Movie Night
Title: Movie Night
Originally posted: Here, but I wrote it for wizzard890 like a million years ago.
Length: 1300 words.
Characters/Pairings: Russia/America
Premise: One quiet evening at home, Russia introduces America to Russian cinema. Adorableness ensues.
Time period: Indefinite future, or crack-anytime, if you prefer.
Smuttiness: 1/10
Funnyness: 4/10
Wrist slashiness: 1/10
Lolhistoryness: 3/10
Violence: 0/10
Would I like it?: Uh, well, it doesn't really have one of those fancy "point" things. But it's ultra-fluffy, and you can take some movie recommendations out of it? All of the movies the boys watch are classics. It's also pretty crack--it's from the same future AU as Scar. Just like. A way cuter part of it.
---
"Hey, Russia." America dropped into the couch next to him and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Do you have any movies? I mean, do you have any."
Russia scrutinized America for a moment. Do I have any…oh. "Yes, there is a Russian film industry."
America beamed. "Awesome, can we watch some?"
"What--"
"Wait, they're like, real movies, right? Not just two hour long commercials for the communist party? Because I know your government kind of had a hand in everything, and I'm not really interested in--"
"Yes, we have real movies," Russia cut him off with a frown.
"Okay, good. So what're we gonna watch?" He boosted himself up and folded one leg under himself.
Russia tried again. "Why the sudden--"
"Oh, one other thing ow, hey!"
Russia stopped pinching his ankle and finished his sentence. "--interest?"
America rubbed the red spot on his Achilles tendon. He pushed his hair out of his face when he looked up at Russia. "Well, we're doing that whole cultural exchange thing these days, right? And I like movies. So I figured, I could find out what kinds of things you've been making, you know? …Why, do you not like movies?"
"They're…fine--"
"Great!" America catapulted out of the couch. "I'll make popcorn. Do you eat popcorn at the movies over there? Like, covered in butter, and salt--it's actually more like syrup than butter. It's kind of weird, actually, I've never really wanted to ask what they make it from, but it tastes like--"
"Wasn't there a 'one other thing?'" Russia craned his neck to follow America as he disappeared into the kitchen.
"Huh?" he skidded to a halt on the hardwood floor, then pushed up his glasses. "Oh, yeah, um." An awkward beat. "Um…nothing too scary?" he asked hopefully.
Russia smiled at that. "I would protect you."
---
White Sun of the Desert:
America didn't make it ten minutes into the first film before he sat up so fast he nearly sent the bowl of popcorn flying out of Russia's lap and onto the floor. "This is a Western!"
"Yes, America." Russia plucked a few pieces of popcorn off the blanket and tossed them in his mouth.
"I mean, it's set in, what is this--"
"Turkmenistan."
"But it's totally a Western! You guys made Westerns?"
"I thought it would be a good place to start you off."
"Fuckin' crazy," America marveled. He settled back against Russia's shoulder and reached across him for a handful of popcorn. "Huh."
Twenty minutes after that:
"Okay, this was totally inspired by Stagecoach."
"Shh."
"Is that guy the John Wayne?"
"The--yes." Russia glanced down at him, but America's eyes were glued to the screen, flicking back and forth over the subtitles.
"What's his name, again?"
"Fyodor Sukhov."
America mouthed it silently, and gave a little nod. Russia felt a warm sweep of he didn't know what, and caressed the curve of America's cheek. "There's going to be a harem in this later, isn't there?"
"How did you--"
"It's a Western, man. I know Westerns."
---
Ballad of a Soldier:
The second movie was less of a hit.
"You said there'd be no Soviet propaganda flicks," America complained. "This is such a propaganda flick."
"It's a war movie," Russia suggested. "I thought you liked war movies."
"It's too slow to be a war movie! And they just keep talking about how great Russian peasants are."
"What's wrong with peasants?" A grin tugged at the side of his mouth.
"Well nothing, obviously, but--"
"Your own Academy nominated this for--…something…" He felt around on the floor for the DVD case for a few seconds before deciding that he didn't care. "Screenplay, I think."
"I love the Oscars," America declared. "But they're stupid."
"That is the single most telling thing you have ever said to me."
"Whatever. Give me back the popcorn."
"No."
An hour later:
"All right, she's pretty."
"At least we can agree on that."
"Not as pretty as you, though."
"Past' zakroi."
"Geshundheit."
---
Alexander Nevsky:
By the third movie, America had somehow stolen the entire blanket, and was half asleep on Russia's shoulder. The empty popcorn bowl had been discarded on the floor.
"What's a boyar," he murmured.
Russia stroked his hair. "It's a--" he paused; no, America was definitely too sleepy for a proper explanation. "It's like a knight." He felt America shake a little in his arms. "What are you laughing about?"
"You just gave me the dumb answer." America nuzzled the top of his head into Russia's chest. "Now I'm gonna remember it forever."
Russia kissed his hair, because he was exactly right on both counts.
An hour later:
Russia nudged his head with his shoulder. "No more stupid questions, dear America?"
