In order to celebrate HETALIA'S anime adaptation. AXIS POWERS HETALIA KINK MEME
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Okay, let's make history and be more epic than these people, shall we?
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When Ivan found Edouard in the library, he lingered to watch him for a while before he went to the boy. His lightly shod feet betrayed hardly any sound, and he stood beside the Baltic brother for a moment, staring over his shoulder, before he curiously asked, “What are you doing, Eesti?”
Edouard jumped violently in his chair, rotated and nearly fell. His glasses went askew. Ivan smiled at him gently, and reached down to fix Edouard’s glasses; Edouard beat him to it, clearing his throat softly and running a hand through his hair.
Quietly, his shoulders trembling a little, Edouard said, “I’ve, uh. I’ve been studying your language a little. To remind myself of the syntax and such.”
“Ah!” Ivan leaned over Edouard’s shoulder and poked at one of his books. He wondered, when he turned and smiled at the Baltic, why Edouard was shaking almost like his little brother now. “You will learn nothing from books, Eesti. You are needing real teaching!”
“Real teaching?” Edouard asked as Ivan moved away to the other side of his table and sat down.
“Конечно.” Ivan beamed at the little Baltic, reaching across the table and shutting the largest of Edouard’s dictionaries. “What are you needing to know, маленький брат?”
“Ah, well,” Edouard began, scratching at the side of his face, shuffling through his papers like the bookworm he’d always been. After a moment, Ivan chuckled and grabbed Edouard’s hands. They were shaking still. He stroked his palm over the top of Edouard’s left hand and smiled at him.
“Do not look to the books, Eesti. What do you want to be saying?”
“Well,” Edouard murmured, and swallowed, and then said, “Well, good morning and how are you and that sort of thing would be nice.”
“Привет,” Ivan said, slow and soft. Edouard blinked at him. Ivan kept smiling, and turned the edge of his finger to the back of Edouard’s hand. He traced the cyrillic of the word as he said it again, “Привет.”
“P-privet,” Edouard stumbled. The words he’d learned before, years ago, still seem foreign and difficult for him. Not at all like Finland’s rolling lilts that are shared inside his own borders. Ivan traces the cyrillic again as he nods, smiling, looking almost like he might be proud.
“That is not so hard, сейчас это?”
“I, I suppose not.” Ivan traced the cyrillic of the words he’d said, and Edouard bit his lip after a moment of that, shuffling about on his seat. Ivan smiled at him after a moment, then leaned over the table a bit.
He whispered across the table, like they were school children together or something, “I can teach you to say things that your Lietuvos might catch you for, but not anyone else.”
“Things?” Edouard murmured back. His glasses had slid down his nose, and Ivan reached across the table to push them back up. “Things like what?”
“No telling,” Ivan said, and smiled, tapping the end of Edouard’s nose gently. Edouard reacted as though it were a strike, pulling back more abruptly than seemed truly necessary, though Ivan supposed it had been a bit sudden of him. “Say after me, then, like this: Сегодняшние мудак является Польша.”
“Sego. Gotten. Josh, nay...”
“No, no,” Ivan bustled, and smiled, and said very slowly, “Сегодняшние.”
Edouard furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched up his face, and spat it out as “Say god an josh nay.”
“Сего,” Ivan began, more firm now. “Дня. Щние.”
“Sego,” Edouard began uncertainly, then chewed his lip and stuttered, “D-denja-”
“Дня, Eesti. Дня.”
“Dnja,” Edouard finally managed to grapple. Ivan lifted his hands from Edouard’s and clapped them together once, that proud look back in his eyes. Edouard smiled a little, and struggled with the final bit.
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“Sh-sh-.”
“Щние.”
“Shnie.”
“Now together,” Ivan prompted, collecting Edouard’s hands again and drawing them up off the table.
Edouard, not so confidently, murmured, “Segodnjashnie.” Ivan kissed the knuckles of Edouard’s left hand, smiling confidently.
“And the rest, маленький брат?”
“I,” Edouard began, then looked down at his books and his papers and said, “I don’t remember.”
“Мудак является Польша.”
