It was that time again. How often had they done this now? Poland didn't know, just that he was sick and tired of the meetings. Meeting with his Boss were acceptable, if a little dull. But the meetings of the nations had but one redeeming point.

It wasn't the mystery of how there was always one seat empty, yet no-one could quite remember who used to be there. Nor was it the charming sensation that a documentary on paint drying could be more interesting. No, it was a secret, a secret only two nations in the room shared.

They didn't share much, nowadays, both of them knew. Once everything had belonged to each other, they'd shared dreams, they'd shared clothes and they had shared those unforgettable moments in the dead of the night, when it was just them, in their paradise, locked in the relentless shift of hot skin and sweat, a sweet continual cycle of give and take.

But that was old news. Everyone knew what they had once been. But the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was just that, history. Now they were just the same as everyone else, less even. Lithuania only attended these meetings so he could serve Russia his drinks. Or so everyone thought.

Lithuania straightened his tie as he walked into the hallowed halls of the UN headquarters, and nodded at everyone he passed, sometimes exchanging hellos, sometimes blushing and looking awkward. Poland simply kept his head down, not daring to look at anyone. There were nations here he didn't know, and he had never gotten over his phobia of strangers. Taking their seats on opposite sides of the room, two pairs of jade eyes met briefly.

As the first speaker (France) took the floor their eye contact never wavered once, and Russia gave his servant one long frozen glare before spotting Iceland, and beaming at him profusely. Poland paid him no heed, and mouthed across the room at his long-time partner: 'So, like, ready?'

A lump rose in Lithuania's throat, and he gulped at it nervously. They had discussed this again last night, a rushed phone call which had deviated from its true purpose. As they always did. Somehow, nowadays even hearing that voice was enough, enough to leave him twisted in his bed, phone pressed to his ear as he stroked his fingers in the most forbidden places, knowing that his own hand at his member wasn't the same as the Pole's, while that voice crooned and told him just how he'd take him, kiss him, suck at him, until both of them had to set the phone aside. He had stifled his cries with a pillow, and took his sheets down to wash when nobody had paid any attention. Neither of them ever said how often those calls of ecstasy ended in real tears for them once the line had gone blank.

And neither of them ever mentioned just how low they had sunk, to this. What they were planning. They were mad, thought Lithuania, utterly mad. To want to sneak away to capture those moments wherever they could find. And yet, Poland had managed to find a broom cupboard on the second floor where nobody would hear them, and they both wanted this. Perhaps he was being a romantic, perhaps he was being a fool, but even trapped in a dark janitors' closet while the others discussed missiles, he thought their sex had meaning.

His cheeks had reddened as he had thought about it, and he shifted in his seat lightly, noting just how hungrily Poland was staring at him. A part of his mind wondered why he couldn't be more subtle, but he couldn't complain. Until he registered just what the blond was doing.

Poland yawned, teeth bared in a small feline grin as he stretched, arcing his back as he extended his arms behind him as he slumped back down in his chair casually. If he hadn't had other plans he would have had put his feet up on the table and reclined, but instead he opted to slip one hand inside his jacket, as if he was merely nagging at an itch. Instead, he ran his finger alone one of his collarbones, massaging into the dip behind one gently, peeping up from under pale eyelashes at his former husband across the room.

Lithuania swore under his breath and crossed his legs awkwardly, tugging the shirt of his uniform down as far as he could.

By this point, France had finished speaking, and Russia had taken the floor, just the opportunity they were looking for. Standing up, the mortified brunet managed to stutter out "Ba-bathroom!" before he fled from the room. He'd been expecting this, but not that fast, not in the room with everyone there...

Undeterred, Poland counted to a hundred in Polish under his breath (it took twice as long as it might have in another language) and stared at the speaker with an expression no less than pure hate whilst he imagined every bad thing that could possibly befall the nation of Russia. He was just debating as to whether it would be more satisfying to find him drowned in a tragic vodka distilling accident, or crushed by a giant falling sunflower when he decided it was time to move. Omitting a loud sigh, he swooned and collapsed in his seat.

There was very little fuss over this, anything could happen at these meetings, and Russia's face began to darken when anyone tried to reach over to the nation that had 'passed out', and so after a moment or two Poland sat up and pretended to waver, before wobbling his way over to the door, muttering feebly about needing air.

As soon as the doors slid into place, and all twenty four locks were shut again (there was some advantage to being at Switzerland's place for these meetings) he reached into a deep pocket and found a metal nail file. Smashing the fire alarm button next to the door with it, he heard the satisfying sound of sprinklers dashing down on everyone in the room. Not wanting to waste time, he ran from the scene of the crime.

His feet pounded along the corridors he had memorised, taking a left, a right and then another before he found himself at the door of the bathroom. Suddenly he stopped, taking a moment to brush down his uniform, tweak at his capelet and the like before he shoved at the door as quietly as he could.

A quiet, drawn out moan drew him to the only occupied stall in the room, and he nosed it open with the toe of his boot curiously, before a hand flew to his mouth. Half bent over on the ground, whorls of brown hair fell around the Baltic nation's face as he murmured to himself. His uniform was still in place, but the bottom halves of his shirt were pushed aside and the zipper of his trousers was undone, exposing the hard flesh that he was pumping at, completely oblivious to anything except the memories in his mind, and the sensation from touching himself.

Poland watched quietly, mouth agape at how those fingers wandered, stunned at Lithuania, at how his hand teased along his shaft and played at the underside with an odd kind of grace. His own body responded to this with a sudden surge as he felt muscles tighten and tingle within him. Tongue thick in his mouth, his voice was low and seemed to fill the tiny cubicle.