America stirred. "I like it…but…needs more car chases."
Russia smiled, unseen in the dark room. "You think a movie about the Teutonic Knights, in the thirteenth century, needs car chases."
"Mmhmm, think everything needs car chases…" America's happy mumble faded off.
Russia waited until he was sure America's breathing had evened out, then turned off the television. He gently pulled off America's glasses and set them aside. America curled closer and buried his face in the crook of Russia's neck.
Russia ran his fingers through America's hair, and looked out the window, and thought about nothing at all for a while. Once, he tried to untangle himself, so that America could lie down--this couldn't be comfortable--but America's fingers tightened in his shirt, and he made an emphatic, indistinct sound of refusal, and he wasn't shy at all about using his full strength when he was asleep, was he. So Russia gave up. He listened to America breathe, and sank into how warm he was. He didn't notice when America's eyes blinked open again.
"Did I miss the rest of the movie?" he sounded a little surprised.
Russia grazed the back of his fingers across his neck to comfort him. "We can finish it later. Go back to sleep."
America seemed to consider that for a while, then looked around, then looked up at Russia. "But you can't sleep like this," he laughed.
That's all right, Russia thought. I don't mind.
America pushed off of him and lurched to his feet, and nearly toppled to the floor when the blanket tangled around his legs. Russia shot up and caught him. America giggled, kicked his legs free, then stumbled towards the hallway, tugging on Russia's sleeve. "Come on, Vanya," he was saying, "Let's go to bed."
Russia trailed after him. His fingers searched for and caught around America's wrist. America caught him back.
Even more asleep than not, America made short work of getting undressed. He even managed to contribute a not-entirely-helpful hand to getting Russia's clothes off. He gave a happy, unarticulated mumble as they folded together under the blankets and his head found its way to Russia's shoulder. He nuzzled a little into Russia's hair, behind his ear--that spot Russia liked.
"Love you," America sighed.
Russia said nothing back. He never did. But his arms tightened around America's shoulders, and he pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and that was--that was clear enough, because America was already asleep again.
He told himself to remember where he had put America's glasses, for when America couldn't find them in the morning and demanded his assistance, helpless and bereft.
He didn't understand how all this had happened to him, but…that was all right. America didn't worry about it, and he didn't expect Russia to have an explanation for it, either. America just came up to him, wanting movies and popcorn and attention and for you to be happy, and Russia was gradually finding ways to oblige.
The last thing he thought as he drifted off to sleep was, Just a little longer.
If there is anyone listening. Just a little longer.
Originally posted: Here, but I wrote it for wizzard890 like a million years ago.
Length: 1300 words.
Characters/Pairings: Russia/America
Premise: One quiet evening at home, Russia introduces America to Russian cinema. Adorableness ensues.
Time period: Indefinite future, or crack-anytime, if you prefer.
Smuttiness: 1/10
Funnyness: 4/10
Wrist slashiness: 1/10
Lolhistoryness: 3/10
Violence: 0/10
Would I like it?: Uh, well, it doesn't really have one of those fancy "point" things. But it's ultra-fluffy, and you can take some movie recommendations out of it? All of the movies the boys watch are classics. It's also pretty crack--it's from the same future AU as Scar. Just like. A way cuter part of it.
---
"Hey, Russia." America dropped into the couch next to him and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Do you have any movies? I mean, do you have any."
Russia scrutinized America for a moment. Do I have any…oh. "Yes, there is a Russian film industry."
America beamed. "Awesome, can we watch some?"
"What--"
"Wait, they're like, real movies, right? Not just two hour long commercials for the communist party? Because I know your government kind of had a hand in everything, and I'm not really interested in--"
"Yes, we have real movies," Russia cut him off with a frown.
"Okay, good. So what're we gonna watch?" He boosted himself up and folded one leg under himself.
Russia tried again. "Why the sudden--"
"Oh, one other thing ow, hey!"
Russia stopped pinching his ankle and finished his sentence. "--interest?"
America rubbed the red spot on his Achilles tendon. He pushed his hair out of his face when he looked up at Russia. "Well, we're doing that whole cultural exchange thing these days, right? And I like movies. So I figured, I could find out what kinds of things you've been making, you know? …Why, do you not like movies?"
"They're…fine--"
"Great!" America catapulted out of the couch. "I'll make popcorn. Do you eat popcorn at the movies over there? Like, covered in butter, and salt--it's actually more like syrup than butter. It's kind of weird, actually, I've never really wanted to ask what they make it from, but it tastes like--"
"Wasn't there a 'one other thing?'" Russia craned his neck to follow America as he disappeared into the kitchen.
"Huh?" he skidded to a halt on the hardwood floor, then pushed up his glasses. "Oh, yeah, um." An awkward beat. "Um…nothing too scary?" he asked hopefully.
Russia smiled at that. "I would protect you."
---
White Sun of the Desert:
America didn't make it ten minutes into the first film before he sat up so fast he nearly sent the bowl of popcorn flying out of Russia's lap and onto the floor. "This is a Western!"