“Pol’sha,” Edouard murmured softly at his books, the looked up and quietly questioned, “What are we calling Poland? I think Toris might object if we call-”
“I told you, Lietuvous would not care for this.” Under Ivan’s hold, Edouard’s fingers trembled for a moment, then stopped. Ivan smiled at the boy. “Can you say the words?”
“Mudak,” Edouard began, than faltered on the second word. After a moment, he dropped it entirely and concluded darkly, “Pol’sha.”
“Является,” Ivan said, firm and harder now. “Явл. Яетс. Я.”
“Javl,” Edouard whispered, then, “Jaetsja.”
“And all of it?”
“Segodnjashnie mudak javljaetsja Pol’sha.”
Ivan grinned at him, and after a moment, Edouard smiled back shyly.
“Very good.” Ivan stood then, and said, “Next time, I will be teaching you something more useful.” And he left Edouard with that thought.
It was a week before Ivan found Edouard in the library again, this time with his language dictionaries and a map of cyrillic in comparison to latin. Ivan walked to Edouard’s table, and this time spoke before he reached him, so Edouard only jumped slightly.
“Добрый день, Eesti. Как дела?”
“Uh,” Edouard stumbled, and adjusted his glasses a moment as he looked through his papers. Ivan cupped his chin gently and turned his attention away from the papers and books.
“Eesti?”
“Uh,” Edouard said again, and shut his eyes, and blustered out, “Dobryj den', Rossija. Ja v porjadke.”
“You are improving!” Ivan proclaimed, and bent to kiss Edouard’s forehead. When he pulled away, Edouard’s cheeks were pink and he turned almost instantly back to his papers and books. Ivan leaned over his shoulder to look at the words he was writing.
After a moment, he chuckled next to Edouard’s ear, and pointed the piece of paper before him. “You have used ‘a’ here. It should be ‘и.”
“I, really? But, in this one-” He grabbed for one of the books, biting his lip, but Ivan grabbed his wrist and brought it back gently.
“Поверьте мне, Eesti,” Ivan said, still close to Edouard’s ear. Edouard’s cheek was warm against his, and the Baltic shifted slightly in his chair. “Shall I be teaching you this, too?”
“Cyrillic?” Edouard murmured after a moment of silence.
“To know the words,” Ivan whispered, leaning his head against Edouard’s and touching his shoulders gently, “you must know the letters. Come.”
Edouard came slowly out of the chair, and stepped with Ivan toward the middle of the library. Ivan sat on the ground, pulling Edouard down next to him.
When Ivan reached for the buttons on Edouard’s shirt, Edouard flinched and held very still. His voice shook. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you cyrillic,” Ivan said, rolling his eyes slightly. He tapped Edouard’s nose lightly, smiling, as he untucked the boy’s shirt and began unbuttoning it. When Edouard’s hands came up, pausing Ivan’s momentarily, Ivan laughed gently, and said, “Do not be worried, мало другу. This is how I taught Ukraina.”
The shirt slipped off Edouard’s shoulders then, and Ivan stared at the paleness of his chest, the vague shaking of his muscles under the skin. The pink of his nipples barely stood out against the color of his flesh. Ivan ran a hand over Edouard’s chest and smiled slightly when he shivered and exhaled softly. Slowly, he pushed Edouard to the floor.
“Ah, you have... A pen? Do you have one?”
“Oh,” Edouard mumbled after a second, and sat up. Ivan pushed him back down with a hand on his forehead, and Edouard said with some defeat, “On the desk, next to the composition book. Don’t spill the ink, please.”
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Ivan dipped the pen into the ink, tapped the quill twice, and then brought it to Edouard’s chest. The ink left one perfect round spot that sat for a moment then slid down to the well of Edouard’s collarbone as Ivan said, “Обратите внимание.”
Edouard inhaled and made a slight noise of discomfort as Ivan began. He said each letter as he write it, first in the lower case, then the upper directly below it, nestled close between Edouard’s nipples: “А. Б. В. Г. Д. Е. Ё. Ж. З. И. Й. К. Л. М. Н. О. П. Р. С. Т. У. Ф. Х. Ц. Ч. Ш. Щ. Ъ. Ы. Ь. Э. Ю. Я.”
