Hetalia Kink Meme Issue 02.docx

Topic: Baltics share some brotherly love while Russia peeps on them.

Answer – “Envious”:

It’s the beginning of spring and Ivan revels in the cool wind, grateful it’s not as icy as the gales around his own house. The ground squelches wetly beneath his boots, as he strolls up the hill Estonia’s place sits upon.

He smiles as he reaches the top and takes in the clean, well mown paddock and the well kept, wooden fence. Even in the dark, Ivan can tell the soil in Estonia’s gardens has been turned (the boy always did have a green thumb).

But he’s not here to criticise Estonia’s home. Surprisingly – to those that didn’t know him well – Ivan isn’t around to traumatise the nation either. He’s here to watch, tonight. Just watch.

It was with practiced ease that the large Russian jumps the fence, tip-toes through the garden (careful to cover his tracks as he goes) and find the window that peeked into the blonde’s bedroom.

The room mostly tidy and is painted with hues of grey, russet and tints of olive and yellow. There is a cream blind flapping gently with the breeze sweeping through the half open window in front of him. Ivan peers around it carefully, cautious – he can’t be found out. The blonde’s desk is the only thing out of sorts in the room. It’s covered with stacks of paper, pens and envelopes.

Ivan smiles kindly when he catches sight of them. Latvia is sitting on the bed closest to the door his hands clasped in front of him as his fingers wrestle with one another (it seems to be a habit created and continued when he’s nervous). Lithuania’s next, chatting with a small smile, and Estonia who shuts the door with a slight click. Their laughter rings pleasantly in his ears, as they laugh at a joke the Russian missed.

It’s that time of the month again, Ivan finds his mind reiterating in his head, as it does every time he finds himself crouching outside Estonia’s window. This is a time for comfort and understanding; something only each of them feels they can give to each other. Nothing here is complicated or stressful between them, but rather soft, comfortable and most importantly safe. According to Ivan’s source, they have promised to never abandon the others – even if they live and work at another nation’s house for a time.

Ivan’s eyes follow Estonia as he makes tea, before they rest on Lithuania’s seated form. Latvia is quiet too, leaning back rigidly (though the tension is slowly leaking from him) against the pillows at the head of his brother’s bed. There’s a closeness between them that allows them to enjoy the silence that has fallen between them.

Ivan had only known such a thing when he and his sisters were young. But even then, he realises, they weren’t as close as the three Baltic Brothers are. Ukraine had been soft and huggable (it had felt good to have her arms wrapped around him; warm and placating), and it had been pleasant having Belarus in his lap, clinging to his front when the weather got too cold. Above all, knowing they’d needed him had been one of the nicest feelings Ivan’s felt in his long life (especially since he hadn’t had to bully them into needing it). It saddens him to realise they hardly engage in anything of the sort any more.

Ukraine doesn’t visit often – or at all, since their nations’ dispute over oil began. Whilst, ever since Belarus had gotten the idea that she wanted to marry him (where she’d plucked it from, not even Ukraine seemed to know), she’d been somewhat clingy and insistent, making Ivan wish to find a homey hole to hide in whenever she was near. She also seemed to be stalking him and that was just scary.

However, despite all this, there hadn’t ever been the level of understanding between them that the Baltic Brothers possessed. He’d never felt the need to comfort his sisters as Lithuania does Latvia, and to a lesser extent, Estonia. Belarus isn’t dependent, despite her current disposition to hang off his neck at any opportunity, not like Latvia sometimes does. Whilst Estonia’s quiet calm – oddly enough, when he wasn’t in the same room – was like a breath of fresh air for his siblings in a way that Ukraine’s logic and know-how wasn’t.

Overall, their emotional closeness was completely different to what Ivan knew of. Nor was there the sense of dependence between them because of those strands. He and his siblings didn’t need each other to survive, didn’t need each other’s arms or ears.

