fic: untitled
Dec. 18th, 2010 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: untitled
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: America/Ukraine
Rating: PG-13, for past motorboating. Yes.
Word count: 657
Author's note: kink meme, anything goes.
textsfromlastnight:
A piece of cheeseburger just fell between my tits. Consider this a "wish you were here" postcard.
Ukraine honestly didn't go for the food that America liked. It tasted processed and bland, to say nothing that she was a good cook herself, but when the weeks got long between flights, she'd go visit one for a cheeseburger, just to remember. Skype only took one so far, after all. Invariably while they were there, they ate at fast food places, because being raised by England didn't exactly give America cooking skills. Of course, she loved to cook for him, but half the time even then he wanted hamburgers. She indulged him as he always did. She found in endearing, in a way. His kisses tasted of mustard, which was better than cigarettes, she supposed.
She took it to go, her little warm bag packed into her bag which her family joked could fit entire cities. Raising the rest of them meant she always was prepared, and whether it be clothespins, straight pins, matchbooks, napkins, or on occasion, crowbars, her bag had it. She walked through Kyiv, languorous, looking at the scenery around her as if he were there, and she was seeing reflections of his childish, even innocent glee over every little thing. She hadn't thought architecture would be such a draw to him, but he had oohed and ahhed over the Kyiv National Opera House with its domed structure, saluted to Founders of Kyiv monument, and whispered suggestions about what they could do on the grass after hours in the Dynamo Sports Stadium while she blushed scarlet.
He even liked the metros, the Moskovskyi Bridge and vista view of the Dnieper River at night. It made her blush with happiness, the childish joy and admiration he showed over all of her, each compliment like a secret kiss, a brush of the skin. Not even the thought that this was simply America – that he fawned over everyone could make the glow go away.
She picked a spot in a courtyard just outside her apartment complex and sat down to eat. She took a bite and closed her eyes, trying to find the special charms America found in them. What she saw instead were memories: ketchup on the side of his cheek and wiping it off with the napkins that she always kept around after raising so many siblings; him pushing her breasts together and remarking you know, I think we could fit whole cities between your cleavage, and then rubbing his face into her breasts until she laughed and laughed at brilll brlll noises he made; holding her hand and treating her like a highschool sweetheart, acting an awkward gentleman, like a teenager at his first dance.
With each chew, she could almost find it, what allured him so to cheap fried and processed food.
A piece of cheeseburger fell into her blouse. She looked down, about to clean herself up, then thought better of it. She looked from side to side to see if anyone was watching, but saw no one of import. Button by button, she opened her blouse until there was quite a bit of cleavage exposed, and the piece of cheeseburger perched on top with a streak of mustard over one breast.
She was still new to these phones, but Estonia had been helping her. She took a photo and sent it, double checking to make sure it didn't accidentally go to Russia, like last time.
Wish you were here.
A few seconds later, there was a response.
Not as much as I wish I was there. Buying tickets now. <3
And she smiled, her fingers lingering on the phone, counting down the hours – days – minutes until she would have more mustard kisses pressed to her lips.
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: America/Ukraine
Rating: PG-13, for past motorboating. Yes.
Word count: 657
Author's note: kink meme, anything goes.
textsfromlastnight:
A piece of cheeseburger just fell between my tits. Consider this a "wish you were here" postcard.
Ukraine honestly didn't go for the food that America liked. It tasted processed and bland, to say nothing that she was a good cook herself, but when the weeks got long between flights, she'd go visit one for a cheeseburger, just to remember. Skype only took one so far, after all. Invariably while they were there, they ate at fast food places, because being raised by England didn't exactly give America cooking skills. Of course, she loved to cook for him, but half the time even then he wanted hamburgers. She indulged him as he always did. She found in endearing, in a way. His kisses tasted of mustard, which was better than cigarettes, she supposed.
She took it to go, her little warm bag packed into her bag which her family joked could fit entire cities. Raising the rest of them meant she always was prepared, and whether it be clothespins, straight pins, matchbooks, napkins, or on occasion, crowbars, her bag had it. She walked through Kyiv, languorous, looking at the scenery around her as if he were there, and she was seeing reflections of his childish, even innocent glee over every little thing. She hadn't thought architecture would be such a draw to him, but he had oohed and ahhed over the Kyiv National Opera House with its domed structure, saluted to Founders of Kyiv monument, and whispered suggestions about what they could do on the grass after hours in the Dynamo Sports Stadium while she blushed scarlet.
He even liked the metros, the Moskovskyi Bridge and vista view of the Dnieper River at night. It made her blush with happiness, the childish joy and admiration he showed over all of her, each compliment like a secret kiss, a brush of the skin. Not even the thought that this was simply America – that he fawned over everyone could make the glow go away.
She picked a spot in a courtyard just outside her apartment complex and sat down to eat. She took a bite and closed her eyes, trying to find the special charms America found in them. What she saw instead were memories: ketchup on the side of his cheek and wiping it off with the napkins that she always kept around after raising so many siblings; him pushing her breasts together and remarking you know, I think we could fit whole cities between your cleavage, and then rubbing his face into her breasts until she laughed and laughed at brilll brlll noises he made; holding her hand and treating her like a highschool sweetheart, acting an awkward gentleman, like a teenager at his first dance.
With each chew, she could almost find it, what allured him so to cheap fried and processed food.
A piece of cheeseburger fell into her blouse. She looked down, about to clean herself up, then thought better of it. She looked from side to side to see if anyone was watching, but saw no one of import. Button by button, she opened her blouse until there was quite a bit of cleavage exposed, and the piece of cheeseburger perched on top with a streak of mustard over one breast.
She was still new to these phones, but Estonia had been helping her. She took a photo and sent it, double checking to make sure it didn't accidentally go to Russia, like last time.
Wish you were here.
A few seconds later, there was a response.
Not as much as I wish I was there. Buying tickets now. <3
And she smiled, her fingers lingering on the phone, counting down the hours – days – minutes until she would have more mustard kisses pressed to her lips.
