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XDD just some stuff I dug up while going through my files. Unedited, for the most part. C:
“******** sun.”
Both words, if you had met their speaker only a decade before, would shock you upon seeing them spill forth from her lips, but there they were. Yasu lifted one hand to rub at a half-closed eye, on the way clearing her mussed dark hair from her eyes in order to see clearly.
“… ********.” She added, just to make sure her opinion was absolutely clear. The sun was indeed bright, filtering through the half-closed blinds and shining perfectly over the bed she sat up in, glaring into her sleepy eyes and nearly slapping her awake. How rude, she thought, considering actually getting up to close the damn things. One quick survey of her situation warranted a no, I’ll just stick it out.
Until she glanced around with much more focus and spotted Nico, whose arm was draped across her lap (previously her stomach ) and who had a blissful look on his face. He was muttering something in his sleep, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the hem of… Yasu looked down. His shirt, tugged lazily over her own body.
She almost felt bad when she reached down to lightly pinch his arm, hesitatingly saying his name until he began to stir out of of sleep, upon seeing him doing so, calling it louder. She leaned over him, loose brown waves brushing against his face and neck.
“’tractiu ~” is the first intelligible thing she gets out of him, quickly translating it to mean ‘cute’. Of course. This was Nico, after all. Choosing to leave her slight flush out of the picture, Yasu leaned back on her calves and regarded her current bedmate with as much annoyance as she could muster, though in her current state of mind it was a challenge.
Reglardless of the sun and having to wake up, her mood was borderline blissful. Nico went unaffected by her attempt at sourness and moved the arm he had slung over her lap to tighten around her waist. She again chose to ignore the annoying heat that rose to her face, which seemed to like returning at any of Nico’s touches.
“Go shut the blinds.” She instructed quickly, intently watching as her bedmate struggled to sit up on what was more or less his hip. He smiled sleepily at her, and she couldn’t quite ignore the way her heart hiccupped at that look. He was… What could she call it? Beautiful? He probably looked a lot better right then than she did.
He didn’t move to get out of bed and do what she asked (read: demanded), instead opting for leaning forward until his forehead met her shoulder. Yasu could barely cry out a ‘what the hell?’ before he was kissing her collarbone.
“The sun…” he took a deep breath, still trying to work consciousness into his half-numb system. “M'agrada.” Attempting to get her back into the mood of the previous night was sure helping him prop his eyelids open, though.
“Noooooooo.” Her tone was nothing more than a plead or a whine. He knew it well and smiled, tipping his head up to catch her neck in a kiss, laughing as her breath hitched and she dug one of her fingernails into his arm. A bad habit of hers tended to be biting, scratching, and generally abusing him. Not that he quite minded, so long as they both were happy, he’d carry the little marks on his skin with honor.
“We have …” she promply slapped his hand away as he attempted to lift his shirt up and off of her.
“Important-“ He laughed as victory, and his shirt, became his once more.
“Things to attend to today, that I can’t-“ he shushes her with a kiss.
“Those can wait, si? First, we dance, we have fun, we do what we want to. And then we kiss the ground our superiors walk on. ~”
If she could have answered intelligibly, it was likely to have been an ‘amen to that, brother!’
Or that’s what Nico told himself as she bit his lip for punishment, finally surrendering to what she knew she wanted. At least, that’s what he always told himself.
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Like ducks at a shooting gallery six men sat, some of them hunched over their empty glasses, one sitting straight as he'd been taught, still others leaning in with their heads posted on their hands or turned towards their neighbors-in-celebration. All of them fathers, all of them drunk (but in varying degrees of such), they were settling down in a nostalgic sort of mood that would surely bring tears for the more tender of the bunch.
"********. We're supposed to be... celebrating, or something. Right?" Denmark offered, feebly lifting his empty mug and tipping it to clink on Sweden's.
They were; it was the night before the eve of a wedding, though exactly whose had been forgotten at the moment... Did they have brown hair? A mop of chocolate seemed familiar, but the facial details were lost to the sweet blur that was alcohol. It seemed, though, that a few hours before they'd made the mutual decision to take the groom out to celebrate, but he'd ducked out quite a while ago on the excuse that he'd be too tempted to stay and really get smashed if he kept himself there any longer. So six fatherly nations sat, vounerable and much more friendly to each other than they'd been in years, or for two, in memory.
America, who lay hunched over with his face buried in his folded arms, mumbled something from his confines. Canada peered curiously at him and after a moment, translated. "Why?"
"Why." Alfred confirmed.
