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Post by Russia on Sept 26, 2011 16:09:19 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that, that just the sound of it whipping by the window was enough to make Russia shiver slightly. They were having a genuine blizzard it seemed.
The Russian’s eyes wandered from the spilled vodka on the small table to Tino’s slightly colored cheeks and oddly content expression. If he had not already been informed that they had a decent stash of vodka, he might have been ready to curse the other nation out for so carelessly spilling the liquor. But apparently Tino’s boss had realized that the drink would be necessary in large quantities, and he had been kind enough to make sure there was plenty to go around. An oddly nice thing for a Finn to do. Just as Ivan was pondering as to whether or not Tino’s boss might indeed be decent, he remembered that it was their bosses who had damned them to spend this time together anyways. He decided to write Finland’s boss off as a strange sort of generous devil.
“What took you so long? ‘S almost gone.”
Ivan shook his head slightly at the Finn’s drunken state. It surely had not taken him long to drink his way to happy land while Ivan had been away. Then again, it was not entirely unexpected. Russia loved to think that Finland and his people were raving alcoholics. Way worse than any of his own people when it came to overdrinking. As far as Ivan was concerned, he drank just enough liquor. Not too much and not too little. Finland on the other hand clearly over-indulged and drank it too fast. “Алик.” the Soviet murmured, pouring himself another shot and quickly knocking it back. “With you, I am amazed there is any left at all in the bottle.” Not at all feeling like a hypocrite, the violet-eyed Russian poured himself another shot.
“How long are you here for, again? What was it – two days? Three?”
Feeling so much warmer and more content, Ivan almost missed the question. The more liquor he drank, the harder it was to pay attention to what was being said and the easier it was to let his mind wander to silly and trivial things. Like how funny his socks looked when he stretched his feet out a little and wiggled his toes. Looking up from his socks, he stared at Tino as though he had been asked a trick question, his mind racing to remember. “Something like that. Too many is all I know. I want to go home already.” He smiled a bit at the thought of his own house, and the liquor he had waiting for him back there.
“We already did what our bosses told us to do; I taught you to ski.”
The Soviet frowned a little as the Finn reached for the bottle of vodka. Somewhat reluctantly, he relinquished the heavenly alcohol, comforted by the fact that he could always get another bottle later on. Maybe after Tino passed out he could go on a drinking spree.
“Well, kinda.”
“Kinda?” Ivan repeated, his voice deceptively quiet despite his annoyance. “I ski just as good as you. You’re just upset because I learned so fast.” His eyes shifted to the where Tino was staring, watching with amusement as the vodka vanished from the table, absorbed into the other man’s night clothing. Served him right for spilling it. Not that smelling like vodka was bad really. Ivan himself was all too used to coming home smelling like cheap bars. Cheap because in his current financial dilemma, who had the money for expensive liquor?
Pulling his mind from bars and liquor, the blonde Soviet nodded slightly at Finland’s mention that they had done what their bosses had wanted, and now he did not know what else to do. Their bosses had probably expected them to spend the time they were not skiing drinking. That made sense to him, and he knew his boss was aware of his love for alcohol. It did not sound bad at all to him really. If it were not for the fact that he was with Finland, he might have actually enjoyed a small vacation like this.
The more the Russian drank, the more unfocused everything got for him. Feeling uncoordinated and perhaps more intoxicated than he would ever admit to feeling after less than an entire bottle of vodka, he stared at the blizzard raging outside the window.
“Really tired, though, ‘n it doesn’t look like we’re going to be going anywhere with the storm like that. Y’want some food or somethin’? Think I’m gonna sleep, but if you want some food there’s probably some here.”
Russia considered the option of food for a moment in silence. It did sound good. Images of hot soups and pelmeni raced through his mind as he continued to stare with a drunken sort of smile at the snowy scene outside. If only he were home… then Toris could cook something delicious and he could just wait by the fireplace to be served. But sadly, his servant wasn’t here, and he was a long way from home. As delicious as hot food sounded, another bottle of vodka and bed sounded even better. That drunken lethargic feeling had set in now, and every movement of his head felt so strange and disorienting. Food could wait for the time being.
