Stay [Estonia/Russia]
Apr. 17th, 2010 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Stay
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/Russia
Rating: 18+ for sex and consensual breath play
Length: 820
Summary: These moments were strange, but these moments were theirs.
Other: Written for the Hetalia kink meme. (Original post).
Stay
The setting sun made its way through the open window, the light thick as honey, painting all that it touched turned yellow-orange. Where its fingertips did not reach, long shadows lingered, growing steadily longer. As night slowly fell the scent of flowers was heavy in the air and crickets could be heard chirping in the grass outside.
The rays of light filtering in through the window rendered the bedroom a mix of light and dark. Estonia sat on the edge of the bed and looked inward toward the shadowy doorway. He watched as a jacket was shrugged from broad shoulders and hung on a peg on the back of the door. The scarf followed. On hot summer days like that one Russia gave up his bulky layers in favour of lighter wear, but he was not one to forego the scarf.
There he was, huge as a mountain, impressive even when dressed in slacks and a lightweight cotton shirt. When he moved the light from the window caught his face. Russia turned to it and looked outside, breathing in the scents. It seemed the sunlight lifted him. After a moment he turned again and silently went to the bed.
Neither of them spoke. Large hands slid buttons from holes with an elegance that would have been surprising if it was not so familiar. They were accustomed to moments like this, known and practised and the result of many years. The mouth that pressed roughly against Estonia’s lips was almost as familiar as his own skin.
The kiss was long, firm, and drawn out enough that by the time it broke Estonia was left breathless. He looked upward, shuddering as he recovered, while Russia watched him, unaffected. Then large hands pushed him down onto his back and circled his throat, and that was familiar too. Slow, deep kisses. Pressure. Slight at first, then more. Tightening.
It was an old arrangement, one that Estonia knew defied all logic. It had been in place since he had passed into Russia’s hands like a coin, an exchange to recover what was lost. In some ways, Russia had been different, then. Though he had wanted all to be blissfully close to him, he was still willing to reason, to listen, to negotiate. Through that they had found an arrangement that worked, each gaining some strange form of satisfaction. Even as the both of them changed, some part of it lingered.
So as Russia pinned him and squeezed the breath from him, Estonia yielded to him. When Russia kissed him he responded, breathless and unresisting. He opened his mouth and let him in, pliant, gasping against his lips. Soon he was trembling, crushed under the weight of him as with every shallow breath Russia constricted tighter, tighter.
The kiss broke. They watched each other for a moment, Russia’s eyes soft and searching, Estonia’s breath coming in short gasps. Then a large, calloused hand covered his nose and mouth.
He struggled a while beneath that touch. It was part of the game. Heated and dizzy and unable to breathe, he struggled as the hand on his throat tightened, as the broad palm covering his face pressed his head back into the pillow. Not enough. Too much. Almost too much. Then he stopped moving. One. Two. Three. Trembling, desperate. His lungs were burning.
Slowly, slowly the hands eased. The air slipped back in through his nostrils, rushed into his lungs. He blinked at him slowly, dazed, flustered, and when Russia kissed him he responded with a groan, drawing him close, pressing up against him.
The hands that so carefully suffocated him took care of him after that, slipping their way beneath clothing, touching. He was nearly gone already, deprivation alone enough to drive him crazy. Under that touch he surrendered, giving in to a warm mouth, slick and sweet with the lingering taste of tea and berries. Hands holding him, stroking him, working him – crushing, holding, but not to harm, no. It was as it once was. In that way he gave in to Russia, and when he came it was with a low groan against his lips, breathless, muffled.
They both stayed still for a time, nose-to-nose, lips-to-lips, lingering, breathing. When they moved again it was different, Russia shifting to rest on his back and Estonia working, his slender fingers slipping buttons from holes, his lips moving downward, gliding. He took him in, willing to repay him that favour. Large hands stroked his head, fingers tangling in his hair as Russia arched up into Estonia’s mouth. He took it all, knowing that it would end in time – and it did, eventually, and he was left with the taste of him in his mouth.
It was over.
When they rested together, finally, there was nothing but the sound of them breathing together. In that moment they stayed in comfortable silence, feeling as though things were as they once had been, as though they could have been.