Each time Ivan drew the pen away to replenish the ink, Edouard breathed deep from his belly. His chest didn’t move, and by the time Ivan wrote the thirty-second letter, the first ones were dry.
Ivan dipped the pen into the pot and left it there for a moment. His hands went to Edouard’s belt, and Edouard’s hands flew up to cover his face. For a moment, Ivan stared at him, fingers posed with the belt half pulled. Then, slowly, he smoothed his hands down the fronts of either leg of Edouard’s slacks. Softly, he said, “Another time,” then pulled the pen out again.
He curled around Edouard, took his hand, and wrote the word for it across the heel of Edouard’s palm. Edouard shivered.
“Say it, Eesti.”
“I,” Edouard began, then swallowed and cleared his throat and began again, “I can’t.”
“I have written you the letters, Eesti, and told you how to say them. What is the word?”
“Hand,” Edouard tried.
Ivan wrote over the word again, pressing the quill a bit harder than before. “In my language.”
“Uh, it says. It says... Ruka, it says ruka.”
“Oчень хорошо.” Ivan wrote on Edouard’s ring finger then, and asked, “And this?”
“It says,” Edouard whispered, eyes shut and brows furrowed. “Palec.”
In the crook of his elbow, Edouard repeated the word, “Lokot’.” On his bicep he said, “Ruku,” and on his shoulder he said, “Plecho.”
On his throat, Edouard stuttered, but the ink didn’t smear as he said, “Sheja.” On his cheek and nose and lip he stuttered a giggle and said, “Lico, nos and rot.”
Above the waist of his slacks, Ivan wrote the word, and waited for Edouard to confusedly say, “Petuh” before drawing an arrow from Edouard’s navel to his beltline. Edouard’s cheeks went darkly pink, and Ivan said toward his belly as he filled the pen, “It is good to know this word.”
Beneath Edouard’s ribs, Ivan wrote and Edouard whispered, “Zhivot.” Over Edouard’s right nipple-and just to watch the boy writhe slightly, he circled it twice with the pen after he’d finished-he wrote and Edouard said, “Grud’.”
And over Edouard’s heart, Ivan wrote with a heavy hand, Союз Советских Социалистических Республик, and then beneath that, in slightly more cramped letters, he wrote, Эстонская Советская Социалистическая Республика.
Edouard lay very still, breathing deeply.
“What does it say, Eesti?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Ivan put the pen in the inkpot, then looked back at Edouard. Edouard was looking away from him, and Ivan smiled as he put his hands on Edouard’s sides and drew them up. On his chest, they smeared the still-wet ink. Edouard shut his eyes when Ivan cradled his cheeks and held his head straight.
“What did it say, Eesti?”
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Ivan kissed him then, cradling his cheeks and smearing the words on his face and lips, tasting the ink on his tongue. Edouard tensed instantly, and his hands came to Ivan’s shoulders, little fists pressed against him but not doing anything.
After a moment, Ivan pulled away. Edouard looked off to the side, his glasses askew, the ink smeared on his cheek and nose and mouth, on his neck and chest. Still, his skin was so pale underneath. Ivan ran a hand down from Edouard’s cheek to his neck, to his unmarked shoulder and arm, and watched the ink that was still on his hand smear over the soft skin.
He stood then, and stared down at Edouard, who slowly looked up at him. After a moment, Ivan smiled, and told him, “Next time I will teach you something more useful.” He left Edouard with that thought.
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Erm.
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. That was... :D Thank you! And Estonia's there, too! :D :D :D :D Большое спасибо! (Is that right??? ._. )
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sadh?
Sorry. I'm incoherent. You just. I love how you make Ivan talk. I LOVE IT. You're Ivan is my favorite because of how to make his dialogue so ... nice... good ... askdjhlasudhas
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When г is by itself it is pronounced as a hard g. When it is in the construction "его", it is pronounced as a v. This is because "yeh-g-oh" is much harder than "yeh-v-oh", and его is a verrry common Russian construction. That my explain why poor Edouard was finding it so difficult!
Otherwise and actually fic-related: eeh! Utter language kink! Thanks!
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