Author: Okami Tabor
Date: March 25, 2011
Summary: Time has been both kind and cruel to Russia…but will she finally give him what he always wanted?
Rating/ Warning: None, just beware of cavities…
Notes: I'll be honest with everyone, I don't like how this came out, and I feel it's cheesy. But I really love Russia X Lithuania, and I'm really disgusted with all of these rape, abuse, master-servant, angst-ridden fanfics. (I especially hate when Poland is involved in an shape or way with this pairing…) I really believe that Russia is not truly abusive unless it is out of childlike misunderstanding. He is unaware of any cruel blow that he deals, and he is a childish man due to his horrible history and bloody way of life.
But enough about that, I can prattle all day and run on a tangent on my beliefs of how this couple should be portrayed, but I know not many would side with me…
I'll try to work more on my Fritz/Prussia fic, but as things stand, just bear with me. And I have tons of fanfics that I have not finished, many of which are Russia/Lithuania because that is my OTP and a huge favorite.
Time:
For a nation, time does not bind one in place. Time is a subject; tendrils of time that are as short lived as the sands falling to the bottom of an hourglass. Time does not progress in the same manner for nations as it would for humans, but it could be equally time consuming on occasions.
Russia always felt that he was biding his time, probably more so than his own kind. In his youth he fancied that time would pass for him to become a shining new empire. In 1709, his dream was brought to realization under Peter the Great's fierce campaign, and Sweden's downfall in Poltava. This battle marked the fall of one mighty empire and the rise of another; one all of Europe would become acquainted with one way or another. His "midwife" ruler gave birth to the rise of "Mother Russia" and in return, Russia himself began to yearn for more, sharing the zeal of modernizing his country with his ruler. His ardor would need time, however, as with the beginning of his rise to power.
Then, as years accumulated into the clumps of sand that fall from an hourglass, Russia found that time was on his side. He yearned for the day for when he would grow in size and strength. Peter the Great respected his wish, but time betrayed him: he grew in physical strength, but his ruler was swapped for new men. The nation settled with each in turn, and steadily grew. Time gave him General Winter, then, and the seasons became a new obstacle that the nation hoped time would erase.
At the age where most humans considered themselves just past adolescence and breeching the state of adulthood, a teenager but not so, Russia coveted the land of his neighbors. He waited for his size and strength to grow, make his empire ready to do battle. When time found herself tempted by his promise, she awarded his patience with a swift victory, and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth shattered like grains before the Siberian wind. Of his Western neighbors he fought with throughout his years, only one truly ever captivated him. He pinned for his Baltic neighbor, the small one sandwiched between his brothers and the struggling forces of Poland and himself.
When he fought the Lithuanian for the first time he felt his heart swell, an unusual pulse of palpitation that made the warrior nation's head spin. He remembered how dizzy he got as he inhaled the scent of sweat on the other's body when the Baltic would try to strike him with his blade, to which the Russian would evade or guard against with his own. But it proved difficult to fight, and he wished that time had made him better prepared and more mature, and later wished he were of an age in which he could freely court this fiery soldier.
She did not favor him in his conquest of affection. And the Russian was left to bide his time for when he could gather the courage and maturity needed to sweep the other off his feet. He failed each time, even when he was properly betrothed to the man with documents of their rulers. In this setting time permitted him no czar, no king or queen, but a leader, Lenin. Even when he married others, hoping that all would "become one with Mother Russia," he still only had stirring feelings for his Lithuania. But the other was unhappy, and he carried the expression of a trapped bird held within a birdcage, a cell. The Russian tried to ease his burden, but his bosses did unspeakable, and unforgivable, wounds to his love, and in turn Russia was faced with the scorn and blame of his depressed lover.
Time made the pair's tale one of imbroglio, and later took the Lithuanian away, only to present him once more at the doorsteps of the Soviet household. The night of his return Russia held unspeakable happiness over the event. He rushed to his room and surreptitiously displayed gratitude for time's reward. That night Lithuania sobbed at time's betrayal for having him once more restricted and tied down. Time slipped away with unsettling speed, and Russia found himself alone again, still pinning for his neighbor in the west.
