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t moved an inch, but all of him was tense, waiting for an attack. The heaviness of fatigue seemed to have been swept clean from Mathieu’s brow, and once again his eyes were alert and mercurial, if not a little melancholy.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“There is nowhere else, you see?” He knew he was being selfish now, lethally, fatally selfish, making up excuses just so he could have this.
The room was dark and the few candles cast light across Mathieu’s tense jaw, down lowered eyelashes, the sharp line of his nose. Ivan wished he could understand being gentle, he would’ve liked to do that now, if he knew how. He’d touched people before who were uncertain of themselves, but never touched one who clearly didn’t want to be touched. He knew he was going to ruin everything, and for a fleeting moment he wished he could’ve been better somehow - nobler perhaps, noble enough to deny himself.
Ivan looked at the faint lines, laughter and pain, around that expressive mouth, looked at the veiled eyes and the pulse beating wildly at his throat.
“Back home, did you learn much?” He reached out, knuckles tracing that wild beat across slender neck.
“What?” Mathieu had no time to question more, Ivan’s mouth on his and taking all the breath out of him. He couldn’t hear anything, like a dull roar of a wind was drowning out the subtle sounds. He felt the boy shudder under his hands - revulsion, probably he couldn’t bear to see that - and pressed deeper, infiltrating the warm mouth.
Hands were trying in vain to push at his shoulders and Ivan grabbed them, pinning them back. Let me, please just let me do this he begged silently, tongue sliding across Mathieu’s teeth. He didn’t care for the protesting, the squirming, he just leaned in further, trapping the man between the wall and him. He broke for air, but immediately went to the boy’s neck, tasting the shaky heartbeat.
“What - are you, just stop-” Mathieu tried. He struggled more, harder now, understanding what was happening.
“Shh,” He said, trying viciously hard to be soothing. Ivan slid a hand under Mathieu’s flimsy shirt and caressed the warm skin at the small of his back, trying to subdue the squirming and trashing. Mathieu’s back arched against his hands, trying to get away; the touch of bare skin was already making Ivan dizzy and desperate. He could pretend Mathieu was trying to get closer.
“No!- Stop it, you can’t do this, please don’t-” Ivan kissed him again, stop saying those things little one, the strong taste of something sweet, alive in Mathieu’s mouth. The taste of him against his tongue, a shade softer than blood but just as warm. The rush of possessiveness made him hasty, the only sound now muffled exclamations and the clink of Mathieu’s belt buckle being undone.
Ivan’s hands massaged the newly exposed skin, a taunt stomach, the fine hair across his belly and lower still, finding what he wanted warm and heavy in his hand, stroking slowly. Mathieu’s mouth opened, blossom of hot wet air against his cheek. You can’t keep saying ‘no’ and ‘stop’ when you react like this, dear one. It was all some wild plot to drive him mad. He felt a slip of wetness on his hand, Mathieu’s hips rolling with the strokes now and Ivan moved a bit faster, twisting his hand slightly over the head, swallowing the tiny sounds and protests, until the rip smell of satisfaction complete and a jerky twitch of hips made them both groan.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 5/?
anonymous
April 7 2009, 17:21:32 UTC
He didn’t want to step back, to see the expression, to see the hate or fear or shame. Mathieu’s weight was settled almost entirely against him, letting Ivan hold him up. Ivan moved back slowly keeping his eyes to the ground and turned away.
“Go to bed” he ordered, reaching for his vodka. The chair, probably, maybe by his jacket. He could still feel the breath on his cheek, the shaking under his fingers. Couldn’t turn around, can’t look.
Quietly, the rustle of sheets betrayed Mathieu’s movement and Ivan dared to turn around. His back was to him and he curled around the blankets, using them to cover himself, hide himself away. Ivan didn’t say a word to indicate he was there and approached the bed, sitting down heavily. Drink forgotten, he realized he was still mesmerised with desire at the body only a few feet away; this had cured nothing.
He felt disgusted, for being temped that far, drawing his knee up and pressing his forehead against it. The bells of Cathedral, though a distance of some blocks, were clear, carrying over wave after wave. The smell of burning drew nearer, and he thought about going without sleep tonight altogether, and having a punishingly cold bath.
He couldn’t fix this. There was nothing he could do, and he lay down, as far away as he could, and slept.
___
Francis took a wholly strange interest in Mathieu, just when Ivan was departing for St.Petersburg again, back to The Hermitage-Winter Palace. The day was grey though warm, and Ivan was stroking the horses’ nose before their long journey. He was keen to be going home, back to the Queen and his own room.
“You’re certain you don’t want to keep ‘em here? I am sure ve could find somet’ing for ‘eem to do.” Francis said in a thick, French-english accent. Ivan ignored him, and twisted his neck to pop the joints.
“Da, I am certain. I will be back in a few months.” Arthur kept staring at the boy, frowning, like he had seen him before but couldn’t place where.
“Well, until then Mr.Braginsky. Safe travel, god speed.” The british gentleman said, shaking his hand firmly. Even small as he was, Arthur’s conviction in his right to be as important as other nations was always something he had respected; he shook it genially.
“Da, many thanks, friends.” Climbing into the carriage with his servant, he succumbed to the silence decended upon them. It was almost an hour, a long, tense hour that seemed like a lifetime until Ivan spoke, this time in Russian.
“Some coffee, I think would be nice.” Immediately the boy started make some, the preheated water in a canteen still steaming and with beans ground earlier in the French palace this morning ; he’d miss the food. Ivan turned to watch him work, gentle hands leading to a calm, serene expression. Was he not upset, or disturbed? He knew it wasn’t a servants place to speak out of turn but Ivan longed to hear the voice, the man’s strange ideas from a strange land - he wanted to talk freely with him.
“What...I have done, it was. That is to say, I am sorry.” A good first step. Swallow his pride a bit. It didn’t help the nerves clenching at his stomach. Mathieu finally looked up from his work, blue eyes looking supremely amused.
“You’re certain?” he said, lip twitching. What was so funny about this?
“Da of course, I am ashamed at my behaviour.” Ivan said, taken aback.
“I don’t really think so, but if it’s an apology for acting rash, then I accept it.”Mathieu poured hot water steadily despite the swaying of the carriage. Again the boy captured his attention, so easily.
“You do not think I regret that?” Ivan asked, insulted.
“Not really, no. In fact, if I recall the whole problem was the possible regret didn’t outweigh the desire.” Mathieu handed him the coffee. His personality seemed so strange; meek and pleasing at once but his words were bold. Before he could thinka reply, Mathieu spoke again.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 6/?
anonymous
April 7 2009, 17:22:26 UTC
He didn’t want to step back, to see the expression, to see the hate or fear or shame. Mathieu’s weight was settled almost entirely against him, letting Ivan hold him up. Ivan moved back slowly keeping his eyes to the ground and turned away.
