Title: Detachment
Rating: Older Teen/ Mature(?)
Warnings: Language, and hints at Aggressive!Sex, but nothing graphic. However should this be rated M anyway?
Pairings: RusEst (IvanXEduard/RussiaXEstonia)
Notes: First Hetalia fiction drabble-like thing. Written in about an hour and yeah should I have rated this Mature instead of Teen? Anyway please tell me and I thank you for reading and please review or favorite if you liked it. Thank you and please no flames.
The room is quiet, just as it always is in the aftermath. There were no lights, hardly any ventilation, allowing the soft breathy sounds to fill the air. The air which reeked of sweat, blood, and sex. Estonia lays face down on the bed, eyes open but unseeing due to the loss of his spectacles. He stays perfectly still, calm almost, ignoring the weight of the larger body on top of his. Ignoring the warm tongue that persistently laps at the blood from a large bite wound in his left shoulder. Instead he focuses on the dull throbs of pain occupying his body. He finds them rather comforting really, familiar to say in the least. The body above his stirs, moving away from the wound the other nuzzles into the back of his neck whispering softly,
"ТЫ не спишЬ?" Russia asks softly. For once the Russian that falls from his lips is soft. Yet it makes Estonia nervous.
"Jah, olen…" The Baltic replies speaking in his own native tongue. Eduard slowly rises into a sitting position as Ivan's hands begin to trace the bruises up the font of his body. "Kas teil on sigarette?"
The hands stop their senseless tracing and grip Eduard's chin roughly turning his head sideways. The blonde's brows furrow, sending a sharp look at the Russian who was now sitting up as well.
"Попробуйте узнать в Россию, Эстонию." Ivan giggles, yet beneath the tone Eduard knows it's an order. It causes his glare to intensify sharply, "Пожалуйста?" Ivan purrs leaning in to press needle sharp teeth against the delicate skin along the Baltic's throat.
Estonia rolls his eyes, but repeats his question again in Russian. Even though he despises speaking in the Eastern European giant's tongue he does so. Ivan pulls back brushing a few bangs out of the Baltic's face replying,
"Нет, к сожалению, не сегодня." Eduard rolls his eyes and swats the Russian's hands away from his face. So much trouble for only a negative answer. Ivan giggles and crawls over on top of him and Eduard decides to fall back into himself and ponder on this odd 'relationship'.
It's not out of love that they do this. That's the first thing he wants to make clear. There is no love in it at all, just fucking. The closest thing they ever could be is mere fuck buddies. And yet, Eduard wishes it was that simple. Just make all this simple fucking, ignoring the rush only Russia, Ivan, could give to him. From the bites, and scratches the aggressiveness of it all, that pain soothed him. Even though he would never state it out loud. For Ivan it is a nice benefit of having a person willing to be near him and share the same bed. He didn't need the emotional strings, just the physical aspect and an outlet to release his remaining sadism. A perfect union between a masochist and a sadist, no emotions ever put in the mix.
At least that's what it should be…
Eduard snaps out of his train of thought as he realizes what Ivan is doing. The taller male was laying gentle kisses down his marred chest with his large hands gently rubbing up and down his sides. The actions far too intimate for Eduard's liking, far too frightening. Reaching up to the other's back the Baltic dug blunt nails into the burn wounds in the Russian's back. Ivan growled and nips at his collar bone in retaliation. At least it brought things back into their 'normal' perspective, even though it is never wise to encourage Ivan to be violent. The Russian glares down at him, the wounds are fresh; the fires have left a mark that will not heal anytime soon. Though he takes the hint and gets up from the bed rummaging around for a vodka bottle.
The blonde still on the bed moves as well, Estonia has his legs dangle over the edge of the bed and retrieves his glasses from the nightstand. Russia returns and takes a long swig from the open bottle before holding it out offering the Baltic nation a drink. The Estonian takes the bottle and drinks as well; the alcohol warms his throat as it goes down. For a time the silence returns and they drink until the bottle is empty.
Now they will wash away the blood, the smell of sex, and resume their outer roles. Ignoring the rush, and the comfort these meetings bring. After all there are no real emotions attached to them.
Right…?