Dumbed down and numbed by time and age

[buyan]

It's a secret, this little thing they have.

Silent glances in meetings, even quieter touches and murmurs when there's a break between speakers. It could pass for healthy, loving even, except for the part where they both know it's anything but. Canada wasn't the one Russia had wanted, he was a stand in, a person settled for because of the shape of his face and the span of his shoulders. 

They look alike, you see. Canada, and his brother.

But Russia could never have America, not the way he wants him and Canada.....well, the soft spoken young man shares features and figure. It's enough that Russia can press close and cover Canada's mouth with his own and forget that there's not a firecracker of an American nation underneath him, can press his face into the curve of neck and trick himself into believing that the two nations smell the same and that America's the one he's bending over a desk, America's the one who'll bear the shape of his hand prints on hips and the half-moon line of his teeth at his shoulder. 

And perhaps Russia wasn't the one Canada wanted either, not really. But Russia could see him, remembered his name and his position on the map, knew where their borders were separated by the span of ocean and ice and America's land. And perhaps the only thing Canada had wanted was the acknowledgement, the warmth of arms around him and the hum of conversation.

It's anything but healthy and for that, the secret is one that must never get out lest thing turn even worse for the two of them. But they are close enough in border and space for the little coffee 'dates' to go unremarked upon. For the little touch of fingertips to the back of hands, the brush of knees under tables. So perhaps that's where they are this time, dressed casually and seated close in one of the nooks hidden away in a coffee shop in the middle of one of Canada's cities. 

There's a warm mug of tea in Russia's hands, the turning of leaves outside belying the chill of the oncoming fall, but its cozy here, knees tucked against Canada's, scarf wound loosely about his neck. He's a bit preoccupied watching the people pass by and the leaves fall in solitary fashion. But it's okay, because Canada's tucked into his own drink and the newspaper in front of him. A pretense, perhaps, but one nonetheless.

"Do you think--" Russia pauses to sip at the tea in his hands, brows drawing heavily above his eyes and falls silent.

Comments

[maple_syrup_can]

Russia is pleased that he is pleased... (what is this insanity?)

For just a moment, before their eyes met and while Russia had been caressing his hand, he'd thought that there had been another spark in the atmosphere between them. The look on Ivan's face- The blush on Canada's cheeks that hadn't quite faded brightens a couple notches. He gently presses Ivan's hand in return, enjoying the gentle touch on his wrist and their fingers linked together.

He is thoroughly enjoying this slower, more relaxed pace brought on in part by the necessity of the drive home. But now- now there are almost there. He again reluctantly takes his hand from Russia in order to navigate the stops and starts as he enters the residential area.
What will happen once they get there? (Well, besides the obvious.)
The time with the office desk pops into his mind and he grins faintly. It hadn't been funny at the time, really, trying to figure out where everything from the desktop belonged afterwards. At least at home he won't have to worry about that, no matter where they end up. And right now getting there is half the fun.

[za_rodina]

They're certainly close to Canada's home--as far as Russia can tell. So thought he huffs and wants to chase after that slim hand, tangle their fingers together again, he just lets Canada do his thing and once more brings his hand up to tap at his jaw, thumb idly at the curve of his cheek as he regards the blushing nation besides him.

And they might have calmed down, settled into a slower pace but Russia's mind is certainly not as calm as he would like Canada to think. Like Canada thinks of that one time in his office, where they'd gotten impatient and rough, where he'd swept papers off the desk and pressed Canada down, bent him over and bit into his shoulder as they fucked rough against the hard surface of that desk. Surely Canada could never look at it the same way ever again, Russia couldn't, certainly would let his gaze linger knowingly whenever they met, alone or otherwise.

There's a blink, eyelids lowering half-mast and Russia's tongue traces the curve of his bottom lip as if to taste Canada upon it. There's a low sound and he thumbs at his lip, watches Canada drive with darkened eyes and waits ever more impatiently for them to arrive.