“Go to bed” he ordered, reaching for his vodka. The chair, probably, maybe by his jacket. He could still feel the breath on his cheek, the shaking under his fingers. Couldn’t turn around, can’t look.
Quietly, the rustle of sheets betrayed Mathieu’s movement and Ivan dared to turn around. His back was to him and he curled around the blankets, using them to cover himself, hide himself away. Ivan didn’t say a word to indicate he was there and approached the bed, sitting down heavily. Drink forgotten, he realized he was still mesmerised with desire at the body only a few feet away; this had cured nothing.
He felt disgusted, for being temped that far, drawing his knee up and pressing his forehead against it. The bells of Cathedral, though a distance of some blocks, were clear, carrying over wave after wave. The smell of burning drew nearer, and he thought about going without sleep tonight altogether, and having a punishingly cold bath.
He couldn’t fix this. There was nothing he could do, and he lay down, as far away as he could, and slept.
___
Francis took a wholly strange interest in Mathieu, just when Ivan was departing for St.Petersburg again, back to The Hermitage-Winter Palace. The day was grey though warm, and Ivan was stroking the horses’ nose before their long journey. He was keen to be going home, back to the Queen and his own room.
“You’re certain you don’t want to keep ‘em here? I am sure ve could find somet’ing for ‘eem to do.” Francis said in a thick, French-english accent. Ivan ignored him, and twisted his neck to pop the joints.
“Da, I am certain. I will be back in a few months.” Arthur kept staring at the boy, frowning, like he had seen him before but couldn’t place where.
“Well, until then Mr.Braginsky. Safe travel, god speed.” The british gentleman said, shaking his hand firmly. Even small as he was, Arthur’s conviction in his right to be as important as other nations was always something he had respected; he shook it genially.
“Da, many thanks, friends.” Climbing into the carriage with his servant, he succumbed to the silence decended upon them. It was almost an hour, a long, tense hour that seemed like a lifetime until Ivan spoke, this time in Russian.
“Some coffee, I think would be nice.” Immediately the boy started make some, the preheated water in a canteen still steaming and with beans ground earlier in the French palace this morning ; he’d miss the food. Ivan turned to watch him work, gentle hands leading to a calm, serene expression. Was he not upset, or disturbed? He knew it wasn’t a servants place to speak out of turn but Ivan longed to hear the voice, the man’s strange ideas from a strange land - he wanted to talk freely with him.
“What...I have done, it was. That is to say, I am sorry.” A good first step. Swallow his pride a bit. It didn’t help the nerves clenching at his stomach. Mathieu finally looked up from his work, blue eyes looking supremely amused.
“You’re certain?” he said, lip twitching. What was so funny about this?
“Da of course, I am ashamed at my behaviour.” Ivan said, taken aback.
“I don’t really think so, but if it’s an apology for acting rash, then I accept it.”Mathieu poured hot water steadily despite the swaying of the carriage. Again the boy captured his attention, so easily.
“You do not think I regret that?” Ivan asked, insulted.
“Not really, no. In fact, if I recall the whole problem was the possible regret didn’t outweigh the desire.” Mathieu handed him the coffee. His personality seemed so strange; meek and pleasing at once but his words were bold. Before he could thinka reply, Mathieu spoke again.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 6/? THE REAL ONE DAMN YOU ERROR MESSAGE
anonymous
April 7 2009, 17:25:05 UTC
"Besides, I am just a servant, right? It has nothing to do with me.” But that was the whole problem, Ivan thought desperately, the whole problem is suddenly everything is about you.
“Then you are mistaken. It was all about you - Mathieu” here the boy looked up, startled to hear his own name, “and I am not wanting a person who only say ‘yes sir’, ‘yes sir’.” Loath as he was to admit it, that was the whole truth. He didn’t want Mathieu turning quiet on him, he had such interesting ideas.
“So what you are trying to say is in private, I am to speak freely with you?” Mathieu sat back, a little closer to Ivan this time.
“Yes, in private.” A particular bump made some drink spill onto the floor, but he ignored it. Mathieu turned his head, tilting it back a little to look up at him. From this angle his eyes seemed clearer again, freshwater from a river.
“In that case, I must confess I find your sexual preferences bizarre and distressing” Mathieu told him, solemn.
“Now now, you understand that you are very striking man, yes?” He didn’t miss the small blush, or smile on Mathieu’s face.
“I suppose that’s a kind way of putting it. Are we going to the place where you live?”
Ivan nodded, the rest of the ride spent a few hours telling him about the winter palace, it’s warm and welcoming extravagance, and about Russia. The more he spoke of it, the more wistful Mathieu seemed to get.
“It reminds me of my home” He said, watching the sun set. They were nearer to the palace now, and there was still snow on the ground that hadn’t melted under warming weather. “The snow, the expanse of it. You would like to come with me sometime, I am sure you would like it. Men are freer there than anywhere I have seen here.”
“I am interested, of course. We can go there, if I am permitted so.” He felt peaceful, even the swaying of the cart now familiar and comforting. When they stopped, he climbed out, helping Mathieu out as well. Ivan took a deep breath of crisp air and felt infinitely better already.
“Sometimes I wish I never had to leave this place.” He said.
“Well if it makes you feel better, I could throw cold water on you periodically.” Mathieu teased, helping with the luggage. Ivan laughed loudly, helplessly pleased now.
“That is not what I was thinking of, maybe-” He was interrupted by the swishing of heavy chiffon and silk, a gloved hand resting on his arm and the curve of painted lips. Immediately he knelt, and kissed the hand.
“My lady, Elizabeth” he said, smiling. She reminded him so much of her grandfather, Peter. Her peaceful attitude and humility gave her a good rule over her people.
“Paris, Ivan, really now. I was expecting something a bit classier. Are they still in revolt? The French never could keep an eye on their own people. Well come on in, what are you still kneeling in the snow for it’s cold, foolish boy.” She bustled over to the porters carrying luggage, and to Mathieu. At him, she stopped, and looked over her shoulder.
“Ivan! No, really? I didn’t think you had it in you.” Her cloying, innocent manner almost fooled him, but he smiled, rising to his feet.
“I am thinking he would be a good friend, good worker. He came from the new world, yes? He has told many interesting things.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, tapping them gently. “Is that so - just today envoys from Spain made a great fuss over what they had found. All this commotion has me wondering if Russia shouldn’t take some interest. Well come inside, if the man has some stories I’d like to hear them.” Her and the ladies in waiting all turned back up the palace steps, guards following them like faithful shadows, back to the warmth inside.
Mathieu walked up to Ivan slowly, awed by the palace. “This - this is your home?” He seemed so intimidated, I van laughed again. “Da, this is home. Come inside, my queen is right, it is getting cold out.”