Ivan rose from the sofa and started towards the Finn unsteadily, laughing softly at the way the room seemed to move slightly with each step. “Sleep sounds good. Where is the vodka though? I might need some if I wake up and need a drink, yes?” He waved the empty vodka bottle for a moment before tossing it towards the couch. A bit clumsily, the Russian made his way into the kitchen to search for the liquor. After rummaging around the cupboards a bit, he found the stash that had been mentioned-all the bottles with the same neat little bows as the first around the necks. Opening one of the bottles quickly, he took a drink straight from it before heading back towards the bedroom.
He had fully expected Finland to sleep on the couch. That was the logical thing for the Finn to do, right? Obviously the bed was for the larger and more powerful nation. But to Ivan’s surprise, Finland seemed to have had other ideas. Entering the bedroom, he was greeted with the sight of Tino, who must have been very confused. “Нет Tino.” The larger nation stated as though he were shooing a dog off his bed and not a full grown nation. “You are confused, comrade. You sleep on the couch. I sleep here.” Annoyed, he made ready to grab the other nation if the need arose and try to pull him off into the other room. ___________________________ ((Алик = alcoholic. Ivan is more than happy to call Finland one and ignore his own problems with alcohol abuse. XD))
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Post by Finland on Sept 30, 2011 8:53:03 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Tino’s alcohol-basted mind was sure all at once that the windows were made out of ice rather than glass. They felt so freezing to the touch that they were an emitting a white-cold aura, which he was also suddenly sure was possible. There was the term ‘white-hot’, but as far as Tino knew, most white stuff was generally frozen and cold, not hot.
After some delay, he realized that Russia had said something. What was it?
“Where is the vodka?”
Finland definitely heard him ask at least that much.
“Um,” he hummed drunkenly. He hadn’t been informed that there was going to be a test. Where was the vodka? Judging by the acrid taste still detectable on his tongue, there had obviously been vodka not too long ago. Oh, wait, there it was; Ivan had it in his hand. Ah, but that bottle was empty. That’s right; they’d just finished it off, hadn’t they? But there had to be more somewhere. There was never just one bottle of vodka in a Finnish home.
With a suddenness that nearly sent him toppling over backwards, Tino wobbled and shot a hand out somewhere in the general direction of the kitchen, standing frozen like that for several seconds. “Over there somewhere, I think,” he responded at last, almost sounding like he was asking a question rather than giving a definite answer. At first, he’d been positive that was where the vodka was. A brief moment of clarity had made him almost certain that he could remember digging through a cabinet and finding several bottles of alcohol, but the liquor coursing through his veins quickly killed that certainty.
Ivan seemed satisfied by the answer as he turned and headed for the kitchen, his steps looking almost as unreliable and imbalanced as the Finn’s.
Tino continued on to the bedroom after Ivan was out of sight, flopping brusquely on the bed with the wetness of his pant leg touching his ankle and making him shiver. For a few moments, he struggled to get under the covers, but such a task proved too great a feat for his addled brain. Instead of crawling between the sheets, he ended up with the comforter folded back a bit to cover his head, his body sprawled facedown and exposed over the bed. He’d ended up crooked on the mattress, more towards the side than the center so that his right arm and right leg ended up dangling over the side of the bed. It didn’t matter; he was sleepy and the bed was soft and it was all it took to knock him out.
At least, he would have been asleep if it were not for Ivan’s annoyingly childlike-yet-baritone voice waking him up. Finland was just sober enough to translate Ivan scolding him, “ Нет Tino.”
Had he been at all in any condition to think, Finland would have promptly sat up and informed Russia that he was not to talk to him as if he was a dog. Thinking, however, was not Tino’s strong point at the moment and so he responded with a rumbling, “Mitä?”, not bothering to bring his head out from under the covers.
“You are confused, comrade.”
Sober Tino would have retorted Damn right I’m confused! What the hell are you doing coming in here and talking down to me like that?! I’m tryin to sleep! Sober Tino was still absent, though and the Tino present gave another droning, “Mitäääää?”
“You sleep on the couch. I sleep here.”
Finland, heaving a great sigh, sat up at last and gave a sleepy glare at Russia. Intimidation and a clear display that he was not impressed was his goal, but with one of his eyelids drooping, his gaze cloudy and unfocused and with a little sliver of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth, it was doubtful that his tactics were successful.
“ ‘S my cabin,” he responded in a slur, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and nearly collapsing in the floor before righting himself. Whoa, when did we get on a boat? Fighting to keep his balance on the pitching floorboards and attempting to not get physically ill, Tino stumbled over to Ivan and promptly placed a hand against the other’s chest. At least, it was supposed to be against his chest. It might have been closer to his ribs or navel or shoulder.