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/Russia
Rating: 18+ for sex and consensual breath play
Length: 820
Summary: These moments were strange, but these moments were theirs.
Other: Written for the Hetalia kink meme. (Original post).
Stay
The setting sun made its way through the open window, the light thick as honey, painting all that it touched turned yellow-orange. Where its fingertips did not reach, long shadows lingered, growing steadily longer. As night slowly fell the scent of flowers was heavy in the air and crickets could be heard chirping in the grass outside.
The rays of light filtering in through the window rendered the bedroom a mix of light and dark. Estonia sat on the edge of the bed and looked inward toward the shadowy doorway. He watched as a jacket was shrugged from broad shoulders and hung on a peg on the back of the door. The scarf followed. On hot summer days like that one Russia gave up his bulky layers in favour of lighter wear, but he was not one to forego the scarf.
There he was, huge as a mountain, impressive even when dressed in slacks and a lightweight cotton shirt. When he moved the light from the window caught his face. Russia turned to it and looked outside, breathing in the scents. It seemed the sunlight lifted him. After a moment he turned again and silently went to the bed.
Neither of them spoke. Large hands slid buttons from holes with an elegance that would have been surprising if it was not so familiar. They were accustomed to moments like this, known and practised and the result of many years. The mouth that pressed roughly against Estonia’s lips was almost as familiar as his own skin.
The kiss was long, firm, and drawn out enough that by the time it broke Estonia was left breathless. He looked upward, shuddering as he recovered, while Russia watched him, unaffected. Then large hands pushed him down onto his back and circled his throat, and that was familiar too. Slow, deep kisses. Pressure. Slight at first, then more. Tightening.
It was an old arrangement, one that Estonia knew defied all logic. It had been in place since he had passed into Russia’s hands like a coin, an exchange to recover what was lost. In some ways, Russia had been different, then. Though he had wanted all to be blissfully close to him, he was still willing to reason, to listen, to negotiate. Through that they had found an arrangement that worked, each gaining some strange form of satisfaction. Even as the both of them changed, some part of it lingered.
So as Russia pinned him and squeezed the breath from him, Estonia yielded to him. When Russia kissed him he responded, breathless and unresisting. He opened his mouth and let him in, pliant, gasping against his lips. Soon he was trembling, crushed under the weight of him as with every shallow breath Russia constricted tighter, tighter.
The kiss broke. They watched each other for a moment, Russia’s eyes soft and searching, Estonia’s breath coming in short gasps. Then a large, calloused hand covered his nose and mouth.
He struggled a while beneath that touch. It was part of the game. Heated and dizzy and unable to breathe, he struggled as the hand on his throat tightened, as the broad palm covering his face pressed his head back into the pillow. Not enough. Too much. Almost too much. Then he stopped moving. One. Two. Three. Trembling, desperate. His lungs were burning.
Slowly, slowly the hands eased. The air slipped back in through his nostrils, rushed into his lungs. He blinked at him slowly, dazed, flustered, and when Russia kissed him he responded with a groan, drawing him close, pressing up against him.
The hands that so carefully suffocated him took care of him after that, slipping their way beneath clothing, touching. He was nearly gone already, deprivation alone enough to drive him crazy. Under that touch he surrendered, giving in to a warm mouth, slick and sweet with the lingering taste of tea and berries. Hands holding him, stroking him, working him – crushing, holding, but not to harm, no. It was as it once was. In that way he gave in to Russia, and when he came it was with a low groan against his lips, breathless, muffled.
They both stayed still for a time, nose-to-nose, lips-to-lips, lingering, breathing. When they moved again it was different, Russia shifting to rest on his back and Estonia working, his slender fingers slipping buttons from holes, his lips moving downward, gliding. He took him in, willing to repay him that favour. Large hands stroked his head, fingers tangling in his hair as Russia arched up into Estonia’s mouth. He took it all, knowing that it would end in time – and it did, eventually, and he was left with the taste of him in his mouth.
It was over.
When they rested together, finally, there was nothing but the sound of them breathing together. In that moment they stayed in comfortable silence, feeling as though things were as they once had been, as though they could have been.
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