“Well bloody right it is, it’s still snowing. What is it, May still? Who lives in a place like this.”
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 7/10-ish
anonymous
April 7 2009, 17:32:03 UTC
Even several years later, the peace inside Ivan was rarely disturbed, and he felt optimistic about Elizabeth’s reign. The succession had been a commotion but the people liked her well enough, and her policies put the Russian’s first, for once. The only violent incident had been in revolt to get her to the throne, incidentally. Ivan had no control over the violence in his people and thus, sometimes, none over himself. When he made to strike one of the cooks though, Mathieu was there, grabbing his arms and pulling him close, trying to sooth the agitation. He had nearly hit him too, hoping the man would fight back, that he could fight.
He didn’t, and Ivan was grateful. He could trust him, with every side of himself; the dark, the disturbed, the violent but the childishly happy as well - The Canadian (as he found out later) accepted in stride every inch of it.
The mornings were nice. Ivan couldn’t pretend everything was simple, because now he couldn’t stand to have Mathieu around him when he bathed, and touching him was volatile in its own right. When they walked together, Mathieu kept himself hidden so the staff all thought Ivan was talking to himself and utterly mental, which wasn’t really a significant change in their views.
Sometimes when Ivan was up hours early with the mind-numbing treaties and papers to read, and Mathieu was fast asleep on the couch, he would lean over and brush some hair out of his face, as gently as he knew how. Ivan tried to rationalize it - he’d be more comfortable that way, it made him feel better, stilled the wild urge to do something.
Mathieu never had to know.
Fate of course had it that only Elizabeth, the one person who shouldn’t have noticed, who clearly had better things to do, was the one who did. She had just enough authority and sass to talk to Ivan about it on top of that. She sent the ladies away one morning, and asked the guards to step outside the door.
“Ivan, to be a decent ruler I have to understand not just what is happening in the far corners of our kingdom, but also what is going on right under my nose.” She bit into tea biscuit, slathered with jam. Ivan stirred the coffee more intently.
“Majesty I am not sure-“
“Oh, cut the ‘you’re majesty’ Ivan, we have known each other since I was a girl. What I am asking about is this little problem you have; with the servant, your friend, Mathieu.” She had a nearly wicked look in her eyes. She knows Ivan thought, panicked, she absolutely knows what the problem is.That hussy.
“I. That is, I am not sure. What is it exactly that you are asking, m’lady?” That was about as informal as he could force himself to be. The dining room seemed too hot; maybe they had started the fires early today. She sighed, leaning on the table with her elbow.
“Ivan, dear, we both know what is going on. You stay up late at night, pacing the halls and disturbing the servants when he isn’t around. You trouble others with your brash words and irresponsible behaviour if he’s sick or ill. Whenever he’s in the room I can tell you aren’t listening to the envoys, you have eyes for only him, and you even dare to keep him in your personal quarters.” She sat back, pleased as a cat with cream to see Ivan’s pale and tense face.
“This boy has taken over your whole life, as if you have forgotten who you are working for. “ Ivan tried to say something then, that he was trying hard and he could do better, but she held up her hand.
“And that, little one, is a wonderful thing. “ He kept staring. She’d lost him.
“Do you want me to tell you something really rebellious? Love is actually everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so inclined to be pessimistic about it. Against all odds it is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.” She dabs her mouth, standing daintily. Ivan follows as an afterthought, stunned into silence.
“I trust you’ll take care of this?”
“O-of course. It won’t be in the way anymore” he promised. Love. That word kept echoing around and around until it was all he could hear, long after she’d gone.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 7/10-ish
anonymous
April 7 2009, 19:41:25 UTC
sfadljsd;fakls;fklja;sd
This little anon is head over heels in love with this fic, and not an ounce ashamed to admit it. The details can be heavy but they help to craft a richly interesting story, and I love the way your Ivan perceives and reacts to Matthew. This is beautiful so far; can't wait for more. ♥ *F5F5F5*
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 8/10-ish
anonymous
April 8 2009, 02:56:37 UTC
Love.
She’s gone mad, absolutely batty. Well there was attraction, certainly. But Matt was perpetually a little late doing chores and he kept slipping facts about proper butchery that made Ivan squeamish. Once he’d been told to go undercover in the Austrian court (not so clever now, Roderich), and came back humming inane songs (damn you, Roderich) that drove the whole palace quietly mad and he often wandered around in clothes from his homeland, totally undeterred by all the harrying looks it attracted. Ivan was trying desperately to keep the entire population at peace with Elizabeth and Mathieu could be distracted from the mass casualties by a rumour that coffee running low.
He nearly bumped into the man himself and froze, like he could read his thoughts or something.
“I know you’ve been having trouble with that - what’s his face, that man from Spain, he keeps buggering up opinions in the court - and I have the solution. I’m pretty sure since he isn’t married and doesn’t keep a lady around, that you should just hire a prostitute. I bet you could even charge the expenses to the queen.”
“What,” said Ivan, “What.” Mathieu’s eyes were changing hues with mirth, and Ivan tried to squash the rising joy he felt with them.
“No? Why, you think he’s more wild than that?” Mathieu tried, walking in synch with Ivan.
“I- no. Just, be quiet for a second.”
“Actually I think I saw him giving you the eye. I think you should try and swing that, you know, unless he’s too much man for you.” The gentleman in question is rather portly and elderly, so the image of him nude made his lip curl.
“I can’t believe you won’t stop talking about this.” But he was smiling, no hiding it. Despite all his strange quirks, Mathieu treated him like an equal and demanded the same. Quiet and meek though he was, he wasn’t that scared of him, and Ivan was no longer afraid of breaking his spirit with words or opinions that he couldn’t express to anyone else.
Mathieu had walked back to their shared rooms and began heating water. Pollution hung in the sky above - cigar smoke drifting in from the east docks, with their dank corners. Sea stories, Ivan knew. He circled his room again, taking in the inexpensive look of foreign things he picked up over the years. He had always liked the flawed things best, items through which use produced beauty. Charms that were not a perfection of craft, but warped by nature or neglect - they turned into singular, remarkable creatures. The city was awash in little universes, and he studied a new one daily; all tucked away on shelves or windows in his room. The bath in his quarters was little more than a shallow, metal basin, not enough to really sink into but it was nice to rinse in through the quiet mornings. Mathieu was heating the water in his fireplace, pouring it into the basin.
“Ivan, you know that sooner or later I’ll have to go back to my people. Now that you know I’m one, like you.” He trailed off. What a discovery that had been - an accidental kitchen disaster that should’ve killed him, only left him with a few stitches and a sour disposition for possibly an hour. Yes, Ivan was well aware.