"God...c'mon, move. We can't like, stay here. We need to go. Now."

Somehow unsurprised (had he been doing this for show the whole time?) Lithuania forced himself back down inside his pants, and extended a hand for help to get back off the floor. Clutching at each other for a moment, they left the bathroom quickly, hearts pounding as the noise of the stress and fear in the main hall reached them.

They ran through the hallway, allowing themselves to do something they didn't get to enjoy often now, laughing as they dashed past photos of stiff, cold politicians. Every now and then one would hiss "Shhh!" and that would only make them giggle more, stifling it as best they could. Oh, it was uncomfortable, there was a persistent need nagging at them both, but the joy, the glee of being able to be together freely now was something that couldn't be squashed down easily, and despite everything there was the giddy feeling from when they had been children. From the days when these drab halls had been rye fields. At first they passed the broom cupboard they were looking for, but as soon as they were inside it everything started to move.

It was a tight fit, and they were pressed together not just from want, but necessity also. At first nobody bothered with the light, and hands searched through the darkness for warm skin in a frenzied hunt, pulling at hair, shoving aside fabric aside in frustration when they couldn't find what they wanted. Lithuania's hands tweaked at the sensitive pink peaks on the Pole's chest and he let out a breathy gasp, drawing back and pulling on the cord for the light.

"Poland...get back here..."

It wasn't a question, it was more a command, and for once the stubborn mule that never did what he was told obeyed. More than obeyed, in fact. He slammed them together in a fiery kiss, teeth bumping against each other in such a connection it was bordering on violence. After so many nights imagining Liet was here, at last he was. They relished the thrill of being together like this, so illegal and so dangerous, with everyone scant metres away. Together they stumbled back against a wall, bumping into a stepladder, barely stopping to think as their hands roamed further down in perfect time and the light from the bare bulb shone dimly from the spit coursing down their chins from their needy kiss.

There was nothing in the room to prepare themselves properly, and no time, no time at all. No time even for questions. Lithuania's lip split slightly from their force, and yet neither of them broke away. Why would they let this go? It wasn't a matter of comfort. Love wasn't comfort. Love was sticking it out as long as they could, holding at memories and reaching for brief, imperfect moments like this. This was why not even a whisper was heard as Poland's zipper whirred open, and his underwear fell around his ankles. Only a small mewl escaped as Lithuania too, was freed and he pushed his fingers into the blond's mouth as gently as he could. A bite at his hand reminded him that he was supposed to ask permission for that first, and then the swirl of that delicate tongue around his fingernails told him he was forgiven.

He paused only briefly before withdrawing his hand, and hitching Poland's leg up to his waist, thrusting his fingers into him with haste, but care. Poland swore against the brunet's tie, pressing his face into his shirt. Bucking his hips aimlessly against his partner's stomach, he whimpered more under his breath, a high wanton sound.

There was so much they could have said. From the simple things, enquiries as to how they were surviving, to the crucial, the point of their freedom. Maybe to the things they never said, but should have. Like 'I do love you', from Poland, and a true apology for his words the day they'd been separated. Or reassurance, from Lithuania, that no matter how many nations sought him out, Belarus or not, he would always just take Poland. But none of that escaped their lips. No time, no time. Instead, Poland twisted, and manoeuvred himself to lean back over the stepladder they'd crashed into, spine pressed up against the cold metal. His hands gripped at the rail as he looped his legs around the Baltic's waist, impaling himself slowly until they were joined , right to the hilt.

The stepladder wobbled as they began to move, and Poland groaned loudly until a hand was pressed over his mouth, and he remembered that they could be caught any moment. Heavy footfalls passed in a seeming response to this, and they waited in silence, hearts pounding in tandem.

As soon as they'd echoed to nothing, Lithuania rolled his hips forward in a smooth arc, then pulled back and began to thrust quickly, absorbed by the heat and the tightness around his core. With every push he felt lips move against his fingers, as Poland tried to mewl, cry out, anything. Hands snarled back into hair, and the stepladder creaked a little more with each heavy breath that ran ragged from Lithuania's lips.

Creak.

Creak.

They were close, so close now, and the room seemed to dissolve around them as they imagined a different scene, other, sweeter times. Like the day they'd attended the opera, and snuck aside before the final act. They'd made love behind the velvet curtains, and as the music drew to a crescendo so had they. Or the first time they'd slept out in the rye, and the coarse grain had been rough against their skin, tickling on their backs. Backs that had no scars, that didn't ache from too many days of hard work. Remembering, Poland rubbed himself desperately along Lithuania's stomach, searching for heat, friction, anything. And as the hand that he had bitten at came down to caress that aching need he felt release, his cream trickling down the side of his leg.

Still pushing forward, Lithuania whispered a quiet plea for forgiveness for what he was about to do, and pinched at the dent of Poland's butt cheek. The yelp he let out couldn't be silenced, but his muscles contracted in response, and Lithuania too let go, wrapping his arms around the smaller man as the emotions rose up inside of him and crashed down around his ears. They helped each other up, dressed and stood, ready to leave like nothing at all had happened. Could they really let it go like this?

There was the rush of loud, angry and confused voices outside, death threats and comforts, as the nations rushed past in a group now. They could hear their names, and the quiet 'kol' that meant Russia was angry, and would be searching for them. Still locked tight in an embrace, the smell lingering in the air, the two lovers clutched at each other in fear and love, knowing that as soon as they left this room they would have so much hell to pay, but knowing it had been worth it. Lithuania laid his head upon Poland's shoulder, and Poland stroked at his hair tenderly, more so than he'd ever show the world. It was only a moment, a snatch at time, but...to have been the result of a United Nations meeting...it still meant that much to them.