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Masterlist of KinksOkay, let's make history and be more epic than
these people, shall we?
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"--Attacked me," finished Russia, the beast within him rising once more. But he removed his arm, which was a start.
"Yeah. So I guess we've both got a reason to hate him, don't we," said Prussia warmly, feeling himself slip back into his own element as he began trying to casually extricate his frozen legs from under Russia. "And I mean, with him losing and running off and all, that practically makes us allies now, doesn't it?"
Russia frowned and made no move to get off him. "Allies," he mumbled, trying the word out on his own tongue.
"Exactly. Froggy bastard won't know what hit him when we're through with him. But before that," he added smoothly (as smoothly as he could with his teeth chattering like that), "if you'd just let me, I dunno, go back home and rest up a bit and get something to eat, y'know, since there's nothing here..."
"I burned the fields," said Russia softly, and Prussia slowed his careful inching escape in precaution. "I had to. So he could not use them. I thought it would stop him coming in."
Prussia watched Russia's face carefully for signs of danger, keeping a wary eye on where his very recent foe had laid down the rock just in case. "Well, it definitely stopped a lot of his guys going out," he ventured. He turned his head to look at the few black skeletal trees still standing around them. "What used to grow here, anyway?"
"People."
Prussia held very still, now.
Russia looked around, dazed, lost, snow lifting from his matted hair in disoriented wisps as his head moved. "People grew here, and in Smolensk, and Borodino, and Moscow..."
"I'm sorry about Moscow," said Prussia, nearly sincerely.
Russia didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he watched the landscape some more, one hand reaching up to paw vaguely at the soot-smeared cloth of his coat on his own chest. "It must frustrate," he said softly, "to capture someone's heart, and find it empty." He looked at Prussia again now and smiled brokenly, blood flowing freshly as chapped lips cracked anew. "But it was not his. And it won't be. Not ever." The twisted satisfaction flittered from his face and was replaced with something approaching mild concern. "Is it cold?" he asked, letting his hand fall.
"Fuckin' freezing," admitted Prussia, who had decided that terminal frostbite was not, in fact, worth more than his pride. "So like I said, if you could just maybe get off me and let me go, I'll--"
He was cut off by Russia's full weight being thrown upon him once more. For a split second, he was sure he'd gone too far, sure Russia was going to try and pick up where they had left off earlier, and his hand groped blindly for the rock...but then something very strange happened. In a motion so fluid he barely had time to register it, Russia opened his scuffed overcoat and wrapped it around the two of them, pulling Prussia close in an impossibly insistent hold and covering him as completely as he could.
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Russia's grip (embrace?) tightened as he leaned his head down further, enduring as promised. "France will fall," he whispered in Prussia's ear, somehow audible over the gale.
And as his hands clenched and unclenched before him in ever more confident motions and his head filled itself with strategy after brilliant strategy, Prussia grinned in the dark.
"Like a fucking house of cards," he answered, relishing the thought.
Russia, he thought. Sounds like Prussia. And exactly why that was and whether or not it should be the other way around didn't matter in the slightest, because either way it sounded like revenge, and that was a sweet sound indeed.
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I can't wait to see what happens when the crazy duo double-team France.
"What used to grow here, anyway?"
"People."
Why did I find that sad yet hilarious at the same time?
I'm a bad person.
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I love this pairing so much.
Thank you author anon.
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russia was so cute
and crazy
the two go hand in hand sometimes
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