“I know, but so soon. You’ll let me visit you, yes?” He sat down, entranced by the nape of his neck, the slight scent coming from it.
“No absolutely not. Well of course you can Ivan, I hold nothing against you.” He swished the water, making sure it was the right temperature. Ivan could still taste the wilderness from their kisses in France, and that song kept looping in his brain, no words just a tune, mindless and pleasant.
“Soon?” He questioned again.
“Unfortunately, yes. I have been gone too long, I can feel it. Besides, you don’t really need my anymore. You never did.” A ghostly smile, faint and not quite there, passed his lips. Pale light coming in through curtains made it all the sweeter; Ivan wished he could fix that, bring back the smile that was real. It was unacceptable, the urge to just leap across the space between them - it could have been so easy, he had long legs and Mathieu was kneeling, awaiting instruction.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" 8/10-ish
anonymous
April 8 2009, 03:00:50 UTC
Mathieu looked up again, clear eyes determined and hard. Ivan held on, braced himself, even tighter.
“I will be leaving soon. Before the end of spring. Okay?”
He gritted his teeth; this was his choice, he had no right to interfere, to tell him to stay. “Da. Okay.” He answered hoarsely.
“Okay” Mathieu repeated. “Okay. Excellent, it’s settled.” He rose to go to the cabinets, pulling out scented oils and soaps from Paris, something for the hair, the feet, the skin, the heart; a little budding alchemist in his own right.
“We can forget this and just move on.” The voice sounded so sad, so pleading. How is this the right choice, it felt like he was breaking in two. “It’s not like you’re in love with me,” he added, and managed to laugh at that, the notion supremely ridiculous, too absurd ever hold water.
Ivan lifted his eyes from the floors.
“But - I am. That is my problem, Mathieu. I am.” Anger, he was so angry; mostly at being helpless, knowing that this wasn’t going to change facts. He couldn’t look straight up, he’s never said something like that in his whole life; either he was flying or he was falling but right now, he was in limbo awaiting his fate.
“You. You - you’re sure?” The voice was colourless.
“Da I am, I think I am. I just - well. I am sure about how I feel, but this was not what I was expecting, I thought it would be different somehow. Like how it is in those Parisian novels, or such. This is coming out wrong.”
“When you find it, this delicate, Parisian style world, will you forget me?” Now the voice was shaking, he could hear the tremble of glass - so close to being broken. Ivan grabbed the back of his own neck, just to stop himself from lashing out. He finally looked back up at Matt, like he always did, couldn’t really go five minutes without having to see him.
“No. No, Mathieu I am not forgetting. Even if - the point is, I would still want you. Want you more, more than all of that.”
Mathieu slowly put the bottles down, arranging them in alphabetical order, gaze lost somewhere else.
“And when were you planning on telling me this?” It was back, that harmony in his voice, such a terrible relief to hear the lilting speech again.
“I thought- not that night, but, since then. I thought it was clear, obvious. You were always more important.”
“Oh-” Mathieu clicked his tongue, throwing his arms down to this side. “You were not clear Ivan, you giant raving lunatic of a man. You kept - pushing me away, trying to avoid me, I thought it was a burden. You said that night was a mistake!” Now he was cornered; he had said that it was an urge and he was sorry and never again.
“But then, then I had no idea. I didn’t know - well I did actually, but right then I couldn’t be sure.”
“So this was your master plan? Have me live with you, and that should clear it right up.” Now Matt was massaging the bridge of his nose, code for the beginnings of a headache.
“No one would say it is a convenient solution, Mathieu, to take someone in and have them live with them when they’re trying to hide how they feel.” Couldn’t he see? He couldn’t live without Mathieu, so he had to make it work.
“Exactly, perfectly right - so, so I was just going to sit down one day, maybe after some laundry and think, why, Mathieu, that whole thing would be ridiculously hard to cope with so it must mean that he’s in - in-“
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" ?/? I dunno it's finished.
anonymous
April 8 2009, 03:04:11 UTC
It was clear now; the boy had no idea. He had trusted Ivan’s word, and now the universe was falling down around him, shattering like he really had dropped all that glass. He looked so tired, the strain just between the brows, the intent profile.
“From now on you are not allowed to make any type of plans without me.” He said slowly. The fingers moved back to the bottles, arranging them all over again. “You’re terrible at it. From now on you consult me for everything.” Ivan stared more.
That was that, then. He had his answer. He should leave, leave Mathieu and get him on the next boat to enjoy relentless anguish alone and possibly with his vodka. He almost jumped out of his skin when a smooth hand rested across his knee, or was that just hope, leaping up once more.
“Ivan, if you really do - you know, about me - then. Tell me. Show me. But if you don’t, or aren’t sure yet, then just let me go.” Mathieu said, eyes shinning with untold emotion.
He practically dove at the man, trying to feel all of him at once, taking in the soft shirt up along the ribs to the soft, chin length hair. Words were so beyond him, they kept making a mess of his life, but this he could do right; he could do right by Mathieu like this. Given the chance, now, he knew it.
Mathieu touched his hair, threading his fingers through in wonderment, a lingering touch. It was how he washed his hair and the familiarity, the intimacy sent a jolt right into his chest. Fingers slide up higher, across his arms, his shoulders, sucking in his breath around Matt’s neck and feeling the responding shudder against him. The crevices and dips that tempted him daily were explored with his hands, a million little things he had to take in that he could never get out of his system. The song was louder, he could practically hum it like he did in every one of his dreams, with him and Mathieu and just a small home in a cold forest somewhere.
He laughed freely, at himself for being so thick, and the quiet but captivating and strange Mathieu. Between kisses, he could feel the sunlight of the morning growing stronger ; Ivan wanted it all, everything. “I do. I do, I am loving you.” A fraction closer, just a little bit more, to feel his mouth in hot, trembling anticipation.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" ?/? I dunno it's finished.
anonymous
April 8 2009, 03:09:31 UTC
Delighted anon has been following with bated breath, and is simultaneously gleeing in her seat and disappointed to see it end so soon, especially there. :P You did tie it off well but they were finally getting to ittt, and I've very much enjoyed this piece. ♥ Thank you for a beautifully-written look at their relationship--there needs to be more Russia/Canada out there, sigh.
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" ?/? I dunno it's finished.
anonymous
April 9 2009, 03:10:32 UTC
I stumbled upon this completely by accident, and was totally surprised that I missed seeing this request. And then I ended up getting less than desirable sleep because this fanfiction was by far the most epic thing in existence which I 100% needed to finish reading. <3
You perfectly illustrated Matthew and Ivan's interactions and how quiet and calm they can be clearly, and your writing style is detailed and amazing. Also, PLOT. DELICIOUS PLOT. And did I mention the characterizations and dialogue was perfect?
I love this fic 100%! This is among my most favorite Hetalia fanfiction now!
