Author's note: I like these two alot but somehow have never written them (or explicitly them). Lithuania's actually one of my favorites because as a man I find him so fascinating. In my mind some of the countries (Lithuania included) have given names they don't like so they only use a shortened form, and thus why they have uncommon names (ie, Toris). Also I know I didn't write Poland with a ridiculous accent because it felt forced, but he's still speaking flippantly if you can just use your imagination to channel that inner teenage girl you have deep down inside you.

When I return to the world

Toris finds him out on the porch, feet on the table and a snack between his lips. Feliks seems to be reading something though he isn't sure if it's a serious book or a trashy paperback. Either way, in one of the Lithuanian's old shirts and some hideous denim overalls, Feliks looks absolutely magnificent.

Green eyes fall on him, smiling. "Hey gurl," Feliks jokes and Toris smiles a little, sitting beside the Polish nation who moves his feet over to rest in his companion's lap. "What's up?"

"Do you ever wake up," Toris asks, "just feeling really lousy, like today is going to be an awful day?"

Feliks takes a few more bites of whatever he'd set out for himself on a napkin, blinking his big eyes at Toris, before answering. "Used to."

The Lithuanian puts his head down on the table. "How did you make it stop?"

What Toris had been expecting in response to that question was a laugh, a slap on the back, and an insentience that some Polish sweets would perk him right up which, truthfully, did normally do the trick.

What instead happens is Toris feels Feliks lay his head on his shoulder, lips kissing him through the fabric. "They stopped when you came back to me," his friend whispers.

"I still feel empty, mielasis." It's an emptiness that the Lithuanian hadn't even noticed until he was forced to move in with Ivan, until he could no longer sleep beside his other-half, his partner, his lover. There's a thousand things about Feliks that Toris will never understand, like how he can be so selfish some days or why he sometimes dresses up like a woman. And he knows there's a thousand things about him that Feliks will never know, like what exactly the Pole does to his heart whenever he's around or how a simple smiles or wink or wave can completely turn Toris around despite the years of anguish he has endured.

And yet that hole remains.

"What kind of empty?"

"Hmm?" Toris turns his head, laying his cheek against the cool glass of the patio table. Feliks does the same, their faces close, their eyes on each other.

"Empty in your heart, empty in your soul, what kind of empty?"

That takes a bit of time before the Lithuanian responds, reaching out a hand to stroke Feliks's cheek. "I once knew a young bride," he whispers, "who I had the misfortune of informing that her husband had died. Before I could tell her she smiled and said how when she was with him, she felt complete; without him, she was only half a person.

"I feel like half a person, Feliks."

The Polish nation smiles serenely because despite all the pain and torment they've gone through, there's somehow always been little moments like these to smile at. "You know what I think?"

"No, what?"

Feliks laughs. "I think what you need is a kiss, Ponas Artūras Laurinaitis."

"Don't call me that-" Toris starts before lips cut him off, Feliks moving in close. A hand on his shoulder pushes him back till the Lithuanian is sitting up, his lover moving to straddle his lap in the chair. Hands run up and down his neck, his finding the small of that Polish back to pull him closer, to press their bodies together as if they might once more become one. When the kiss breaks they pant.

"Artūras," Feliks teases.

"Stop that!" and Toris pushes at his shoulder because while he can't hit his friend, he can try. "You know I hate my name."

"But, like, it's your name," the man whines. "That means it's perfect."

"I highly doubt that Łukasiewicz."

"Then I suppose you also highly doubt I care." Toris laughs.

"Oh no, I absolutely know that you don't care." Very few people have ever seen Toris's full, proper, given name. The majority of them have long since died; the only one left really is Feliks.

"My Lietuva," the man sighs, leaning his head against Toris's shoulder. "Shall we go inside and complete each other?"

Toris isn't sure if he wants to blush or grin at that. Either way he finds himself kissing Feliks before pulling him in through the back door, book forgotten on the table as dark clouds loom over them.

Feliks's overalls are easy to slip off, Toris used to the click of buttons being freed from their metal constraints to throw the straps over Polish shoulders. His own shirt's buttons are freed, one by one, by the other as he pushes up that old shirt of his to run his hands over his boyfriend's stomach. Lips crash against lips as they move, Feliks's legs wrapping around his hips as he leans over him on the bed. A hand goes through his darker hair, pulling out the band that had been holding it back; it falls all around his face.

