In order to celebrate HETALIA'S anime adaptation. AXIS POWERS HETALIA KINK MEME
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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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“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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