If there weren’t two of him,[/color] Tino thought, unknowingly commenting on his own double vision, this would be so much easier![/i]
Whatever his hand was placed against – something warm and muscly – Tino gave both Russias a firm push towards the door. “You,” he informed, still pushing steadily, “sleep on the couch.” It was possible that the Finn had miscalculated the physics behind getting Russia out the door when, even for all the work he was putting into pushing him, the other did not budge. Perhaps prolonged pressure was not the right method. Maybe one quick shove would work better. Leaning back and tightening the muscles in his legs and back, Tino launched himself against Ivan.
It was like hitting a brick wall.
Tino ricocheted off the Soviet and wound up on the spinning, rippling floor. He blinked a few times, unsure of what just happened, before making his way to his feet and giving both of the Ivans a glare and a huff. “ ‘M sleepin’ here,” he asserted definitively, climbing back into the bed and wrestling with the sheets a bit before settling back down. “Do whatcha want.”
Surely, with such a macho display, Russia would be scared to defy Finland and would quietly accept his place on the sofa. The drowsy Nordic waited for the sound of exiting footsteps, his back towards Russia.
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Post by Russia on Oct 6, 2011 16:53:05 GMT -5
The snow was so cold, that had either of the nations suddenly found themselves transported outside, they would have surely frozen into human-shaped popsicles. Surely if that were to happen, who got the bed would have been the least of their worries. Or at least, they would have been so caught up with wanting to wrap up under warm blankets by the fire that they would not have cared about much else. Even inside the cabin, the sound of the cold wind whipping past the windows was enough to make even the most chill resistant man shiver.
Ivan had had no idea what the word “Mitä” had meant, but he did not like the questioning tone of voice that had went with it. Was Finland questioning his authority? How dare that drunken little Nordic question the lead Soviet nation like that! It was downright infuriating- an emotion that he always seemed to feel around Finland since the war. With such a defiant nation as Finland though, that only stood to reason.
When the Finn sat up at first, Ivan had assumed he might do something sensible then and move off the bed and go to the couch. But one look at the glare on the other nation’s face told the Russian otherwise. Here was a man who clearly lacked sense. Ivan was not sure if that hard glare was meant to make him think twice about challenging the Finn for the bed, but if it was then it was not working. Far from intimidated, the drunken Russian felt more of an urge to lash out and punch the other country in the face.
“ ‘S my cabin.”
The Russian’s face darkened with rage, his eyes narrowing dangerously. His Finnish foe was getting off the bed though, so Ivan at first wondered if his glare had been enough to intimidate Finland into giving up on such crazy ideas. But no, Tino was heading right towards him with all the grace that could be expected from someone who had drank so much vodka. Ivan blinked a few times in an attempt to right his own vision, as the other country jabbed a hand against his upper abs. The impact did not really hurt, and he wondered if Finland might have just stuck a hand out to stop from falling over.
“You, sleep on the couch.”
The little Finn then had the nerve to push against him, as though he was trying to shove his superior out the door! Ivan smiled at the attempt in a malicious sort of way, swaying just a bit after the Finn had leapt against him and slid off. Had he drank much more alcohol, and he surely would have fallen, but in his current state, the push had not been enough to move him much.
“ ‘M sleepin’ here. Do whatcha want.”
“Нет." The Russian stated again, his tone firm and unwavering. The sight of the Finn recovering a bit and defiantly jumping back into his bed was enough to make his blood boil with anger. When he told a lesser country to do something, then he damn well expected his commands to be followed! The bed looked so comfy too, making him all the more eager to kick Tino out and relax in it himself. “You clearly don’t understand your place, Finn.” Ivan stated with a slight slur, as he approached the bedside. His steps were a bit wobbly, but he was not yet wasted enough to notice too much movement. He did feel like he was on a ship, but at least it was not the familiar feeling of a ship in a storm, which he always felt when he got really drunk.
Reaching the bedside, Ivan grabbed for the little Nordic, intent on pulling him out if he did not cooperate. “You get the couch. The biggest and strongest nation should have the bed.” His actions a bit clumsy, the Russian attempted to pull on the Nordic some more. He had misjudged what he was grabbing exactly though, and ended up falling backwards, pulling the blankets onto the floor with him. Struggling free from the tangle of soft blankets and sheets, Ivan glared murderously to the Finn.