Once they do however, there's a pause. The car pulls into the driveway, parks, idles, turns off and he breathes in, out, leans over to kiss the shell of Canada's ear, nibble gently before letting his voice rumble low and husky.

"C'mon, Matvey." He pulls back, presses a kiss to the corner of Canada's mouth and withdraws slowly, tauntingly. He wants the younger nation to follow, to be entranced and needy. The smile that flickers at his lips speaks volumes of that.

[maple_syrup_can]

The low sound from Russia might be the only sign of impatience that Canada would be able to pick up on as he drove. Truth be told, he was getting a little impatient too. Especially now that he didn't have a hand to hold.

At last he arrived and parked, now the only sound is of Ivan breathing in and out. Then the other nation is kissing his ear, nibbling just the right spot tantalizingly, and then he breathes his name in his ear, capping it off with that taunting kiss.

He does indeed follow in an instant, leaning towards that smile that is literally captivating him. And on that smile Canada plants a kiss- caught up in the emotion of the moment he is not in the least self-conscious of the fact they are still in the car with clear windows all around. Doubtless his kiss speaks volumes as well, of how needy for this he is, and a hint of that deep-buried passion that comes from his French roots.

[za_rodina]

Russia barely stops the smirk from spreading across his face, simply reaches up and catches Canada's face in his hands, returns the kiss just as passionately. He doesn't necessarily have French roots, but he knows how to respond to that passion easily. There's a breathless sort of noise as they kiss, teeth catching at the curve of Canada's lip, tugging ever so gentle.

He could care less about the fact that they're in a car with clear windows, could care less about one of Canada's neighbors seeing them--it would be a thing they've worked with before, quick trysts in offices always had the chance of running that risk after all. But right now Russia's focused on the nation in front of him, on the warm, nearly desperate way they kiss. His fingers twine into hair like spun gold and Russia's eyes open enough for him to watch the way Canada's features light up as he blushes, the way his face looks when he's caught up in a kiss. It's breathtaking and there's a soft groan, Russia's shoulders drawing together as he deeps the kiss. But now that they're here---it would be much better to get inside the house before he draws Canada into his lap and they wind up staying in the car.

So with a huff he pulls back, blinks and pants. His voice is still low and husky, accent thick, "We should move, yes?"

[maple_syrup_can]

It takes a moment for Canada to regain some of his senses. He opens his eyes slowly when Russia pulls away, looks into those violet eyes, hears his heavy breathing as if from a distance. When he nods agreement his head wavers slightly, and he hopes he can walk in a straight line to the door.

He finds himself smiling sightly as he thinks about Ivan's voice. Even deeper, with a thicker accent than he usually speaks with... it's like the part of him that controls how he speaks has been given over to thinking of other things.
Of him.

The thought of Ivan concentrating on him excites him anew and helps propel him out of the car and (only somewhat unsteadily) to the door. Thank goodness for remote locking. A press of the button once Russia is out of the car, a turn of the key in the house door's lock, and they are inside.

[za_rodina]

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.

[maple_syrup_can]

Canada got only one shoe off before he felt Russia's hand at his back, then he finds himself spun around and being pressed firmly up against the door, Ivan's lips pressed to his, his hands in his hair, their bodies together. He hungrily takes in the kiss giving a faint hum that might have been closer to a moan, raising his own hands to pass them through Ivan's pale hair, stroking gently.

Ivan's voice bordering on desperation, him saying his name in such a way- a sliver of dark satisfaction rises in Canada's mind. That he could drive Russia to this was somehow so ... he could hardly even think of the word for it (although 'hot' did spring to mind). If he drew it out even more, would Ivan get even more desperate for him? How far could he go?
The thought was enticing. Sex was sex and would be over quickly enough. But this...

Canada pecks a kiss to the tip of Ivan's tasting tongue and smiles as he slowly tries to shift from under him.
His voice is breathy as he asks, "let me take off your shoes?"

They had too much clothing between them as it was- coats and scarves and so on, but at least they could start with shoes before they got inside. (If they ever got past the entrance way at this rate.)