Ivan is somewhat envious. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself outside Estonia’s bedroom window, watching as Lithuania draws Latvia against him and Estonia sits beside them with an arm around each of their shoulders. They seemed to have abandoned their tea.

He can’t hear them despite the window’s half open state, they’re murmuring so quietly, practically slipping their words straight into each other’s ears. He can imagine Lithuania whispering, “It’s alright. Shhh, settle down Raivis.” As the boy continues to sob and shake. He’s like a leaf in a storm. Fragile, clinging to his branch desperately…

“He’s not here,” Ivan whispers to himself, in place of Estonia, who’s nuzzling Latvia’s pale head, “Here’s not here. We’re – We’re safe.”

They stay seated like that, in the centre of Estonia’s bed for what seems like hours. Ivan also doesn’t move, despite the aching in his limbs. But his legs are strong and he’s in possession of the endurance of a mountain – one must be when they’re faced with sub-zero temperatures, blizzards, drought and flooding every year – he can wait.

And so he does. Watching as Lithuania rocks his youngest sibling, and Estonia rubs both of their backs with big circles.

Half an hour later, the bed creaks and Ivan’s eyes are sweeping over each of the brothers. They move with slow, deliberate actions, ones that have them standing on the floor. Everything is open, obvious – dangerously so, in Ivan’s opinion – as Lithuania presses a soft kiss to Latvia’s brow, then his cheeks and then his nose. That always earns him a small smile. Estonia in turn pecks Lithuania on the head and they’re all giggling again when he sneezes mildly.

Ivan’s chest hurts watching them. Especially as Lithuania’s hands smooth down Latvia’s back – “Do you feel better now? Not even he would bother us now,” – and his eyes find Estonia’s cobalt ones – “We’re safe.”

They divest each other’s shirts, slowly, always slowly, one button at a time, patient, understanding, knowingly – they need to know what each of them is doing, what each of them is going to do. It’s comforting from what Ivan has seen.

Latvia’s small fingers are the most capable with buttons, steadier than normal as they uncouple them. His fingertips linger on Estonia’s stomach, just above his waist line, before he’s undoing his own and Lithuania’s hands are inside, under the red cloth. Lithuania is the most effective at removing clothes (Ivan knows, he’s asked him to do so often enough), whilst Estonia’s folding is quick and efficient, finger tips ghosting across the others’.

Then they kick off their boots.

Ivan shifts minutely, leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look – the cream curtain is getting in the way (damn it). The fun is starting and he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

Estonia and Latvia try to hide the cringe that wracks their bodies as Lithuania reveals the crimson scars on his back (he’s become quite adept at ignoring them now; the awkwardness he feels hardly shows), as he lies on his stomach, on the bed. Ever since they’d healed enough for the brunette to wear a shirt comfortably, Ivan’s watched as Latvia carefully lathes each one with a soft, shy kiss and eventually long licks, his thin legs on either side of his older brother’s waist. Just like he is now. His thin hands tickle up the brunette’s sides, making Lithuania cheeks flush (so prettily) and his entire, lithe body squirm deliciously. He’s laughing again when they stop to dig into his arm pits.

Ivan rests a gloved hand against the cool, stone wall, as the other slides down his torso and slips back and forth over the front of his pants. He sighs quietly, his breath hardly fogging in the nippy air.

Estonia carefully mimics Latvia’s actions on the younger nation’s shoulders, easing whatever tension that was left there until Latvia is blushing and rather shaky - though from a much more welcome stimulus than anything Ivan has managed.

Ivan smiles, his violet eyes soft as Latvia arches back with a small, humid moan that goes straight to Ivan’s groin. One of the small nation’s hands is tracing nonsensical patterns on Lithuania’s back. The other is planted firmly in the emerald green duvet, crinkling it spasmodically. He can hear what the boy’s murmuring as his head rolls back and forth, his mouth open. His tongue slips out to run over his reddening lips after every few pleas.

