Brown is the Earth, Soil, and Dried Blood [CountryHumans]

03

It was becoming a pattern, Soviet was starting to notice, that he kept screwing the country he was at a major war with. Of course, the only country he went to war against was Germany and the Cold War wasn't so much of an "official" war between him and the West, and two wars wasn't really enough to be an indicator for the state of any of his future relations, but what if, right?

The American was a sly man, always with that ambivalently casual tone with his annoying hand gestures that came along passionate speeches, his perfectly composed posture, his sharp tongue, his smile that looked like it was full of spite but Soviet was oh so sure was melancholic. It was all in the eyes.

Of course, no one had seen United States with his sunglasses off since the Stock Market Crash of '29, but Soviet remembered what those eyes looked like hidden behind those tinted lenses. 

Silver like starlight.

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Fucking the Soviet Union was like fucking a matryoshka doll, it was a long process of opening the porcelain dolls and discovering a smaller one inside each with a puzzle piece to solve (and each time it was getting easier and easier to shove into his ass). The communist country was an enigma to States. In fact, he was an enigma to the world, but like all codes they were decipherable (it would be a bad code if it was undecipherable because then it would be gibberish). You just needed the right key. 

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they said, and that was what States originally intended to do, get close to him and figure out what made the country tick. A purely neutral and diplomatic approach yielded no results and Union would never accept any gift from the capitalist country. The second world war was so recent and the world could not risk starting another all out war, especially not after certain weapons of mass devastation were made that reminded them of mutually assured destruction if either of them decided to use it. So States resolved to use his final strategy to finally drill through the seemingly indestructible shell of Soviet Union.

Flirting as a form of psychological warfare. 

It started simple enough, suggestive jokes, a smile, a wink (but of course, no one saw with his glasses hiding his eyes), slight advances and trying to get every opportunity to catch him alone for a more, in-depth negotiation. Union did not budge, not even once, until everything clicked into place one night. 

Truth be told, States didn’t know what the fuck he did right. He was throwing rocks on the wall to see what stuck and this one did.

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The only way he could tolerate United States was to drink a bottle of vodka until he drowned out the voice that told him to punch the country square on the teeth. Of course, he wasn’t drunk (it took a lot more than just one bottle to get him intoxicated beyond the point of no return) but he wasn’t sober either, at least not as “sober” as usual and sometimes his mind tended to wander around when he was a bit tipsy. 

It only occurred to him how small United States was, standing in front of his huge map of the stars connected with thin, embroidered threads of silver, constellations he had memorized for as long as he could remember. And he only noticed when he had to tiptoe to touch the north star. 

The American was just as tall as he was.

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