Title: Unbend
Prompt: Cuban Sunrise
Rating: PG
Summary: Cuddling on the beach.
CAVITIES.
It was not quite dawn yet. The sky had just started to lighten, turning the downy grey clouds ever so slightly pink. America was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he spread out the blanket over the sand.
"I know it's not actually Cuba, but this was the best I could do," he said, and broke off with a yawn. His voice was charming, scratchy with sleep. "Anyway, you said you wanted to visit Puerto Rico sometime, right?"
"I'm perfectly happy with this," Russia assured him, "It's beautiful out here."
America shot him a drowsy grin over his shoulder. "Thanks. I keep saying Eva should become a state already, but she seems to like things the way they are. It's kind of nice to come down here and get away from everything once in a while, you know?"
"Mmm hmm," Russia hummed as he handed America the two thermoses he'd filled that morning, one tea and one coffee. It was nice here, too. The temperature was cool, but pleasant. The only sounds were the gentle lap of waves against the shore and the occasional seagull, and they had the beach all to themselves. Maybe it was just that no one else was up this early, but Russia suspected that America had pulled some strings to keep anyone from interrupting them.
America settled down on the blanket with a content sigh. He patted the space next to him invitingly, and Russia sat next to him, scooting close so that their shoulders were touching. Russia's sandals were full of sand already, and it seemed silly to keep them on. He set them to the side and buried his feet in the sand, still cool from the night. America giggled a little and copied him. A little war emerged where they both tried to bury each others' ankles in sand using their feet as shovels, until America, still shaking with laughter, leaned over and rested his head on Russia's shoulder. Russia pressed little kisses into his hair and curled his arm around America's waist.
America snuggled himself in a little closer. His voice was slightly muffled when he spoke. "I'm glad we do this, you know."
Russia rested his cheek against America's head and looked out over the water. "What, watch the sunrise together?" he asked teasingly. The wind blew a few stray tendrils of hair across his face.
"No. Well, yeah. But you know what I mean. I'm glad we do this every year."
"Yes, I know." They'd made a tradition of spending time together every year around this time to commemorate the time they'd almost, but not quite, ended up killing each other. At first it had been out of a kind of fear, a reminder not to let things ever get so far again. Over the years it had turned into something much more pleasant, though, more of a reminder that even when things were at their worst, they'd still been able to work out their problems. Sometimes they went out for dinner, other times it was a vacation or just a quiet night in. It had been America's idea to actually visit Cuba this year, but Cuba himself hadn't been too keen on the idea.
Above them, the sky had started to fill with streaks of purple and pink. The water that in a few hours would be a breathtaking crystal blue reflected the bright colors. America shifted and disentangled himself from Russia enough to pick up his thermos and sip at his coffee. Russia breathed in deeply. He didn't care much for the taste of coffee, but he liked the smell, and America only drank it black like this in the morning. If he had coffee any other time of the day it would be something with cream, flavored syrup, and a strange name; something Russia had never understood.
"You want to lie down and watch the rest?" America asked, screwing the lid back on the thermos and placing it to the side.
Russia felt a smile sneak onto his face. "Still tired?" he asked, leaning back onto the blanket.
"Yeah," America admitted easily, lying down next to him. "This is nice, but it's still way too early for me to function."
Russia rolled onto his side and curled himself around America, tugging the other nation back into him. America happily complied, tucking his head beneath Russia's chin. America's hair smelled clean and crisp, a pine-forest smell. He was warm and solid against Russia's chest, and Russia snaked an arm around him to hold him closer.
Slowly, the sky changed from pink to red, and then from red to gold. At some point America fell asleep, but Russia watched the sun gild his face in soft golden light. Later, America would want to do a million things on the beach – swimming, shell-hunting, maybe volleyball – but sometimes Russia thought it was nice to have moments like this. It was at these times, after all, that he could really appreciate just how lucky he was.