“Please, p-please, please, Eduard, Toris…”

Ivan presses his fingers against himself harder; he’d like nothing more than for Lithuania to press up against him in the way he does for Latvia. The delicate arch his back contorts into as he presses his bum against Latvia’s groin is nothing short of entrancing. The Russian can’t help but lick his cracked lips.

Estonia whispers something into Latvia’s ear, makes the boy bite his lip and clench his eyes shut. Ivan can imagine the boy’s pants are starting to feel uncomfortably tight, as he wriggles and gently tips his hips forwards against Lithuania, and back against Estonia. The boy is what Ukraine would classify as ‘practically skin and bones’ – nothing like Ivan’s meaty form – but his body is beautiful, all pale shades and soft to the touch. Ivan wishes to nibble at the hip bones peeking out from underneath the boy’s maroon pants.

He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on that fantasy for long. Instead his eyes regard Estonia.

He can’t tell – and Ivan won’t risk being found out by attempting to sneak into the house – if Estonia’s glasses have fogged yet, though his face, neck and shoulders are as pink as his brothers’ soft cheeks. Lithuania’s talking to him, whispering again, his bare feet rubbing against the blonde’s smooth back slowly, from side to side. Estonia’s nodding, his hands cupping each side of Latvia’s hips as he rubs himself against the boy’s ass. He leans across his brothers, kissing each one on the cheek before he moves to kneel beside them.

Latvia rolls from Lithuania’s back moments later, opposite Estonia, his lips red and puffy. They’re claimed in a gentle kiss a millisecond later. Ivan almost chuckles as the two younger nations wobble like buoys in a temperamental ocean because of it. It seems the experience has their worlds spinning. He wishes he was in Lithuania’s position, beneath them both.

Ivan sighs and cups himself gently as they shift and Lithuania’s strong hand reaches for Estonia’s pants. His finger tips slide beneath the pea green material, causing Estonia to gasp as they rub against his hip, the top of his ass and dip into his cleft. He’s clinging to Latvia (who’s framed Estonia’s face with his smaller hands), groaning as Lithuania explores deeper. Latvia rains soft kisses against his face, smooths his hair rearranges his glasses. Soon Estonia is shuddering, his pants around his knees and Lithuania’s lips on his ass.

Ivan can hear the need in Lithuania’s voice when he rasps, “Turn around, Eduard. I’ll,” He gulps, “I’ll prepare you.”

Estonia nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he also pants and swallows thickly. He slides from the bed and bares himself completely – he hardly folds his pants before he’s back on the bed. Lithuania had wriggled and stretched, looking like a writhing snake as he’d relieved himself of his own pants. Latvia’s slower – if Ivan didn’t know better, he’d have thought the boy was doing it for show – snapping the buttons apart and pulling the zipper down with a long ziiiiiiiip.

Ivan doesn’t know who to admire first. Each of them have their own charm and they’re all attractive – naked, aroused or not. They’re all thin, all somewhat pale. Lithuania’s body is covered with more scars than either of his brothers’. Estonia’s is broader. Latvia is all soft lines and curves. Their cocks – Ivan has to bite his lip to keep from groaning – are all different, all gorgeous – Ivan’s tasted them all.

He knows the feeling of Estonia’s thicker cock on his tongue – all musk and money. Lithuania’s is slightly longer than Estonia’s, but he’s thinner. Ivan knows he shakes and writhes and arches back beautifully when the head of his cock is sucked just right. Latvia’s suits him; smaller than his brothers’ though he is slighter in general. Unlike Lithuania, he curls in on himself when sucked. He tugs hair and pants, gasps and sometimes swears in Latvian, shaking all the while – it’s quite a sight.

But they hardly re-enact their performances with him with each other. It’s a small disappointment.

