Characters/Pairing: Lithuania, Poland; LietPol
Warnings: So, so painfully fluffy.
Summary: Lithuania sleeps and Poland watches.
Notes: Written for the 2011 aph_fluffathon . The prompt was Poland braiding Lithuania's hair while he's asleep. Ironically, this was the last prompt I claimed and the first one I finished.
"Ah, Liet, I'm getting really restless," Poland said, tearing his eyes from the book and looking down at his partner, lying with his head in his lap. "This 'quiet time' thing is kind of old now." Lithuania didn't respond; he was lying on his side, head and upper shoulders perched in Poland's petite lap, hair spread like a veil over Poland's thighs and waist, the book Lithuania was reading hanging precariously from his left hand. Poland raised a curious eyebrow.
"Liet?" There was no answer. Poland shook his shoulders just a touch, and the book Lithuania had been reading (a translation of The Taming of the Shrew in Russian, something that England had insisted they both read) tumbled to the floor with a light thwump. Poland retracted his hands and simply stared down at the other man, who appeared to be sleeping soundly in Poland's lap.
Poland set his book aside, leaning forwards slightly to peer around to Lithuania's face. He tilted Lithuania just a smidge onto his upper shoulders, and his entire face rolled into view. His eyes were closed, his lips parted just slightly, cheeks rosy but not unhealthily flushed, his eyelids moving as if he were looking in every direction underneath. He grunted slightly and let out a soft sigh, and Poland stroked a tentative hand over Lithuania's forehead, smoothing chestnut locks away from his face. Lithuania didn't respond to the action, so Poland repeated it. Lithuania let out a sound close to a hum and turned his face just the smallest bit, giving his chest a heave and then falling back into regular breathing patterns. Poland couldn't help but smile at Lithuania.
"You're always tired, Lithuania," Poland said softly. Lithuania's hair had gotten much softer as of late, since he had started taking better care of himself again. That healthy sheen that Poland remembered was now at his fingertips, and Poland began carding his fingers through it.
"Kochanie," Poland whispered as he continued to stroke Lithuania's hairline. He knew that Lithuania didn't like being called by pet names (too many memories, too many awful memories of endearments used as terms of subjugation) but in all the years that Poland had been separated from Lithuania, he always referred to him as kochanie and that wasn't about to change.
Poland threaded his fingers into Lithuania's hair and began separating sections between his fingers, twisting them together. Lithuania stirred for a moment but then fell back into his slumber, curling his hand into a loose fist. Poland cocked his head to the side and tightened the braid, pulling gently and making a tighter weave.
One of Lithuania's more well-hidden scars suddenly became visible, etched into his scalp near his hairline. Poland had only gotten Lithuania to open up a tiny bit about the scars webbing across the tender flesh of his back, and avoided all others. The scar was on the wider side and when Poland ran his fingertips over it, he felt the dip of the scar. Probably remnants from a gash on his head. Poland felt a shudder race up his spine at the thought, as his imagination produced possibilities of how Lithuania received a gash to his scalp. (Poland had the intense feeling it had something to do with Lithuania and the edge of a table, and he decided he didn't really want to know after all.)
"I hope you're sleeping well, Liet," Poland murmured as he continued to braid his hair. The braid began to taper down to a smaller wedge, and Poland began losing fine hairs as it became harder to continue. Poland pushed his own hair out of his face and bent over, trying to keep as much of Lithuania's hair in the braid as possible. When he was finally finished, Poland reached up to his own ponytail, which was tied with a simple ribbon, and pulled it down, tying Lithuania's braid with the ribbon instead. The sudden wave of hair at the tip of Poland's cheeks tickled and made him want to sneeze but he refrained, instead opting for running a hand through Lithuania's loose bangs.
Poland leaned forward even farther, until his hair grazed over Lithuania's face, and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. He lingered there, nose and lips pressed against smooth skin, breathing in Lithuania's unique scent. Almost like rye fields and sunshine, with a hint of a wood fire. Poland took a deep breath and then laid his own forehead flush against Lithuania's, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth that radiated from Lithuania's body.
I want to comfort you. I want to cherish every single second I'm with you. I want to feel you under my fingertips at all times. I want your taste to be something I can't live without. I want my life to be lived a little less lonely because you'll always be right there.
Nothing will ever, ever happen to you again.
"Let's put the twentieth century behind us, Liet," Poland half-said, half-asked. There was a slight tickle on his chin and Poland lifted his head to see Lithuania's eyes fluttering open, although they hovered at half-mast, puzzling and clouded with sleep. Poland just smiled down at Lithuania, stroking his head.
"Go back to sleep," Poland coaxed him. I know you've been waking up at night, still. I know you'll never sleep soundly again. I know what those bags under your eyes are souvenirs from.
"Wasn't sleepin'," Lithuania protested, though his voice was hoarse. "Reading."
"Whatever you say," Poland said playfully. "Where's your book then, Liet?"
"Here, s'mwhere," Lithuania said, and he reached out a hand and grazed Poland's elbow as he groped around on the couch. Lithuania then turned all the way over, so he was facing Poland's stomach, his arm reaching around Poland. "You hid it."
"That's, like, totally stupid, Liet," Poland said, and he gave Lithuania a playful pout. "You dropped it on the floor."
A quiet warmth flooded Poland at that moment, and he leaned back, laying his head on the couch cushion and watching Lithuania's eyebrows jerk and his nose twitch. Poland laid his hand on Lithuania's head and gently rubbed his forehead with his thumb, feeling for more hidden scars. There were none that he could find, although he had the feeling that if there was one gash to his head, there may be others. And as much as it scared and disgusted Poland, he knew that one day he'd know the real story of those wounds.
But this was alright, for now. Poland watched Lithuania breathe until he himself fell into sleep, just as the sun began to set over the horizon for the night.
"Love you, Liet."
LietPol is one the saddest ships, in my opinion. Their history is so heart breaking and Liet's treatment in the Soviet Union and Poland's treatment during WWII... there's just a lot of hurt/comfort/recovery to be had. I hope the original poster of this prompt likes my take, I just love the cuteness factor of LietPol. ♥