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" ?/? I dunno it's finished.
anonymous
April 9 2009, 03:54:14 UTC
aww glad you liked! It makes me happy to make other Ivan/Matt fans happy, so hurrah!! you're little review made me gleefull, um, and now my roommates think I'm insane but thank you so much~!
Re: Rus/Can "India's Song" ?/? I dunno it's finished.
anonymous
April 15 2009, 22:46:06 UTC
OP didn't actually think anyone would do this and apologize sincerly for taking so long to realised it was filled D:
Ohh, so wonderful~<3 It was everything anon expected and even more! I'm so in love with the way it all progressed, the relationship, and Ivan's referring thoughts just made a little Russia-reader in me happy. I'm so delighted such a talented writer took the time to do the request, really <3
“For tonight, since there is nothing else, you sleep beside me.” Ivan said, towelling his hair. He tossed it aside to the silk couch by the window, moving to the younger man. Outside there was the distant sound of revolution, and if he tried he could smell smoke on the air.
“Sir?” he said. Puzzlement was such an endearing look on him.
Ivan stalked closer now, trying to move slowly for all his desire. He was halfway there when Mathieu’s eyes narrowed, open only a fraction. Maybe he was tracking his movements from his lowered eyes, Ivan couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t moved an inch, but all of him was tense, waiting for an attack. The heaviness of fatigue seemed to have been swept clean from Mathieu’s brow, and once again his eyes were alert and mercurial, if not a little melancholy.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“There is nowhere else, you see?” He knew he was being selfish now, lethally, fatally selfish, making up excuses just so he could have this.
The room was dark and the few candles cast light across Mathieu’s tense jaw, down lowered eyelashes, the sharp line of his nose. Ivan wished he could understand being gentle, he would’ve liked to do that now, if he knew how. He’d touched people before who were uncertain of themselves, but never touched one who clearly didn’t want to be touched. He knew he was going to ruin everything, and for a fleeting moment he wished he could’ve been better somehow - nobler perhaps, noble enough to deny himself.
Ivan looked at the faint lines, laughter and pain, around that expressive mouth, looked at the veiled eyes and the pulse beating wildly at his throat.
“Back home, did you learn much?” He reached out, knuckles tracing that wild beat across slender neck.
“What?” Mathieu had no time to question more, Ivan’s mouth on his and taking all the breath out of him. He couldn’t hear anything, like a dull roar of a wind was drowning out the subtle sounds. He felt the boy shudder under his hands - revulsion, probably he couldn’t bear to see that - and pressed deeper, infiltrating the warm mouth.
Hands were trying in vain to push at his shoulders and Ivan grabbed them, pinning them back. Let me, please just let me do this he begged silently, tongue sliding across Mathieu’s teeth. He didn’t care for the protesting, the squirming, he just leaned in further, trapping the man between the wall and him. He broke for air, but immediately went to the boy’s neck, tasting the shaky heartbeat.
“What - are you, just stop-” Mathieu tried. He struggled more, harder now, understanding what was happening.
“Shh,” He said, trying viciously hard to be soothing. Ivan slid a hand under Mathieu’s flimsy shirt and caressed the warm skin at the small of his back, trying to subdue the squirming and trashing. Mathieu’s back arched against his hands, trying to get away; the touch of bare skin was already making Ivan dizzy and desperate. He could pretend Mathieu was trying to get closer.
“No!- Stop it, you can’t do this, please don’t-” Ivan kissed him again, stop saying those things little one, the strong taste of something sweet, alive in Mathieu’s mouth. The taste of him against his tongue, a shade softer than blood but just as warm. The rush of possessiveness made him hasty, the only sound now muffled exclamations and the clink of Mathieu’s belt buckle being undone.
Ivan’s hands massaged the newly exposed skin, a taunt stomach, the fine hair across his belly and lower still, finding what he wanted warm and heavy in his hand, stroking slowly. Mathieu’s mouth opened, blossom of hot wet air against his cheek. You can’t keep saying ‘no’ and ‘stop’ when you react like this, dear one. It was all some wild plot to drive him mad. He felt a slip of wetness on his hand, Mathieu’s hips rolling with the strokes now and Ivan moved a bit faster, twisting his hand slightly over the head, swallowing the tiny sounds and protests, until the rip smell of satisfaction complete and a jerky twitch of hips made them both groan.
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“Go to bed” he ordered, reaching for his vodka. The chair, probably, maybe by his jacket. He could still feel the breath on his cheek, the shaking under his fingers. Couldn’t turn around, can’t look.
Quietly, the rustle of sheets betrayed Mathieu’s movement and Ivan dared to turn around. His back was to him and he curled around the blankets, using them to cover himself, hide himself away. Ivan didn’t say a word to indicate he was there and approached the bed, sitting down heavily. Drink forgotten, he realized he was still mesmerised with desire at the body only a few feet away; this had cured nothing.
He felt disgusted, for being temped that far, drawing his knee up and pressing his forehead against it. The bells of Cathedral, though a distance of some blocks, were clear, carrying over wave after wave. The smell of burning drew nearer, and he thought about going without sleep tonight altogether, and having a punishingly cold bath.
He couldn’t fix this. There was nothing he could do, and he lay down, as far away as he could, and slept.
___
Francis took a wholly strange interest in Mathieu, just when Ivan was departing for St.Petersburg again, back to The Hermitage-Winter Palace. The day was grey though warm, and Ivan was stroking the horses’ nose before their long journey. He was keen to be going home, back to the Queen and his own room.
“You’re certain you don’t want to keep ‘em here? I am sure ve could find somet’ing for ‘eem to do.” Francis said in a thick, French-english accent. Ivan ignored him, and twisted his neck to pop the joints.
“Da, I am certain. I will be back in a few months.” Arthur kept staring at the boy, frowning, like he had seen him before but couldn’t place where.
“Well, until then Mr.Braginsky. Safe travel, god speed.” The british gentleman said, shaking his hand firmly. Even small as he was, Arthur’s conviction in his right to be as important as other nations was always something he had respected; he shook it genially.
“Da, many thanks, friends.” Climbing into the carriage with his servant, he succumbed to the silence decended upon them. It was almost an hour, a long, tense hour that seemed like a lifetime until Ivan spoke, this time in Russian.
“Some coffee, I think would be nice.” Immediately the boy started make some, the preheated water in a canteen still steaming and with beans ground earlier in the French palace this morning ; he’d miss the food. Ivan turned to watch him work, gentle hands leading to a calm, serene expression. Was he not upset, or disturbed? He knew it wasn’t a servants place to speak out of turn but Ivan longed to hear the voice, the man’s strange ideas from a strange land - he wanted to talk freely with him.