“Be a good little nation and go sleep on your couch. Or I am going to have to hurt you.” The unhinged Soviet gave a laugh as he rose back to his feet. “My bed.” gathering his strength, Ivan reached out again for the Finn’s arm, intent on trying to wrestle him out to the couch somehow.
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Post by Finland on Oct 12, 2011 11:42:07 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that as soon as Ivan had relieved him of his blankets, Tino shivered, trying to remember without avail if the fireplace had been lit before he staggered back into the bedroom, smelling of vodka. He’d barely heard Ivan scolding, “You clearly don’t understand your place, Finn,” before two bear-like hands grabbed the blankets and began tugging. Tino gave an irritated little whine as he felt the sheets slipping off of his body while Ivan continued speaking. “You get the couch. The biggest and strongest nation should have the bed.”
Was it Ivan’s plan to torture him with the chilliness of being uncovered? How cruel! Didn’t he know how cold Tino already was with the blizzard not showing any signs of stopping inside his body?
With a loud thud, the blankets were suddenly gone. But wait – blankets shouldn’t make a loud thud. Even with a bottle of Finlandia in him, Tino recognized the illogic behind that occurrence. Finland mustered up the energy to turn his head in Russia’s direction. Or at least, to where Russia had been. Scooting over to the edge of the bed, he peered down at the floor to where Ivan was on his back in a tangle of blankets. Tino laughed drunkenly at the sight – so many nations had fallen victim to the Soviet, had lost at the power of his mighty tanks and soldiers. And yet, it took nothing more than a comforter and a sheet to keep the giant nation down.
“Strongest nation?” Finland asked with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” The beyond angry stare Ivan was giving did not go unnoticed.
“Be a good little nation and go sleep on your couch.” As a hand wrapped around his wrist, Tino gave an incredulous look at the one responsible for this action. Ivan didn’t seem to sense the glare as he continued, giggling in that trademark way of his, “Or I am going to have to hurt you.”
Not sensing any danger, though he probably should have, Tino laid his head back against his soft pillow and let his eyes close as a sleepy smile spread on his face.
“Hurt me? You can’t even fight off the sheet—ACK!”
All at once, Tino’s face was introducing itself to the hardwood floor as he heard Ivan proclaim, “My bed!” Hardwood was very accurate. That would be a bruise later. And was his nose bleeding or was it just runny from being out in the cold all day? A quick brush of the hand found mucus and not blood, to the Finn’s relief.
“Oww…” he whined, still rubbing at his nose and forehead. “What the hell?” he droned, trying to climb to his feet while simultaneously attempting to jerk his arm out of the Russian’s clutch. “Get your own bed, pullukka; you’d never fit into this one, anyway.”
Feeling quite clever, Tino wobbled back to the mattress a third time, flopping territorially onto the welcoming cushion and sticking his tongue out. “My country, my cabin, my bed!” He fisted his hands in the fitted sheet to prevent himself from being pried off if his enemy attempted to move him again. Let’s see him pull me off now![/color]
“Sh-Saw a nice cardboard box on a – hic! – sidewalk in town you can sleep in, though,” he half-joked with a hiccup. Talking was getting harder and harder and he just wanted Ivan to go away and be quiet. He’d given him vodka, so what more could he expect?
Shoulda left him on the slopes when I had the chance.[/color]
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Post by Russia on Oct 13, 2011 23:19:28 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Russia had at first not really processed the defiant Finn’s previous insult about his strength. The hardwood floors seemed to almost radiate coldness, which was creeping into the larger nation’s socks now and making him feel like his feet were planted on a large block of ice. He just wanted Finland off his bed now, so he could curl up into a large ball under a thick mass of blankets and rest. The bottle of vodka resting on the nightstand opposite of Finland seemed to almost tease him-promising him warmth and happy feelings so long as he could get rid of his bedmate and settle down.
The thumping sound of Finland’s face striking the floor made Ivan beam with pleasure. That would teach him to doubt the mighty Russia! Silly Finn was surely getting a hard lesson on reality now. Without a doubt, he would realize his mistake and slink off to the couch like the beaten dog he was. Maybe he would even apologize for being so unreasonable? Ivan hoped so. That would make his night all the more complete.
“Oww…What the hell?”