Time never rewarded Ivan again, and he became a pragmatist man, grateful at least to watch from afar when world summits summoned both nations to a meeting. He watched from the sidelines, as his fiery soldier became a man of business and dedication to bettering the mechanisms of his country. Time gave to him a suit of patience and dedication to tie him to his work.
Time also brought many meetings for the pair, but Russia would have to watch from the shadows, even when they were in the same room. He would love to have the man sit next to him for just one meeting, it would be enough, he thought.
Another summit arrived by time's own demand and Russia settled for whatever he was given, and made his way to the meeting.
"Ivan," a soft voice murmured from the subconscious of Ivan's mind. He delved deeper into the recesses of his nostalgic dream, recounting every encounter he shared with his beloved Lithuania. All the pain and suffering, the scars and blood shed, the desperation and sympathy they held, even times when they were friendly to one another. Everything swirled around the light-haired man's mind, encircling him in a comforting blanket.
"Ivan, wake up," the voice persisted, stealing the tone and silkiness of his beloved Lietuva, his most cherished Baltic. The man, burrowed into the sleeves of his tan jacket further, nuzzling the fabric in languid strokes.
"Vanya," the voice became a softer pitch, one that suggested its owner wanted to remain clandestine in its actions.
"What?" Ivan's head shot up, his hair tussled from the rubbing of his jacket sleeves. "What is it?"
He held a look of guilt as he scanned the spacious conference room with curiosity and fright. To his surprise, the summit had ended, and the invited nations had already departed to take on other business and attend other matters outside the building.
Russia glanced sidelong towards the bright rays of a setting sun, and a quick glance at his wrist watch displayed that the meeting had just ended—or rather that it should have come to an end at that exact second. Time was being fickle again, he reasoned. Though a suspicious glance of a spilt coke stains and various littered objects implied that the meeting ended on a somewhat sour note or at least a comical one.
When he looked up at last to address who ever had aroused him from his slumber he felt his heart skip a beat and his cheeks instantly flare with several shades of passion and shame. There was the subject of his dreams, and the last thing time had never awarded him. She gave him a glorious empire, great leaders, a unified dream, a broken house, abandonment, a new system of government, but she had never given him what he had always patiently pinned for the most: his love and affection, Lithuania.
The pale blond immediately sought to rectify his sudden shyness with a meek, "What happened?"
"You fell asleep…sir," the brunette supplied, just as warily, his cheeks an equally bright shade of crimson.
"Oh," was all the seated man could muster, his eyes downcast at the messy table. His personal notes and documents were wrinkled from where he was resting, a few dribbles of saliva blotted a few typed up texts his bosses had prepared. With a grimace at how cruel time was for teasing him with her faint ticks on the wall, the taller male resorted himself to collecting his papers and organizing them to prepare for his own departure. He had enough sadness for one day, what with eyeing the object of his affection for hours on end, and finally having the privilege to sit next to him at a meeting only to fall asleep sometime afterwards. Then to have his crush wake him up! He could bear it no more.
One sheet fluttered to the table before the pair, startling Ivan to the point he crushed the files still clasped in his hand, wrinkling them. His treacherous slip of paper, the one he had carelessly doodled and written minor words over before he fell asleep, the one illustrating all of his affection and admiration for Lithuania—it fell right onto the desk for the man to see.
Ever polite, Lithuania picked up the sheet, not intending to read, but just as he was handing it back to the frightened nation he found a few details that grabbed his attention.
"Here you—hey, wait," the brunette pulled the sheet closer to himself for further inspection, a wave of nausea and shame flooding throughout Russia's form. A tremble ran through him, fearful of the consequences the sheet would entail for his already crumbled relationship with his neighbor.
"I saw you working on this during the conference," Lithuania remarked with an unrecognizable edge to his voice. His eyes skimmed doodles of mostly Russia bullying America, calling him obese in some corner doodles and in others having the Russian stepping or sitting on the American's cartoon corpse with "X" shapes over his eyes. Toris could not resist a soft chuckle at this, but it did little to soothe the frantic beating of Ivan's heart.