“What...I have done, it was. That is to say, I am sorry.” A good first step. Swallow his pride a bit. It didn’t help the nerves clenching at his stomach. Mathieu finally looked up from his work, blue eyes looking supremely amused.
“You’re certain?” he said, lip twitching. What was so funny about this?
“Da of course, I am ashamed at my behaviour.” Ivan said, taken aback.
“I don’t really think so, but if it’s an apology for acting rash, then I accept it.”Mathieu poured hot water steadily despite the swaying of the carriage. Again the boy captured his attention, so easily.
“You do not think I regret that?” Ivan asked, insulted.
“Not really, no. In fact, if I recall the whole problem was the possible regret didn’t outweigh the desire.” Mathieu handed him the coffee. His personality seemed so strange; meek and pleasing at once but his words were bold. Before he could thinka reply, Mathieu spoke again.
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“Go to bed” he ordered, reaching for his vodka. The chair, probably, maybe by his jacket. He could still feel the breath on his cheek, the shaking under his fingers. Couldn’t turn around, can’t look.
Quietly, the rustle of sheets betrayed Mathieu’s movement and Ivan dared to turn around. His back was to him and he curled around the blankets, using them to cover himself, hide himself away. Ivan didn’t say a word to indicate he was there and approached the bed, sitting down heavily. Drink forgotten, he realized he was still mesmerised with desire at the body only a few feet away; this had cured nothing.
He felt disgusted, for being temped that far, drawing his knee up and pressing his forehead against it. The bells of Cathedral, though a distance of some blocks, were clear, carrying over wave after wave. The smell of burning drew nearer, and he thought about going without sleep tonight altogether, and having a punishingly cold bath.
He couldn’t fix this. There was nothing he could do, and he lay down, as far away as he could, and slept.
___
Francis took a wholly strange interest in Mathieu, just when Ivan was departing for St.Petersburg again, back to The Hermitage-Winter Palace. The day was grey though warm, and Ivan was stroking the horses’ nose before their long journey. He was keen to be going home, back to the Queen and his own room.
“You’re certain you don’t want to keep ‘em here? I am sure ve could find somet’ing for ‘eem to do.” Francis said in a thick, French-english accent. Ivan ignored him, and twisted his neck to pop the joints.
“Da, I am certain. I will be back in a few months.” Arthur kept staring at the boy, frowning, like he had seen him before but couldn’t place where.
“Well, until then Mr.Braginsky. Safe travel, god speed.” The british gentleman said, shaking his hand firmly. Even small as he was, Arthur’s conviction in his right to be as important as other nations was always something he had respected; he shook it genially.
“Da, many thanks, friends.” Climbing into the carriage with his servant, he succumbed to the silence decended upon them. It was almost an hour, a long, tense hour that seemed like a lifetime until Ivan spoke, this time in Russian.
“Some coffee, I think would be nice.” Immediately the boy started make some, the preheated water in a canteen still steaming and with beans ground earlier in the French palace this morning ; he’d miss the food. Ivan turned to watch him work, gentle hands leading to a calm, serene expression. Was he not upset, or disturbed? He knew it wasn’t a servants place to speak out of turn but Ivan longed to hear the voice, the man’s strange ideas from a strange land - he wanted to talk freely with him.
“What...I have done, it was. That is to say, I am sorry.” A good first step. Swallow his pride a bit. It didn’t help the nerves clenching at his stomach. Mathieu finally looked up from his work, blue eyes looking supremely amused.
“You’re certain?” he said, lip twitching. What was so funny about this?
“Da of course, I am ashamed at my behaviour.” Ivan said, taken aback.
“I don’t really think so, but if it’s an apology for acting rash, then I accept it.”Mathieu poured hot water steadily despite the swaying of the carriage. Again the boy captured his attention, so easily.
“You do not think I regret that?” Ivan asked, insulted.
“Not really, no. In fact, if I recall the whole problem was the possible regret didn’t outweigh the desire.” Mathieu handed him the coffee. His personality seemed so strange; meek and pleasing at once but his words were bold. Before he could thinka reply, Mathieu spoke again.
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"Besides, I am just a servant, right? It has nothing to do with me.” But that was the whole problem, Ivan thought desperately, the whole problem is suddenly everything is about you.
“Then you are mistaken. It was all about you - Mathieu” here the boy looked up, startled to hear his own name, “and I am not wanting a person who only say ‘yes sir’, ‘yes sir’.” Loath as he was to admit it, that was the whole truth. He didn’t want Mathieu turning quiet on him, he had such interesting ideas.
“So what you are trying to say is in private, I am to speak freely with you?” Mathieu sat back, a little closer to Ivan this time.
“Yes, in private.” A particular bump made some drink spill onto the floor, but he ignored it. Mathieu turned his head, tilting it back a little to look up at him. From this angle his eyes seemed clearer again, freshwater from a river.
“In that case, I must confess I find your sexual preferences bizarre and distressing” Mathieu told him, solemn.
“Now now, you understand that you are very striking man, yes?” He didn’t miss the small blush, or smile on Mathieu’s face.
“I suppose that’s a kind way of putting it. Are we going to the place where you live?”
Ivan nodded, the rest of the ride spent a few hours telling him about the winter palace, it’s warm and welcoming extravagance, and about Russia. The more he spoke of it, the more wistful Mathieu seemed to get.
“It reminds me of my home” He said, watching the sun set. They were nearer to the palace now, and there was still snow on the ground that hadn’t melted under warming weather. “The snow, the expanse of it. You would like to come with me sometime, I am sure you would like it. Men are freer there than anywhere I have seen here.”
“I am interested, of course. We can go there, if I am permitted so.” He felt peaceful, even the swaying of the cart now familiar and comforting. When they stopped, he climbed out, helping Mathieu out as well. Ivan took a deep breath of crisp air and felt infinitely better already.
“Sometimes I wish I never had to leave this place.” He said.
“Well if it makes you feel better, I could throw cold water on you periodically.” Mathieu teased, helping with the luggage. Ivan laughed loudly, helplessly pleased now.
“That is not what I was thinking of, maybe-” He was interrupted by the swishing of heavy chiffon and silk, a gloved hand resting on his arm and the curve of painted lips. Immediately he knelt, and kissed the hand.
“My lady, Elizabeth” he said, smiling. She reminded him so much of her grandfather, Peter. Her peaceful attitude and humility gave her a good rule over her people.
“Paris, Ivan, really now. I was expecting something a bit classier. Are they still in revolt? The French never could keep an eye on their own people. Well come on in, what are you still kneeling in the snow for it’s cold, foolish boy.” She bustled over to the porters carrying luggage, and to Mathieu. At him, she stopped, and looked over her shoulder.
“Ivan! No, really? I didn’t think you had it in you.” Her cloying, innocent manner almost fooled him, but he smiled, rising to his feet.
