Russia takes a second to watch the way he scurries over to the door, bustles and blushes and fumbles for the right keys and the right button for the car to lock behind him. It's endearing in a way, that he can cause this and that it's something that's stayed with them since the cafe. So he watches and follows.

It doesn't take long to get inside the house, though certainly comes the moment of it being much too long and given the hand Russia lets linger at the span of Canada's back, he's showing that. He taps the door closed with one foot, catches Canada about the waist and pulls him close, presses him up against the door and catches him up in another kiss. Once more his hands find their way into the soft waves of his hair, palms cupping cheeks, and oh he's been waiting for what seems like too long to press the lines of their bodies together.

There's a soft sound, something that bridges on desperate, and Russia breathes Canada's name against his lips, voice heady and wanting. He doesn't pull back, doesn't open his eyes so he can focus on the soft yield of Canada's lips under his and the warmth of his body. There's a kiss pressed to the bow of his upper lip, a gentle nibble and Russia's tracing the curve of Canada's bottom lip with his tongue, tasting, wanting.