My Sisters and I .:Chapter Four:.
Derp, relationshipping stufffff blah
RATING: lolwat
"Belarus. We need to talk." Ukraine couldn't shake the worries that she felt.
"Yes. We do." Her eyes were cold, but less so than they usually were. Acceptance had changed her, even if it was just a little, for the better.
"I don't want to take turns with our brother anymore." She just wanted to share, she just wanted them to be equal.
"I... want big brother to notice me more." She had noticed when Belarus ran out of the room.
"Can we at least share? Without having to take turns?"
"He likes you more." She had noticed the single teardrop stuck in her sister's eyelashes.
"He only told you he loved you."
"He did?"
"Yes." Belarus started to weep.
"I-I thought he never paid attention to me... Only to you. I thought that he was... That he was going to marry you instead of me!"
Ukraine held her sister in her arms and consoled her, dried her tears. This is what siblings are supposed to do, she thought to herself. Thirty minutes passed. Russia still lay deep in slumber.
"I think it's best to give him some time to rest, to cool off."
Belarus placed a cover over her brother's nude form. It would be so easy to just take him right then and there. But she would wait until he woke up. He must have been exhausted.
Russia dreamed. Dreams full of sin and lust and his sisters in outfits obviously designed by France, or perhaps that closet pervert Japan. There was a knocking noise throughout the end of his sleep, and he woke up to the sound of a familiarly obnoxious voice.
"Hey! Yo! Someone let me in!"
America knocked on the door-knocker repeatedly. Russia disentangled himself from the blankets covering him and grabbed his pipe from beside the bed. Still nude, he unlocked his front door.
"What do you want? I am not telling you where my nukes are, you dirty capitalist!"
He peeked out of the peephole in his door. It appeared that America was holding a bouquet of red roses.
"America, I told you. We are through," he growled dangerously. The strange potion was still running its course through his body.
"What the hell? These are definitely not for you, stinking commie!"
"Then what are you doing on my doorstep?"
America decided to take a more aggressive approach and opened the door forcefully. Even though it had been unlocked several minutes before.
His eyes quite quickly traveled from Russia's scowling face down to Primorsky. Good god, dicks should not be like that! he thought to himself and shuddered internally.
The bouquet dropped to the floor. A few petals scattered about.
"America, I'm mad." Russia's eyes were cold as Siberia.
America gulped. This seemed like a movie he had seen a while ago. Pity he couldn’t remember it.
"I'm mad... for you."
Oh yeah! It was the Rocky Horror Picture Show. But still. America wondered to himself if that meant that he was going to have sex with a transvestite and start wearing ridiculous fetish clothing. He certainly hoped not.
"But also, I'm just mad. Do you know how infuriating you have been? You fucking cock tease."
"Russia? Um, man, you're not making any sense." America looked at Russia suspiciously.
"You know what doesn't make any sense?" Russia gripped his iron pipe angrily.
"Uh actually no I don--" Russia cut the other nation off.
"All the things you told me! You told me all these things you were going to do to me." America gulped. This was going to go back into touchy territory. The Cold War.
"But you never, never, never did anything! I waited in my house for days on end for you to come over! And yet..."
"Russia, man, I was waiting for you to make the first move!" He shook his hands in an effort to calm the large man down.
"If it's a first move you want, it's a first move you'll get." He smiled cruelly and placed his hand on America's shoulder, yanking him inside.
Belarus glared from the living room. She seemed to have forgotten to dispose of the nuisance once he had served her purpose, which had become obsolete anyway. A pity, but she supposed that sloppy thirds would have to do.