“I am thinking he would be a good friend, good worker. He came from the new world, yes? He has told many interesting things.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, tapping them gently. “Is that so - just today envoys from Spain made a great fuss over what they had found. All this commotion has me wondering if Russia shouldn’t take some interest. Well come inside, if the man has some stories I’d like to hear them.” Her and the ladies in waiting all turned back up the palace steps, guards following them like faithful shadows, back to the warmth inside.
Mathieu walked up to Ivan slowly, awed by the palace. “This - this is your home?” He seemed so intimidated, I van laughed again. “Da, this is home. Come inside, my queen is right, it is getting cold out.”
“Well bloody right it is, it’s still snowing. What is it, May still? Who lives in a place like this.”
Today was a good day.
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Even several years later, the peace inside Ivan was rarely disturbed, and he felt optimistic about Elizabeth’s reign. The succession had been a commotion but the people liked her well enough, and her policies put the Russian’s first, for once. The only violent incident had been in revolt to get her to the throne, incidentally. Ivan had no control over the violence in his people and thus, sometimes, none over himself. When he made to strike one of the cooks though, Mathieu was there, grabbing his arms and pulling him close, trying to sooth the agitation. He had nearly hit him too, hoping the man would fight back, that he could fight.
He didn’t, and Ivan was grateful. He could trust him, with every side of himself; the dark, the disturbed, the violent but the childishly happy as well - The Canadian (as he found out later) accepted in stride every inch of it.
The mornings were nice. Ivan couldn’t pretend everything was simple, because now he couldn’t stand to have Mathieu around him when he bathed, and touching him was volatile in its own right. When they walked together, Mathieu kept himself hidden so the staff all thought Ivan was talking to himself and utterly mental, which wasn’t really a significant change in their views.
Sometimes when Ivan was up hours early with the mind-numbing treaties and papers to read, and Mathieu was fast asleep on the couch, he would lean over and brush some hair out of his face, as gently as he knew how. Ivan tried to rationalize it - he’d be more comfortable that way, it made him feel better, stilled the wild urge to do something.
Mathieu never had to know.
Fate of course had it that only Elizabeth, the one person who shouldn’t have noticed, who clearly had better things to do, was the one who did. She had just enough authority and sass to talk to Ivan about it on top of that. She sent the ladies away one morning, and asked the guards to step outside the door.
“Ivan, to be a decent ruler I have to understand not just what is happening in the far corners of our kingdom, but also what is going on right under my nose.” She bit into tea biscuit, slathered with jam. Ivan stirred the coffee more intently.
“Majesty I am not sure-“
“Oh, cut the ‘you’re majesty’ Ivan, we have known each other since I was a girl. What I am asking about is this little problem you have; with the servant, your friend, Mathieu.” She had a nearly wicked look in her eyes. She knows Ivan thought, panicked, she absolutely knows what the problem is.That hussy.
“I. That is, I am not sure. What is it exactly that you are asking, m’lady?” That was about as informal as he could force himself to be. The dining room seemed too hot; maybe they had started the fires early today. She sighed, leaning on the table with her elbow.
“Ivan, dear, we both know what is going on. You stay up late at night, pacing the halls and disturbing the servants when he isn’t around. You trouble others with your brash words and irresponsible behaviour if he’s sick or ill. Whenever he’s in the room I can tell you aren’t listening to the envoys, you have eyes for only him, and you even dare to keep him in your personal quarters.” She sat back, pleased as a cat with cream to see Ivan’s pale and tense face.
“This boy has taken over your whole life, as if you have forgotten who you are working for. “ Ivan tried to say something then, that he was trying hard and he could do better, but she held up her hand.
“And that, little one, is a wonderful thing. “ He kept staring. She’d lost him.
“Do you want me to tell you something really rebellious? Love is actually everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so inclined to be pessimistic about it. Against all odds it is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.” She dabs her mouth, standing daintily. Ivan follows as an afterthought, stunned into silence.
“I trust you’ll take care of this?”
“O-of course. It won’t be in the way anymore” he promised. Love. That word kept echoing around and around until it was all he could hear, long after she’d gone.
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This little anon is head over heels in love with this fic, and not an ounce ashamed to admit it. The details can be heavy but they help to craft a richly interesting story, and I love the way your Ivan perceives and reacts to Matthew. This is beautiful so far; can't wait for more. ♥ *F5F5F5*
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Love.
She’s gone mad, absolutely batty. Well there was attraction, certainly. But Matt was perpetually a little late doing chores and he kept slipping facts about proper butchery that made Ivan squeamish. Once he’d been told to go undercover in the Austrian court (not so clever now, Roderich), and came back humming inane songs (damn you, Roderich) that drove the whole palace quietly mad and he often wandered around in clothes from his homeland, totally undeterred by all the harrying looks it attracted. Ivan was trying desperately to keep the entire population at peace with Elizabeth and Mathieu could be distracted from the mass casualties by a rumour that coffee running low.
He nearly bumped into the man himself and froze, like he could read his thoughts or something.
“I know you’ve been having trouble with that - what’s his face, that man from Spain, he keeps buggering up opinions in the court - and I have the solution. I’m pretty sure since he isn’t married and doesn’t keep a lady around, that you should just hire a prostitute. I bet you could even charge the expenses to the queen.”
“What,” said Ivan, “What.” Mathieu’s eyes were changing hues with mirth, and Ivan tried to squash the rising joy he felt with them.
“No? Why, you think he’s more wild than that?” Mathieu tried, walking in synch with Ivan.
“I- no. Just, be quiet for a second.”
“Actually I think I saw him giving you the eye. I think you should try and swing that, you know, unless he’s too much man for you.” The gentleman in question is rather portly and elderly, so the image of him nude made his lip curl.
“I can’t believe you won’t stop talking about this.” But he was smiling, no hiding it. Despite all his strange quirks, Mathieu treated him like an equal and demanded the same. Quiet and meek though he was, he wasn’t that scared of him, and Ivan was no longer afraid of breaking his spirit with words or opinions that he couldn’t express to anyone else.
Mathieu had walked back to their shared rooms and began heating water. Pollution hung in the sky above - cigar smoke drifting in from the east docks, with their dank corners. Sea stories, Ivan knew. He circled his room again, taking in the inexpensive look of foreign things he picked up over the years. He had always liked the flawed things best, items through which use produced beauty. Charms that were not a perfection of craft, but warped by nature or neglect - they turned into singular, remarkable creatures. The city was awash in little universes, and he studied a new one daily; all tucked away on shelves or windows in his room. The bath in his quarters was little more than a shallow, metal basin, not enough to really sink into but it was nice to rinse in through the quiet mornings. Mathieu was heating the water in his fireplace, pouring it into the basin.