Ivan’s drunken grin could easily rival that of the Cheshire Cats’ at this point. He loved hearing confirmation when his attempts to injure were successful. Sure, an “oh God! My face!” would have been even better to hear, but he couldn’t be picky these days. Not when his great strength was slowly giving way to sickness. The sadistic blonde could not see Tino’s face, but he did feel the other start to struggle. Quickly, the Russian attempted to drag the other nation. If only he could push him out of the room… maybe the door had a lock on it that would keep Finland out after that?
“Get your own bed, pullukka; you’d never fit into this one, anyway.”
The smaller man somehow managed to pull free of Ivan’s grip, making him stumble backwards once more. Nearly tripping over his own feet, Ivan shot the other nation a poisonous glare once more. “I would fit just fine. But not with some confused little Finnish problem on the bed.” The sandy-haired Soviet moved forward again as Tino had the nerve to collapse back on the bed and stick his tongue out.
“My country, my cabin, my bed!”
“Пошёл на хуй…” Ivan murmured in a lower, far more agitated tone. Of course Finland probably wouldn’t understand if he did not speak Russian, but it felt good to say anyways. He had a tendency to revert back to his native tongue for insults when either highly drunk, highly pissed off, or any combination of the two. His own tongue just felt so much better for swearing in. If there was one thing Russians had, it was horrible insults to throw at their foes. His enemy was now gripping the sheets tightly, making it much harder to pry him off the bed.
“Sh-Saw a nice cardboard box on a….sidewalk in town you can sleep in, though.”
Right. Like Russia was going to give up, grab his coat and make his way through a blizzard just for that. He didn’t at all care for Finland’s snide remarks, and had he been less intoxicated and tired, he would have surely attempted to drag the Finn off and force him to sleep in such a place instead. As it was though, he couldn’t even pry the Finnish nation free from the bed to move him to the couch. Frustrated, he finally released Tino’s arm, and instead shot a longing look to the bed.
“Fine. You can have a small part of the bed, you…pullukka.” He had no idea what the term meant, but since Finland had used it on him, it couldn’t be nice. Making his way around to the other side of the mattress, Ivan flopped down, causing the bed creak in protest from the force of him just collapsing on it. He really did not like laying so close to an enemy, but he was far too tired to fight about it anymore. So long as he had enough room to rest, he was content. Grabbing the bottle from the stand besides the bed, he took another long drink of burning liquor before setting it back down and pulling at the blankets that were left on the bed.
Giving the blankets a rough yank to better cover his stocky form, he turned away from his unwanted bedmate. “You are just lucky I am nice enough to share, comrade.” He stated quietly, as though he had a say in whether or not the Finn got any of the bed at all. When defeated, best to attempt and make it sound as though you were not, and that you achieved whatever goal you were trying for to begin with. In this case, since he could not dislodge the disagreeable Nordic, it was best to just pretend that he was letting him remain where he was out of the kindness of his heart.
Warming up under the blankets at last, the drunken Soviet relaxed. At least the alcohol had dulled his nervousness about being murdered for the night. It was hard to be too concerned when so drowsy. It did not take Ivan too long to finally drift off to sleep, keeping to his side of the bed as much as possible so as not to even touch Finland if he could avoid it. ______________________________________ ((This thread was so much fun. I look forward to your last post. And here is the translation for the Russian: Пошёл на хуй = Fuck off))
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Post by Finland on Oct 20, 2011 15:13:52 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Hell had frozen over. That wasn’t too uncommon, really, since Hell, Norway had a cold climate and received several centimeters of snow every winter. The English-speaking tourists sure seemed to like it, though, as troves of them came to the Gods Expedition sign to have their picture taken every year. In the end, Norway probably lost to Austria when it came to most popular tourist destination based solely on name, but who could compete with Fucking?
Meanwhile, in Finland, Tino had gotten comfortable on the bed and at last, sleep seemed an attainable goal. Ivan was still tugging on his arm, which was annoying but not enough to keep him awake, though the Russian’s hand was so cold Tino could’ve sworn it was Bishop Henry’s severed fingers grabbing him. That idea birthed the beginning of a weird dream. Something about Lalli and oxen…
And then the Soviet just had to speak again, waking the sleepy, drunken Finn up for the umpteenth time. With a clearly disgruntled glare, Tino listened as Ivan explained, “Fine. You can have a small part of the bed, you… pullukka.”
