Sweet Nothings - Part [1/?]
anonymous
May 31 2009, 21:27:17 UTC
Not the anon who offered to do it at first xD;
It ended up a bit more emotional and crap and I'm sorry for the crazy changing tenses and stuff, but writing it in the early morning isn't good. I think. And I'm still in the process of writing it. And if I get something wrong with the romanizations, uh, um. I don't speak Russian? ;_;
first time filling a request, ever /o/ whee.
--
Their breaths evened out.
The ceiling is so, so white. Russia really only starts talking when he moves to dim the lights - but they really should have done it even before they started. The older nation murmurs something above his ear, and nudges his nose against the curve of the shell; a hand was behind America's head and his body was sprawled half on the blond - he knew the younger nation doesn't mind the weight. Then he moves again, and his lips draw closer to his ear,
"ты мой."
All America could do was chew the inside of his cheek in idleness. The haze of the afterglow dimmed his sensibilities, so the words came off as gibberish to him - but he could still catch half of what Russia murmurs next.
"- dorogoy."
There it is. What is that?
What is -
The places where Russia's body was pressed against America's - they were warm. Where they did not touch, they were a few degrees cooler. America reaches out for the comforter, a foot away, promptly covering the both of them before Russia's skin would make him shiver if he shifted.
Russia rumbled a quiet thank you, roughened by exhaustion. It had been a long day - they didn't talk much when they proceeded to the room earlier, and it has been quite a while, he hasn't seen America much lately since they were so busy these days; a very trying matter...
"You say thank you just fine, but what the hell do you mumble about every single time, in that Russian of yours?" America asks suddenly, almost too fast, jerking Russia out from his quiet lull even when America struggled to keep his voice low. His voice fostered no malice, simply curiosity and a tinge of something Russia couldn't quite place. He filed it as exhaustion as well. "Hey, answer the question and don't fall asleep. You do that every time I ask."
Russia chuckled.
"Whatever you think of them to be is what they are," he responded, and the air from his mouth curled around America's neck.
There was quite a long pause. Russia sounds as if he is about to go to sleep again, but he really is waiting for America's words. He has perfected the art of faking his sleep - so he knows America thinks he is dead to the world.
And since he has perfected it, he has his eyes close shut, and since he cannot see, he doesn't notice the way America's baby blues were a bit too bright, for a moment when his fingers twitched slightly.
What is -
America laughs lightly, shaking his head as he shifted, and Russia's previously untouched skin was cold against America's. He doesn't register this.
"I said don't fall asleep, jerk. Well, if I'm gonna guess - like what I already know - you're, calling me something that'll probably make me punch you in the face tomorrow morning -- not right now though, since I'm too lazy to move," he guessed, and there was probably a dismissing laugh in between those words. "But I just wanna know what you're mumbling about, exactly. Uh. I promise I won't get mad no matter what it is?"
Russia couldn't help it - his lips brushed against America's hair when he smiled.
"Very good deduction, Alfred." He sighed, serene smile ever present. "You are, of course, right."
"So you're really are calling me a dirty whore or something worse every time."
It wasn't a question - no matter, because Russia felt no need to correct him.
"I am a bit more creative than that, rest assured." He sighed, shifting closer and tucking Alfred's head under his chin. "Sleep, solnyshko."
America grunted. He'll probably never remember the term because Russia's pronunciation of his own words was hard to grasp, even in English phonetics - maybe in Cyrillic, yes, but he doesn't know the letters at all.
Not the anon who offered to do it at first xD;
It ended up a bit more emotional and crap and I'm sorry for the crazy changing tenses and stuff, but writing it in the early morning isn't good. I think. And I'm still in the process of writing it. And if I get something wrong with the romanizations, uh, um. I don't speak Russian? ;_;
first time filling a request, ever /o/ whee.
--
Their breaths evened out.
The ceiling is so, so white. Russia really only starts talking when he moves to dim the lights - but they really should have done it even before they started. The older nation murmurs something above his ear, and nudges his nose against the curve of the shell; a hand was behind America's head and his body was sprawled half on the blond - he knew the younger nation doesn't mind the weight. Then he moves again, and his lips draw closer to his ear,
"ты мой."
All America could do was chew the inside of his cheek in idleness. The haze of the afterglow dimmed his sensibilities, so the words came off as gibberish to him - but he could still catch half of what Russia murmurs next.
"- dorogoy."
There it is. What is that?
What is -
The places where Russia's body was pressed against America's - they were warm. Where they did not touch, they were a few degrees cooler. America reaches out for the comforter, a foot away, promptly covering the both of them before Russia's skin would make him shiver if he shifted.
Russia rumbled a quiet thank you, roughened by exhaustion. It had been a long day - they didn't talk much when they proceeded to the room earlier, and it has been quite a while, he hasn't seen America much lately since they were so busy these days; a very trying matter...
"You say thank you just fine, but what the hell do you mumble about every single time, in that Russian of yours?" America asks suddenly, almost too fast, jerking Russia out from his quiet lull even when America struggled to keep his voice low. His voice fostered no malice, simply curiosity and a tinge of something Russia couldn't quite place. He filed it as exhaustion as well. "Hey, answer the question and don't fall asleep. You do that every time I ask."
Russia chuckled.
"Whatever you think of them to be is what they are," he responded, and the air from his mouth curled around America's neck.
There was quite a long pause. Russia sounds as if he is about to go to sleep again, but he really is waiting for America's words. He has perfected the art of faking his sleep - so he knows America thinks he is dead to the world.
And since he has perfected it, he has his eyes close shut, and since he cannot see, he doesn't notice the way America's baby blues were a bit too bright, for a moment when his fingers twitched slightly.
What is -
America laughs lightly, shaking his head as he shifted, and Russia's previously untouched skin was cold against America's. He doesn't register this.
"I said don't fall asleep, jerk. Well, if I'm gonna guess - like what I already know - you're, calling me something that'll probably make me punch you in the face tomorrow morning -- not right now though, since I'm too lazy to move," he guessed, and there was probably a dismissing laugh in between those words. "But I just wanna know what you're mumbling about, exactly. Uh. I promise I won't get mad no matter what it is?"
Russia couldn't help it - his lips brushed against America's hair when he smiled.
"Very good deduction, Alfred." He sighed, serene smile ever present. "You are, of course, right."
"So you're really are calling me a dirty whore or something worse every time."
It wasn't a question - no matter, because Russia felt no need to correct him.
"I am a bit more creative than that, rest assured." He sighed, shifting closer and tucking Alfred's head under his chin. "Sleep, solnyshko."
America grunted. He'll probably never remember the term because Russia's pronunciation of his own words was hard to grasp, even in English phonetics - maybe in Cyrillic, yes, but he doesn't know the letters at all.
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