“Ivan, you know that sooner or later I’ll have to go back to my people. Now that you know I’m one, like you.” He trailed off. What a discovery that had been - an accidental kitchen disaster that should’ve killed him, only left him with a few stitches and a sour disposition for possibly an hour. Yes, Ivan was well aware.
“I know, but so soon. You’ll let me visit you, yes?” He sat down, entranced by the nape of his neck, the slight scent coming from it.
“No absolutely not. Well of course you can Ivan, I hold nothing against you.” He swished the water, making sure it was the right temperature. Ivan could still taste the wilderness from their kisses in France, and that song kept looping in his brain, no words just a tune, mindless and pleasant.
“Soon?” He questioned again.
“Unfortunately, yes. I have been gone too long, I can feel it. Besides, you don’t really need my anymore. You never did.” A ghostly smile, faint and not quite there, passed his lips. Pale light coming in through curtains made it all the sweeter; Ivan wished he could fix that, bring back the smile that was real. It was unacceptable, the urge to just leap across the space between them - it could have been so easy, he had long legs and Mathieu was kneeling, awaiting instruction.
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Mathieu looked up again, clear eyes determined and hard. Ivan held on, braced himself, even tighter.
“I will be leaving soon. Before the end of spring. Okay?”
He gritted his teeth; this was his choice, he had no right to interfere, to tell him to stay. “Da. Okay.” He answered hoarsely.
“Okay” Mathieu repeated. “Okay. Excellent, it’s settled.” He rose to go to the cabinets, pulling out scented oils and soaps from Paris, something for the hair, the feet, the skin, the heart; a little budding alchemist in his own right.
“We can forget this and just move on.” The voice sounded so sad, so pleading. How is this the right choice, it felt like he was breaking in two. “It’s not like you’re in love with me,” he added, and managed to laugh at that, the notion supremely ridiculous, too absurd ever hold water.
Ivan lifted his eyes from the floors.
“But - I am. That is my problem, Mathieu. I am.” Anger, he was so angry; mostly at being helpless, knowing that this wasn’t going to change facts. He couldn’t look straight up, he’s never said something like that in his whole life; either he was flying or he was falling but right now, he was in limbo awaiting his fate.
“You. You - you’re sure?” The voice was colourless.
“Da I am, I think I am. I just - well. I am sure about how I feel, but this was not what I was expecting, I thought it would be different somehow. Like how it is in those Parisian novels, or such. This is coming out wrong.”
“When you find it, this delicate, Parisian style world, will you forget me?” Now the voice was shaking, he could hear the tremble of glass - so close to being broken. Ivan grabbed the back of his own neck, just to stop himself from lashing out. He finally looked back up at Matt, like he always did, couldn’t really go five minutes without having to see him.
“No. No, Mathieu I am not forgetting. Even if - the point is, I would still want you. Want you more, more than all of that.”
Mathieu slowly put the bottles down, arranging them in alphabetical order, gaze lost somewhere else.
“And when were you planning on telling me this?” It was back, that harmony in his voice, such a terrible relief to hear the lilting speech again.
“I thought- not that night, but, since then. I thought it was clear, obvious. You were always more important.”
“Oh-” Mathieu clicked his tongue, throwing his arms down to this side. “You were not clear Ivan, you giant raving lunatic of a man. You kept - pushing me away, trying to avoid me, I thought it was a burden. You said that night was a mistake!” Now he was cornered; he had said that it was an urge and he was sorry and never again.
“But then, then I had no idea. I didn’t know - well I did actually, but right then I couldn’t be sure.”
“So this was your master plan? Have me live with you, and that should clear it right up.” Now Matt was massaging the bridge of his nose, code for the beginnings of a headache.
“No one would say it is a convenient solution, Mathieu, to take someone in and have them live with them when they’re trying to hide how they feel.” Couldn’t he see? He couldn’t live without Mathieu, so he had to make it work.
“Exactly, perfectly right - so, so I was just going to sit down one day, maybe after some laundry and think, why, Mathieu, that whole thing would be ridiculously hard to cope with so it must mean that he’s in - in-“
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It was clear now; the boy had no idea. He had trusted Ivan’s word, and now the universe was falling down around him, shattering like he really had dropped all that glass. He looked so tired, the strain just between the brows, the intent profile.
“From now on you are not allowed to make any type of plans without me.” He said slowly. The fingers moved back to the bottles, arranging them all over again. “You’re terrible at it. From now on you consult me for everything.” Ivan stared more.
That was that, then. He had his answer. He should leave, leave Mathieu and get him on the next boat to enjoy relentless anguish alone and possibly with his vodka. He almost jumped out of his skin when a smooth hand rested across his knee, or was that just hope, leaping up once more.
“Ivan, if you really do - you know, about me - then. Tell me. Show me. But if you don’t, or aren’t sure yet, then just let me go.” Mathieu said, eyes shinning with untold emotion.
He practically dove at the man, trying to feel all of him at once, taking in the soft shirt up along the ribs to the soft, chin length hair. Words were so beyond him, they kept making a mess of his life, but this he could do right; he could do right by Mathieu like this. Given the chance, now, he knew it.
Mathieu touched his hair, threading his fingers through in wonderment, a lingering touch. It was how he washed his hair and the familiarity, the intimacy sent a jolt right into his chest. Fingers slide up higher, across his arms, his shoulders, sucking in his breath around Matt’s neck and feeling the responding shudder against him. The crevices and dips that tempted him daily were explored with his hands, a million little things he had to take in that he could never get out of his system. The song was louder, he could practically hum it like he did in every one of his dreams, with him and Mathieu and just a small home in a cold forest somewhere.
He laughed freely, at himself for being so thick, and the quiet but captivating and strange Mathieu. Between kisses, he could feel the sunlight of the morning growing stronger ; Ivan wanted it all, everything. “I do. I do, I am loving you.” A fraction closer, just a little bit more, to feel his mouth in hot, trembling anticipation.
“I do.”
_________________________fin.
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Just... brilliant and beautiful. This is the first time I've actually liked a serious!Russia portrayal. Much love for this story, anon! So much love
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And then I ended up getting less than desirable sleep because this fanfiction was by far the most epic thing in existence which I 100% needed to finish reading. <3
You perfectly illustrated Matthew and Ivan's interactions and how quiet and calm they can be clearly, and your writing style is detailed and amazing. Also, PLOT. DELICIOUS PLOT. And did I mention the characterizations and dialogue was perfect?
I love this fic 100%! This is among my most favorite Hetalia fanfiction now!
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Ohh, so wonderful~<3 It was everything anon expected and even more! I'm so in love with the way it all progressed, the relationship, and Ivan's referring thoughts just made a little Russia-reader in me happy. I'm so delighted such a talented writer took the time to do the request, really <3
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