"You wrote in Lithuanian here," the man pointed out as his index traced over the indicated spot, directing the other's attention to a doodle of Russia and Lithuania together. The words were sketched out lightly, as if the artist was uncertain about his work, but Toris recognized the words immediately.
"'Aš tave myliu'…Why did you put 'I love you' in my language and not your own," emerald orbs caught Ivan's gaze and held them steady, a blush apparent for both men.
"I—I…Well, I was…practicing, yeah, using other languages…My bosses want me to socialize with other nations by learning their languages better…" The pale blond bit down on his bottom lip, steady beads of sweat dripping down his body with fear and apprehension. His lie could have been more convincing if he had not stuttered so much.
Russia's eyes darted to the clock on the wall. He had been standing here for eight minutes after the allotted time of his stay was up. The ticking of the nearby clock mirrored the rapid thumping of Ivan's heart, each second reverberating in his ears like drums.
"Right…" The Lithuanian replied dubiously. "Wouldn't 'ya tebya lyublyu' work better here?" The Lithuanian set the paper on the desk before retrieving a pen from his pocket a writing in the Cyrillic equivalent of what Russia had longed to be brave enough to say to the male's face.
Taking a deep swallow, the Russian tried to make a structured sentence, but he just gaped his mouth a few times and stood there. When Lithuania slid the sheet of paper back in his direction, Russia took the end untouched by the lingering hand and tried to take it back into his collection of loose sheets. Yet Lithuania's hand left the paper to intertwine with Russia's sweaty counterpart.
"Isn't there something you want to tell me?" The brunette asked, deep jade-green eyes piercing into the depths of Russia's own. The Russian felt so tongue-tied that he could hardly get what he wanted to say out.
"I know you're probably mad at me for writing that, and I'll understand if you're repulsed by me," the Russian made a sad smile, regaining some of his composure to make a full sentence. "But I really do like you, a lot. I always have since we first met when we were young nations. I always wanted to make you mine. And I know I'll only be able to say this once before you walk out that door and decide to go about your life like I don't exist, but…"
The Russia paused, gathering the courage he had longed to have for this moment. With what time had given him through maturity and patience. "Ya tebya lyublyu, Litva."
The Russian looked down and away, his hands trembling in the grasp of the smaller male, feeling like a lost child like when he first came into existence. He wanted to sob and hide himself away, to avoid the scorn of others and the fury of Lithuania. To distance himself from the rest of the nations and even his bosses, who surely would not approve of his conduct at this given moment.
"Why didn't you say this sooner?" The Lithuanian firmly gripped the hand tangled within his own grasp, smiling affectionately, and sweetly at the taller nation.
"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to say that? Time may be irrelevant to most nations, but I've been wanting to hear you say that forever."
A relieved sigh left the Lithuanian's lips as if a burdened weight had left his shoulders. He looked up at the other with a comforted smile.
Russia stood there torn between sobbing like a child that found his long lost puppy, and just jumping about with the erratic excitement of an enthusiastic youth. It took centuries for him to get to this moment in his life. Forever, he thought!
"I take I'm not the only one who's been waiting for this moment," the brunette chuckled, reaching across the table to bring Russia's face down and over the woodwork as Lithuania stood on the tips of his toes to bring his own face inches away from the other's own.
"Aš tave myliu," the words ghosted over the Russian's lips before the pair met with a chaste first kiss.
When they pulled apart another voice drifted through the halls beckoning the pair to come outside. It was obnoxious and loud, but it did little to deter the pair from another quick peck.
Russia smiled as he felt his nerves settle and his body go limp from the contact he shared with Lithuania. He walked around the table to clasp his hand around the other male's, leading the way to where an uproarious and boisterous commotion would be greeting them outside. The Russian leant forward for another kiss on the cheek and whispered how long he had pinned for the man, how many centuries he had wished for this day. Lithuania listened to the man's soft prattling as they kept walking through the hallway.
"I don't want to leave you now that we're together," the Russian said with such a childish tone, and endearing pout.
"Don't worry, we have all the time in the world now," Lithuania assured as he walked past the chaos outside with Russia right on his heels.
Read and review if you wish, but I apologize if this fic was not up to par... I'm just proving that I'm alive and still working...somewhat...