Ivan’s cock is pressing insistently against his pants. And he repeats Latvia’s slow actions as he watches Estonia kneel over Lithuania’s folded knees, facing the wall opposite them, so his back is facing his brother’s front. Lithuania’s pressing long, opened mouthed kisses against it, working his way down as his hands slide up and down Estonia’s sides, fingers teasing the crease between the other nation’s thighs and torso with every downwards sweep.

“To-riiiis,” Estonia moans – Lithuania groans back, his lips fastening themselves to the top of Estonia’s cleft.

Latvia seems to appear out of no where, a tube of lube clasped in his shaking hands. Lithuania smiles as he takes it, thanks him and pecks his mouth, before turning back to his task.

Ivan’s torn between watching Latvia as he kneels in front of Estonia – the blonde rises to his knees, hands clasping Latvia’s shoulders as they kiss – and Lithuania, who’s sliding a finger between Estonia’s cheeks as he opens the lube with his other hand.

Ivan hisses lowly, as he frees his cock – finally – and grasps it. He hardly does anything more than squeeze as Lithuania’s finger seems to lathe gel over Estonia’s most private place, pressing gently before retreating – such are his rules; he can’t have himself come before the real fun has started.

Latvia’s fingers trickle up and down and all over Estonia’s chest, his lips having moved to his brother’s right ear. Ivan imagines he’s sucking on the lobe, nibbling on it and perhaps licking the shell.

Lithuania’s finger has disappeared. Ivan’s cock throbs to every long stroke. Estonia’s panting harder than ever, his legs inching wider as Latvia removes his glasses, placing them near the foot of the bed. Estonia’s fingers tangle in his younger brother’s silver hair as the boy licks up a nipple and sucks on it. Lithuania takes the opportunity to slip another finger inside, then another a few minutes later, when Latvia switches.

Three fingers… Ivan can’t stop himself, especially when Latvia takes Estonia in his hands and rubs as though it’s the first time he’s done it – slow and exploratory – he begins to stroke himself slowly.

“Raivis, oh God, Toris - mmmm,” Estonia whispers breathily – he’d be near whimpering by now if the Russian were in there – as he bucks into Latvia’s small hands and back on Lithuania’s gel-slick fingers.

It’s Latvia’s turn to gasp as Estonia leans forward, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sucks. He whimpers loudly as one of the blonde’s capable hands have cupped one side of Latvia’s bum, as the other slips down the boy’s front to grope at his balls, rolling them in his large hands and squeezing. Latvia’s shuddering immediately.

Lithuania’s green eyes are half shut as he watches. Finally, with a flicker of pink tongue on his lips, he’s panting, “I’m going to – to – is it alright, Eduard?”

“Yes.”

It takes a bit of shifting, but soon, Lithuania’s pressing the tip of his cock against Estonia and Estonia’s panting, rubbing at Latvia carelessly as Latvia watches his face with the curiosity of a child.

If Ivan tries he can pretend it’s his cock breaching the blonde as his fist squeezes the head of his cock tight and slides down in time with Lithuania’s slow push. He’s taken him before and he is tight and hot and – he turns a loud groan into a sigh – it must be most pleasurable thing Lithuania’s done in some time.

“It doesn’t hurt,” The Russian hears Latvia whisper gently, “Not as much as when he does it.”

“No,” Estonia smiles awkwardly, eyes unfocussed – Ivan had once tried on the blonde’s glasses and is under the impression he barely sees more than blurred together colours in the room’s dim lamp light – “Nothing like that.”

Lithuania presses a kiss to Estonia’s shoulder blade, apologising despite the fact, and beckons Latvia closer to do the same to his swollen lips.

“C-Can I move, Eduard?”

Estonia nods and is quickly pulled back so his back is pressed against Lithuania’s front and he’s practically sitting in his lap. He doesn’t release his hold on Latvia, pulling the boy forward with a yelp. He squishes them together, groin to groin, chest to chest.

