[There's a warm contented murmur as Arthur traces fingers over his skin and Ivan smiles, presses a kiss to the messy mop of hair the British nation sports. And despite it all, when the other nation pulls back and murmurs those words, Ivan is startled, dazzled like he is every time he hears it.
Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you, and it has him smiling like a sap, murmuring the words back as he returns those kisses. "Ya lyublyu tyebya tozhye," voice rich with emotion and laughter. But the lingering touches aren't enough eventually and he leans up to catch Arthur's lips, drawing him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desire. Perhaps it leaves them breathless in the end, but Arthur's always one to jest and Ivan simply lets his expression turn just as devious, voice little more than a rough tumble of words, timbre low.]
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Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you, and it has him smiling like a sap, murmuring the words back as he returns those kisses. "Ya lyublyu tyebya tozhye," voice rich with emotion and laughter. But the lingering touches aren't enough eventually and he leans up to catch Arthur's lips, drawing him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desire. Perhaps it leaves them breathless in the end, but Arthur's always one to jest and Ivan simply lets his expression turn just as devious, voice little more than a rough tumble of words, timbre low.]
And if I wanted both?