"Yes, America." Russia plucked a few pieces of popcorn off the blanket and tossed them in his mouth.
"I mean, it's set in, what is this--"
"Turkmenistan."
"But it's totally a Western! You guys made Westerns?"
"I thought it would be a good place to start you off."
"Fuckin' crazy," America marveled. He settled back against Russia's shoulder and reached across him for a handful of popcorn. "Huh."
Twenty minutes after that:
"Okay, this was totally inspired by Stagecoach."
"Shh."
"Is that guy the John Wayne?"
"The--yes." Russia glanced down at him, but America's eyes were glued to the screen, flicking back and forth over the subtitles.
"What's his name, again?"
"Fyodor Sukhov."
America mouthed it silently, and gave a little nod. Russia felt a warm sweep of he didn't know what, and caressed the curve of America's cheek. "There's going to be a harem in this later, isn't there?"
"How did you--"
"It's a Western, man. I know Westerns."
---
Ballad of a Soldier:
The second movie was less of a hit.
"You said there'd be no Soviet propaganda flicks," America complained. "This is such a propaganda flick."
"It's a war movie," Russia suggested. "I thought you liked war movies."
"It's too slow to be a war movie! And they just keep talking about how great Russian peasants are."
"What's wrong with peasants?" A grin tugged at the side of his mouth.
"Well nothing, obviously, but--"
"Your own Academy nominated this for--…something…" He felt around on the floor for the DVD case for a few seconds before deciding that he didn't care. "Screenplay, I think."
"I love the Oscars," America declared. "But they're stupid."
"That is the single most telling thing you have ever said to me."
"Whatever. Give me back the popcorn."
"No."
An hour later:
"All right, she's pretty."
"At least we can agree on that."
"Not as pretty as you, though."
"Past' zakroi."
"Geshundheit."
---
Alexander Nevsky:
By the third movie, America had somehow stolen the entire blanket, and was half asleep on Russia's shoulder. The empty popcorn bowl had been discarded on the floor.
"What's a boyar," he murmured.
Russia stroked his hair. "It's a--" he paused; no, America was definitely too sleepy for a proper explanation. "It's like a knight." He felt America shake a little in his arms. "What are you laughing about?"
"You just gave me the dumb answer." America nuzzled the top of his head into Russia's chest. "Now I'm gonna remember it forever."
Russia kissed his hair, because he was exactly right on both counts.
An hour later:
Russia nudged his head with his shoulder. "No more stupid questions, dear America?"
America stirred. "I like it…but…needs more car chases."
Russia smiled, unseen in the dark room. "You think a movie about the Teutonic Knights, in the thirteenth century, needs car chases."
"Mmhmm, think everything needs car chases…" America's happy mumble faded off.
Russia waited until he was sure America's breathing had evened out, then turned off the television. He gently pulled off America's glasses and set them aside. America curled closer and buried his face in the crook of Russia's neck.
Russia ran his fingers through America's hair, and looked out the window, and thought about nothing at all for a while. Once, he tried to untangle himself, so that America could lie down--this couldn't be comfortable--but America's fingers tightened in his shirt, and he made an emphatic, indistinct sound of refusal, and he wasn't shy at all about using his full strength when he was asleep, was he. So Russia gave up. He listened to America breathe, and sank into how warm he was. He didn't notice when America's eyes blinked open again.
"Did I miss the rest of the movie?" he sounded a little surprised.
Russia grazed the back of his fingers across his neck to comfort him. "We can finish it later. Go back to sleep."
America seemed to consider that for a while, then looked around, then looked up at Russia. "But you can't sleep like this," he laughed.
That's all right, Russia thought. I don't mind.
America pushed off of him and lurched to his feet, and nearly toppled to the floor when the blanket tangled around his legs. Russia shot up and caught him. America giggled, kicked his legs free, then stumbled towards the hallway, tugging on Russia's sleeve. "Come on, Vanya," he was saying, "Let's go to bed."
Russia trailed after him. His fingers searched for and caught around America's wrist. America caught him back.
Even more asleep than not, America made short work of getting undressed. He even managed to contribute a not-entirely-helpful hand to getting Russia's clothes off. He gave a happy, unarticulated mumble as they folded together under the blankets and his head found its way to Russia's shoulder. He nuzzled a little into Russia's hair, behind his ear--that spot Russia liked.
"Love you," America sighed.
Russia said nothing back. He never did. But his arms tightened around America's shoulders, and he pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and that was--that was clear enough, because America was already asleep again.
He told himself to remember where he had put America's glasses, for when America couldn't find them in the morning and demanded his assistance, helpless and bereft.
He didn't understand how all this had happened to him, but…that was all right. America didn't worry about it, and he didn't expect Russia to have an explanation for it, either. America just came up to him, wanting movies and popcorn and attention and for you to be happy, and Russia was gradually finding ways to oblige.
The last thing he thought as he drifted off to sleep was, Just a little longer.
If there is anyone listening. Just a little longer.