Lithuania cries out with every thrust. He’s pressed his forehead against Estonia’s shoulder blade, “Oh, God,” He pants, “Eduard, oh, Raivis.”

It’s amazing to watch as Lithuania thrusts into Estonia and grasps his youngest brother leaking cock in his lube slicked hand, pumping him in time with his thrusts. They’re moving together – dancing almost, if Ivan’s at all poetic – against the others’ equally sweaty bodies.

Latvia’s reaction is immediate and Ivan’s strokes speed up as the boy pants and writhes and bucks forward against Estonia, into Lithuania’s hand. He doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands as they jump between Lithuania’s neck and shoulders, and Estonia’s arms and chest.

Lithuania’s thrusts are becoming shorter and shorter and Estonia grasps one of Latvia’s hands – they’re clamped to his biceps, their knuckles white as he attempts to keep himself in this world – and pulls it down to himself.

Ivan shifts and strokes harder. He alternates between long and short strokes, as he leans his head against the wooden window sill and closes his eyes briefly. He savours the brothers’ sounds. They’re gasping each other’s names. They breathe them out with every exhale, pleading for more, faster, harder, tighter. It’s a delicious chorus Ivan only hears on nights like this, when he’s hidden outside, a curtain as his only cover and the boys unaware. The slapping sound of skin against sweaty skin is like the music to their lyrics.

When he looks back they’ve changed position. Lithuania is above them, hips bucking non-too-gracefully into Estonia’s. He rears back every few thrusts; hair mussed from the experience, before he’s leant over Estonia again, his forehead against the blonde’s back, his arms locked straight and planted on either side of Latvia’s waist. Latvia is on the bed, under Estonia, his back arching and his legs curled around Estonia’s waist. He cries out with every one of Lithuania’s thrusts, as they drive Estonia onto him. Their cocks are squeezed together between them, along with Latvia’s hand. Estonia’s are clenching the midnight duvet next to the boy’s shoulders.

“I’m – I’m going to,” Latvia stammers, his free arm wrapping around Estonia.

“Yes, same, oh,” Estonia answers, “Toris, h-harder. Please, just a bit more.”

“Faster, Raivis,” Lithuania clasps Estonia’s hips, I’m not going to l-aaaah!”

Ivan chokes back his own cry, his hand moving madly over himself. The boys are cumming. They’re beautiful, gorgeous, hot, lovely, all three of them, Lithuania first, he can’t tell who’s cum is splattering itself all over Latvia’s stomach – but, yes!

They’re faces tighten, teeth biting over lips, mouths gasping, eyes shut tight or opened wide as they release their own form of cry – Latvia’s a series of whimpers, Estonia’s a long groan and Lithuania’s loud wails, highlighted by a few last, shaky thrusts.

Ivan’s gasps and grasps the sill with such a tight grip it makes it creak as he cums, his seed splattering over the stone wall and grass beneath him and his violet eyes clenched shut. It’s with practise that he’s learnt how to not get his clothes dirty during it.

The Russia’s forehead rests against the sill, the cool wood frigid against his burning forehead, much like the wind that’s swirling around him – it’s slightly uncomfortable to pleasure yourself when you’re swaddled in several layers of clothes, he’s realised. He pants, careful that he remains quiet, so as not to alert the boys.

He needs to leave before they spot him – as soon as he regains a bit more of his breath.

Ivan allows himself one last lingering look into the bedroom, his cheeks flushed.

They’re lying beside each other, chests rising and falling calmer than they had all night. Their arms and legs are splayed everywhere, sometimes over and under each other, holding them together.

It’s with a persistent ache in his chest that Ivan tucks himself into his clothes again, and leaves the boys be, sneaking through the gardens and jumping the fence as he did when he came in.

His mind dwells on them as he heads home. Spinning between appreciation – they are delectable when they’re wrapped around each other tighter than one of Japan’s sushi rolls – and utter loathing. He needs to punish them tomorrow for this betrayal; just as he always does – if they have problems they should come to him for help; he doesn’t think he’s forgotten how to comfort someone.