"Because .. 'cause tha's how it is! You have your baby and then they wanna go flllly away from the nest! Iss like, bye bye birdie! An' all 'ya can do is hope that they don' hit the ground when they do."
Sweden glanced at Spain, who was playing with his glass intently, cheeks profoundly red. He was surprised at how much sense the man actually made right then. Someone opposite him nodded in agreement, emptying his glass.
"... 'f they do?" Greece's voice was heavily slurred and miraculously intelligeble; none of the men were jealous of either him nor Kiku, Heracles having to deal with a night spent praying to the porcelain God and Japan having to drag a drunk husband home. Then again, they were all sort of in the same boat.
Denmark laughed, almost viciously. "Y' scoop 'em up 'ntil they can try again."
"Y' sh'ld know." Sweden was the least drunk of all of them, having only had a glass or two of vodka; his speech was unfortunatly normal.
"'strid's takin' her tiiiiime, Berwald ol' pal~" Denmark nodded and traced the rim of his mug. His daughter, Elleore, a tiny girl he'd found on a walk one day, who he'd just stopped to help find her way home. Take me to yours, she'd implored, reaching up and wiggling her tiny fingers. But her eyes just begged, love me. I don't have anything else. And then she was his, her white hair feathers against her pudgy cheek, losing baby teeth and making a mess of his home, playing in the ocean and screeching happily when the surf brushed against her chest and she still stood standing. A Viking, she'd screamed, I'll be a viking like far!
Greece shifted in his seat, head in his arms after it got to hard to keep afloat. He stared at the wood grains as America spoke, too tired (drunk) to even move his eyes.
"But .. 's worth it. Ev'ry minu'e." Most of them nodded in agreement, even though those minutes seemed to be so few. Especially to that particular set of men, nations by nature, for whom a decade could pass as if it were a couple of years, whole centuries could be blocked out of memories.
"There were so few, eh?" the Canadian picked at the skin on his thumb, glasses about ready to slip off of his nose. Nicolai was already looking for an afforadable apartment in Saskatoon, though with his connections he was bound to get a good one. Matthew hoped he'd take his racecar bed with him and not buy something practical, from Ikea or Wal-Mart, because if he did then his father's heart would break for good, not even considering what that would do to his mother's.
"So worth i'." Denmark nudged Sweden, who was really starting to regret his choice of sitting next to the Dane. He seemed to be all about forgiving and forgetting, when he was drunk, but to his comment Berwald had to nod. What, he couldn't help wondering, would his life be like had Satu never come in?
And that seemed to be something everyone was running over in their heads; Spain, the possibility of never really getting his arms tight around Lovino very real if it hadn't been for Alba; Greece, knowing that without Haruto after the Civil War, he'd lose his sight of the real Kiku, his heart around the love that was always burning for him there; America, wondering how he'd be able to see through that tunnel without his twin points of light to guide him.
Even if their children were with them for such a short, short time, if really was worth every second, every penny, every tear, bruise, heart and headache. They'd done so well avoiding looking the inevitable in the face, and now that they were it was terrifying but humbling.
"********." the Dane continued, wiping his mouth on his cuff. He poked his glass instead of lifting it. "Here's to some ******** great runs."
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22. Dog and cat
Finland crouches in front of the two small children, his charges for the day (well, he is the charge of the older, dark haired boy; the other, a smaller Scandanavian girl, is his own daughter), and grins his for-the-baby grin. He holds up an animal cracker, made to look like a dog, and asks, voice gentle, "what sound does he make?"
Grins instantly light up the two chubby little faces; they answer in unison.
"Vuff!" the smaller of the two cheers, her ice-blue eyes alight with the delight at her own brilliance- Tino cannot resist mirroring her grin, her cheer, as he breaks the cracker in two and hands her her half.
The boy's answer is much more hesitant. Tino can read him already; quiet and reserved, much like Japan in his manner and the air about him, shy and observant, yet surprisingly dramatic when the situation calls for it.
"Wau wau." he finally answers, smiling a little, staring at the hands that rest on his lap, pale against the stark blue of his yukata. This, surprising Tino, earns a chaitaisng glare from his daughter.
"Vuff." she insists, tugging on the fabric of the boy's sleeve, trying to stare him down (she's got his stare already, Tino thinks with the tiniest pang of dread, or more, concern for his child- Sweden's look never helped him out any) and make him change his answer, for almost no reason at all.
men getting pregnant · Wed Mar 17, 2010 @ 04:49am · 0 Comments |
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