Tino frowned. Russia thinks I’m fat? I’m totally not fat…[/i]
His mind quickly changed its train of thought when he realized what Ivan was saying. They were going to share the bed.
“Oh, hell n— ” Before Finland could finish his sentence, his strange bedfellow was suddenly letting his mass collapse on the mattress. In the Nordic’s hammered mind, the movement felt much grander than it actually was. It was like a trampoline, Tino supposed. Or a catapult. When Russia’s weight suddenly went down on one side of the mattress, Finland was flung into the air on the other side. In reality, it wasn’t more than a centimeter, but the Finn was already having so much trouble with his sense of balance and his depth perception that he was sure he’d gotten at least a meter of air, flailing wildly to find the safe, solid bed.
After a few moments of clutching the sheets for stability and panting from the horrifying experience of becoming airborne, the sleepiness returned, accompanied by an enormous sense of displeasure at having the Russian lump in his bed. Slack jawed and eyebrow arched, Tino waited for the other nation to turn and see his display of unhappiness, but the larger man was busying himself on getting drunk and didn’t give Tino a glance.
He did say something else, though. “You are just lucky I am nice enough to share, comrade.” And then he stole the blankets.
The Finn huffed and jerked them back (at least, he attempted to, but found the results to be similar to those moments ago when he had tried to shove Russia only to find him an immovable fortress.) He rolled onto his side, back-to-back with Ivan, and suddenly felt quite sorry for the bed having to support the giant nation. Hopefully it was nice and sturdy or they might find themselves on the floor in the morning, bedposts cracked and box springs flattened.
“You’re welcome,” Tino snapped bitterly, correcting the Soviet’s opinion on who it was that should be doing the thanking. As if Russia was doing some big favor by sharing the bed with him. Finland didn’t want to share the bed, dammit, he wanted it for himself! How did the saying go? “Two’s a crowd”? Or was it three? Finland decided, then, that he was drunk and would remember how the saying went in the morning.
After several paranoia-filled minutes of lying still, listening for any movement coming from the man behind his back or any deranged mumbling of secret Soviet plans, the little blond’s eyelids began to get heavy, slipping down over his hazy violet eyes. An alcohol-scented yawn passed his lips with a quiet sigh, and for now, he was content in the warmth of his cabin, even with the Russian next to him.
Tino let his mind drift over the events of the day. Driving up from Helsinki the night before, discovering the bed situation, walking to the slope, watching Russia crash (he smiled at this, snuggling against his pillow), Russia watching him crash (and just like that, the smile became a little frown), getting back to the cabin, getting drunk… All in all, it was a successful day, though perhaps not the best day the Finn had had. He’d definitely exchange words with his boss about surprise trips like this one. Specifically, he would tell his boss that these types of projects would not be happening in the future. Not with Ivan.
He wearily cracked open an eye to peer out through the window. Though it wasn’t very late, the cloud cover and the snowstorm and the late winter light made the world darken early. Lapland was winding down for the night, and Tino could feel it in his body. Just a few moments more and sweet sleep overtook the little Nordic, carrying him off into a warm, blissful place.
Tino dreamt of happy things – being on a warm beach like he’d thought of before, some kind of mixed drink in his hand (alcoholic only by name, surely, for Tino couldn’t taste it) and a few tan, buxom, well-manicured ladies there to pamper him in their skimpy bikinis. Strangely, he was wearing ski boots, but dreams never made sense. And there was Russia – wait, that wasn’t a good part of the dream. Ah, but Russia was wearing slave clothes and was carrying a large palm fan to cool his Finnish master. It was cliché, but Finland enjoyed every minute of it.
As the storm raged on outside, alabaster snowdrifts piling up to the windows and frozen, sugar-like crystals plinking against the window pane, Tino slept on. And maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that the Finn roused up at one point during the night to find himself spooning his bedmate closely, an arm draped over the larger body and legs tangled together. He never was sure if that actually happened or if it was a dream, and he would never ask Russia if he remembered it. He was afraid of the answer he knew he would receive.
____________________ [[Whoa, it's over! Russiaaaaaa, it was so fun RPing this with you! <3 One day we'll go on a ski trip together, but I'll willingly share the bed if there's only one, so please don't make me hit my nose against the floor! It was definitely a great thread~ When you come back to Darker one day - and you WILL come back ;) - we'll RP again.]]
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