But he knows the truth behind his reasoning isn’t purely anger at their dependence one on another. Rather, there’s a burning jealously boiling within him that leaves him surprised his skin hasn’t turned green yet.

He hates to admit it - it's like a punch to the gut every time - but they have each other, whilst he, Russia, has no one.

Topic: Poland/Lithuania; comfort sex. Bonus for flashbacks to Russia/Lithuania non-con/bad-touch.

Answer – “Comfort in familiarity”:

There had been many dates throughout history that held a lot of meaning for him, but there was something truly special about the 11th November 1989. The Wall had finally fallen, and for the first time in two hundred years, Poland had felt good. It had been the dawn of a new decade. The nineties were fast approaching and they positively crackled with electric excitement that promised a revolution of new freedom and new ideas, and Poland had welcomed it, grinning like a madman all the while. He was independent, in control and free for the first time in forty years. No. If he were entirely honest, it was the first time that he had been truly free in over two hundred years. People talked these days. There were United Nations, NATOs and European Unions binding countries together much more tightly than they had been half a century ago, making Poland feel safer and much more optimistic about the future than he had been in that tense inter-war period.

The change of government and the freedom of his people from the repression of the Reds lurking under their beds caused a flurry of activity that made his head spin. The transformation that the country had been silently screaming for was finally happening with kind of metaphorical explosion that one might expect from lifting the lid off a nation repressed for decades, no, centuries. He had watched with pride as his ‘Solidarity’ movement (his!), had heralded the end of the soviet regime and had led the way in ending communist rule.

The borders relaxed, opened up after so many years of forced insularity, and Poland watched with joy as people came flooding in; Czechs, Slovaks, Germans, Hungarians, Ukrainians, Belarusians wishing to settle, or simply just allow themselves the pleasure of a visit now that the Soviet grip was waning. The West looked to him, offering their money and congratulations both, trade agreements flying in along with celebrations of a successful defeat of the dread threat of communism. The American had certainly put it that way, slapping him heartily on the back with a laugh. “Good job, Felix,” he had said. “You beat the bad guy.” Liberation was something he championed, after all, democracy, capitalism. Those were good in America’s eyes, and after witnessing so many atrocities, living under marshal law, and being forced to bear the burden of being the Soviet shield, Poland was more than willing to agree with him.

It had taken a few more months before that surge of immigrants and casual holidaymakers carried Lithuanians with them, but Poland understood the delay. After all, Lithuania had declared his independence scant few months after Poland had, taking the brave decision to be the first of his Baltic brothers to break away from the crumbling Soviet Union. His people had probably been far too busy readying themselves to spend the time visiting their newly liberated neighbour.

Their previous little, ah, squabble over the issue of Vilnius still lingered in some of the older generation’s memories too. In all honesty, though he felt the odd pang of guilt about it, Poland couldn’t care less about a little bit of resentment between the older generations of Poles and Lithuanians. It would soon fade because really, what was a month-long war compared to over four hundred years of happy co-existence? A spat, in the long run of things; one that was fast fading from Poland’s memory in these new and heady days of freedom.

In fact, Poland was eager to see his former partner. It had been an age since they had talked to one another and he could barely contain his excitement that the day might come soon. Sure, they’d seen each other and exchanged words under the careful eye of Soviet Russia, but actually sat down and talked to each other freely? It had been far too long. Something about his Liet calmed him and made him happier in a way that no other country could, and in this new age, somewhere behind the immediate manic excitement, Poland felt a little disappointed as he watched more and more Lithuanians cross the borders, but saw no sign of Lithuania himself.