The kiss breaks to pull off his shirt and undershirt, Feliks yanking without care at the shirt he'd stolen this morning. Then the one beneath him rolls them so he can attack Toris's shoulders and neck with lips and teeth and fingernails. Their hips move over and over again at the feeling, Toris panting much louder than he wants to but not having it in him to stop. His eyes roll back, his head falling to the side. Through half-closed eyes he sees the afternoon light move against the floor as a breeze rattles the tree outside their house.

Toris feels complete.

"What do you want to do?" Feliks breathes, hot and heavy, into his ear as Polish hands undo his belt and pants. The blond nation then shifts, crawling over the bed to pull something from their bedside stand, before returning and kicking off his overalls.

Sometimes when they do this Feliks doesn't bother asking, because he knows the answer already. When the blond pounces, Toris takes it like a man, trapped beneath the Polish body. When instead he's the one initiating sex, he tends to lift the slightly smaller man, laying him out before pounding into him with abandon. Other times they just jerk each other off, or sixty-nine, or do whatever else feels right at the moment.

And when everything feels right, so long as they're together, Feliks asks what Toris wants.

The brunet bends his legs on the bed, using his height to pull the Polish nation down and hold him to his chest. Feliks takes that as his answer, dropping the lube next to Toris's head in favor of grabbing his neck and kissing him senseless some more.

Excruciatingly slowly the Lithuanian nation is finally removed of his pants and boxers, Feliks's briefs being discarded as well. Hips move over hips, their erections rubbing together, as their lips lazily work each other open before Toris's hand moves across the sheet beneath him to find the lube. He doesn't bother much with foreplay in favor of surprise today, slicking his fingers silently as a tongue works its way around his mouth. And just when he feels Feliks smiling smugly against him for having gotten that last groan from the brunet, there's a yelp as fingers push into the smaller man's ass slowly.

"You used to ask me before you'd do that," Feliks says, lips dragging against the sensitive skin of his neck as Toris keeps moving, pumping one finger, then two, in and out, in and out. He moves on to scissoring his lover as he replies,

"I used to be afraid of hurting you, but I know you're made of tougher stuff now." His free hand trails over the Polish back with two long scars from swords before squeezing an ass cheek. He gave Feliks those scars, one from a battle where to kill an enemy he had to hurt his ally, the other when he lost his anger and wanted to hurt the Polish kingdom the way he'd hurt him. Toris regrets both scars deeply.

Removing his fingers he smiles when Feliks groans, feeling the one above him shift. The blond sits, taking a hold of Toris's erection to pump it a few times wickedly, lubing it up as well. As he positions it at his opening, Feliks meets Toris's gaze, green eyes holding green eyes as he slides down. Toris can almost feel how badly Feliks wants to roll his eyes up, throwing his head back, so he pushes himself up to sit, wrapping his arms around his lover. His legs spread wide, Feliks straddling him, Toris bites at that shoulder when the blond starts moving, up and down, up and down. Wind howls as it blows against the house.

He doesn't realize what Feliks is doing until fingers graze over a particularly nasty scar on his back, causing Toris to grip his lover more tightly. Reassuring kisses are planted against the back of his shoulder as Feliks keeps moving, up down, up down, up down, his hands going everywhere to touch each deep cut on the Lithuanian.

"You're so totally beautiful," Feliks whispers in his language. Normally when they spoke they spoke in Polish; to hear his lover use Lithuanian is more than music to Toris's ears. "You are so incredibly beautiful."

"I love you," Toris breathes in his ear, his hands helping Feliks bounce more, climax imminent. "I love you so much."

Lips steal lips in a kiss that's not nearly as fired up as their movements but is just as passionate, until the brunet rolls them to get in a few more thrusts, reaching down to pump Feliks. He's not even aware of who comes first, the sound of shoutings being drowned out by a sudden down-pouring of rain against the house.

Exhausted he collapses on Feliks's chest, arms holding him tight. "I hope," Toris breathes, "you won't miss that book."

"It was crap anyway," the Polish lover sighs, "especially when compared to you."

Showered and dressed in heavy sweaters and old sweatpants, Toris carries a plate of dinner with two forks into the room. Feliks moves down on the couch, letting the TV button fall back onto the table, in favor of curling up against his boyfriend's side and taking the offered fork to start eating.

They don't say anything, Toris planting a kiss at the corner of Feliks's mouth. They've known each other long enough, have been through enough, to know no words are sufficient.

Some days it's nice to just be.