Thick, heavy batter was plopped onto the flower-dusted counter top. Long, lean fingers dug into the dough, twisting and smoothing, pushing and smoothing. They dipped into the flour bag, coming out fully cloaked against the sticky material. A minute or two more of kneading, then the arm, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, reached for the rolling pin. The assault on the dough began anew, trim arms flexing and rolling in the continual effort. When the crust was nearly paper-thin, the same fingers that were so brutal to it lifted its corners with the utmost care, nesting it into a pie tin. Floured hands cleaned themselves on an apron, the right raising to brush brown hair out of forest-green eyes.

Toris Laurinaitis loved baking, when he had the time to do it. All he needed was a kitchen, any kitchen, and some free time, and he could churn out a pyraga that could get even Russia to give a genuine smile. But today, he was making a dish with a more...foreign flavor. He was in America's kitchen, after being invited to stay the weekend to 'catch up and stuff.' His plane had arrived in the states Friday morning, Alfred hastily dropping him off at his house before having to leave on some 'urgent business, but I'll be back by tonight, and I'll be free all weekend I promise.' But the Eastern nation didn't really mind, work was work after all. After cleaning up the place—it was more a force of habit of old than anything else—he decided to set to work baking something he knew the American would appreciate: apple pie.

Toris sighed, tying his hair up off his neck, and then turned his attention to the brimming bowl of apples he had peeled earlier. He chopped the first one up and took a slice to test the flavor, right as the click of keys in the front lock went unnoticed through his sudden gasp.

It was just one small bite. Just a little bit of curiosity. Perhaps he should have savored the flavor; it wasn't often one found an apple so perfectly formed. He had never expected it to taste so good. The fruit was almost overripe, soft, but not yet mushy, and oh so sweet, countered by just enough tart. He quickly downed the chunk, taking another; just to be sure it wasn't all just his imagination. The second was as perfect as the first, and he was soon devouring apple slices, entirely ignorant of the opening and closing of the front door.

It wasn't long before the slices were all consumed, and he knew he couldn't waste anymore fruit if he wanted to have enough for the pie. Besides, it was doubt-able that any of the other apples would taste nearly as good. He walked over to the sink, too caught up in his silent reverie to notice the slowly approaching footsteps. He was about to turn on the water and wash the sticky juice off his fingers when realization struck him. He raised his fingers slowly to his face, hesitant to behave so childishly. But then he got a whiff of that residual aroma, and decided that decency be damned; he was alone after all. He greedily wrapped his lips around his index finger, not disappointed when he once more could taste the sweet juice. One by one he slid his fingers into his mouth, tongue languishing slowly around each one so as to savor the flavor.

There was a clanking sound from behind him. Toris yanked his fingers out of his mouth, whipping around to see the source of the noise. The first thing he noticed was a brief case that had likely fallen to the ground. It had popped open, papers spilling out of it. His eyes trailed up the figure frozen in the entry way, face heating up as he realized this person had been watching him act so embarrassingly. He was finally able to recognize that the person was a blank-faced Alfred. "A-Alfred! You're home already…" He could feel his ears turn red when he couldn't tell Alfred's expression through the glare on his glasses. His eyes slid back down to his saliva-covered hands and he remembered himself, turning around with a start to wash his hands and hide his burning face from the American. "H-how was your day?" he asked nervously, refusing to turn around as he set to scrubbing furiously at his fingers.

Alfred had invited Lithuania over to test the waters. He missed the brunette from the days before the Depression, and he was hoping that his feelings weren't one-sided. He sighed, as he dug through his jacket pocket, fumbling for the keys. Work had been particularly grueling today. He hated piling up his work like that, but if it would give him a free weekend with Toris, it was worth it. He figured tonight they could just chill, maybe watch a movie, and perhaps oh-so-smoothly put on some moves (because he really didn't know quite how to approach the subject, but it wasn't like he couldn't handle it, no sir, he would win this Indiana JONES style!)…

All activity in his brain froze as he came within sight of Lithuania. Well. He had not been expecting this. WTF? He's just standing there…licking his fingers….WHY? I don't understand—oh fuck. That's actually kinda hot…especially since he slowed down…it kinda reminds me of….Shit. Alfred could feel the blood color his face, spreading over the back of his neck. The sound of his dropped brief case made snapped his attention out of Seattle Washington, where the sun don't shine, and he was mortified to meet eyes with Toris, whose face seemed even redder than his own. Should he just pretend it never happened, let it go and spare them both the embarrassment? But…this was kind of the perfect opportunity to make a move without being too awkward on his part! Oh man, what do I DO?!

"A-Alfred!" The other's voice was breathy, pitched high in its shock, and the sound of it sent shivers right down America's spine. Damn. And he looks so cute when he's flustered. Fuck. Screw behaving like a gentleman, or whatever bullshit England was always talking about. If he couldn't touch Toris he was going to burst.

He strode forward to stand right behind the shorter man, shutting off the faucet. Lithuania made the mistake of turning around, breath hitching and face blushing anew as he was suddenly nose to nose with the American.

Alfred had tried to think of a smooth line to take control of the situation, but couldn't as he became lost in green eyes. Green eyes that, though now were full of shock, were gentle like a forest breeze, and warm like a harvest sun. Eyes that he had seen hold unimaginable pain when Lithuania thought he wasn't being watched. He had fallen too far too be cool, when all he wanted was the warmth of the person in front of him.

"Alfred?" Toris asked hesitantly, in wonder of the awe in the younger man's eyes as they beheld him.

"Hey," the blonde burst into a grin, the break in silence assuring that he wasn't dreaming. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

Toris found himself nodding, and the next thing he knew was lips on lips, arms embracing him and fingers entwining in his hair. His head began spinning, and he gently pushed Alfred away to catch a breath. Sky-blue eyes, caught off guard, began to fill with the anguish of rejection, a sight so painful that Toris grabbed Alfred by the collar into another kiss, firmer and more insistent than his initial response. He wrapped his arms around the other and could feel the boy's smile on his lips. He pulled away to plant a gentle kiss on America's forehead.

"So…that was okay?" Damn those eyes could be so hopeful.

"Of course. Better than okay," he felt positively giddy, laughter bubbling out of his chest.

This weekend was definitely going to be better than he had anticipated.

Yes that ending was rushed and sloppy, but that is because I do not feel like editing this. Sorry. If you like it, yay! If not, I am sory to have disappointed you.