Still, he reasoned, he knew full well how busy things were post- independence. It should only be a matter of time before Lithuania paid him a visit (since, as he’d mentioned earlier, he wasn’t sure how welcomed he’d be by some people in Vilnius, so visiting Lithuania might not be the best move to make so early into this new period of peace), and as the weeks dragged on, Poland could only hope that it wouldn’t be too much longer, even though he himself was inundated with internal and external affairs that he needed to oversee. It didn’t stop him from glancing out across the border every now and again though.

As it transpired, it was on one night late in the spring of 1990 that Poland found Lithuania at his door. It hadn’t been a particularly memorable day; neither warm nor cold. The sun hadn’t shone, and the rain hadn’t fallen. It had been a dull and mild Tuesday, very much business as usual. And yet the appearance of the overwhelmingly familiar, and beautifully unassuming man at his doorstep promised that this unremarkable day had just turned into a day that he would not soon forget.

“Hi,” the brunette said simply, a soft smile curving his lips.

Poland blinked at him, strangely dumbstruck, as if he hadn’t expecting it in the slightest. He supposed it ruined his fantasy of running into his arms from across a field of rye, but what did that really matter? Lithuania was at his door. The thought caused him to snap out of his shock.

“Liet!” he shouted, grinning like a lunatic as soon as realisation set in. He threw his arms around the other, squeezing him tightly. “Liet! Liet!” Gone were the dramatic speeches he had planned, and the heartfelt messages of peaceful cooperation. All that seemed able to escape his mouth was the soft croon of a pet name that he hadn’t been able to use in a long, long time.

Lithuania’s slight wince went unnoticed, but the gentle way in which he returned the hug did not. There was a quiet strength beneath the seemingly placid hold though, and Poland wasn’t entirely sure that if he went to pull away, Lithuania would let him.

“I’m sorry that I took so long to come here,” he said in a low voice, breath hot on Poland’s neck from where he had rested his chin upon the blonde’s shoulder.

“That’s totally okay!” Poland replied ecstatically. “It’s been a busy time for all of us, right?” He nuzzled closer. “So much going down,” he muttered.

“Yeah…” Lithuania agreed. “But still-”

“Water under the bridge, you big silly,” Poland interrupted. He savoured the hug for a moment longer before worming away from Lithuania slightly. “Right, leggo,” he ordered, causing the brunette let out a soft, amused snort, knowing only too well what a wriggly nightmare Poland could be. He did as he was bid, stepping back fractionally in one fluid motion. Poland grabbed his arms before he had much of a chance to move further back, holding him in place to look upon him properly. “You’re looking way hot, Liet,” he winked after giving the other an appraising look.

Lithuania laughed. “Thank you.”

Poland grinned at him, but then allowed it to fade into a softer, more wistful sort of smile. “No, but really. Independence looks good on you.”

“There’s still a way to go. Most of the world isn’t very eager to recognise us, and the Soviets don’t look very happy about what Estonia, Latvia and I have done. We’re not out of the woods yet,” Lithuania replied, and Poland could easily see that he was trying to hide a grave expression behind a forced smile.

“You look tired,” the blonde said quietly, suddenly rather sombre.

“I feel tired, but,” he shrugged, “I stand by my course of action. I’m happy. Tired and stressed, yes, but I’m also so happy that at times I feel overwhelmed. I can finally be me again.”

“Don’t I know it?” Poland grinned, his mood lightening once more.

“Yes, I suppose you do…” Lithuania gave him an odd look then, part relieved and part intense. “I didn’t like what happened to you during these last few years. I hated seeing you quiet and forlorn like that. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Well I didn’t like it either,” Poland agreed with a sunny smile. He realised something then, and slapped himself on the forehead. “Duh! As if I haven’t even invited you in yet! Rude much?” he gasped. “Come in, come in!” He stepped aside at that, making dramatic hand gestures.

Lithuania laughed, but as he walked in and kicked his shoes off, his smile turned nostalgic as he gazed upon Poland’s home. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” he said with no small amount of wonder in his voice.

“Different?” Poland asked, closing the door behind them and casually leaning against it.

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