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

04

That was the first matryoshka doll, the first layer. A kiss under the stars. The next: he sucked his dick in the bathroom during a diplomatic meeting while Union's scarf hung loosely around his neck, until eventually they started sleeping with each other. It was quite a character development, he'd say. Soviet Union at first absolutely refused to fuck him with his clothes off, yet the trend continued and he opened another doll and peeled another layer.

The pieces were scattered, though, and States couldn't make sense of how all these things tied up together. Space, scarves, clothes, breakfast, oranges, jokes written on the margins of drafts of diplomatic and economic treaties, his scars all across his body.

"He sounds like he's in love," France said over dinner after States mentioned it in passing. "Love always makes you do the strangest things."

"Is he really capable of loving?"

"Love is a powerful thing, mon enfant. It can move the unmovable, humble the prideful, and melt the icy exterior of a man like URSS. Anyhow, how did you get to know these things?"

"Oh you know, psychological warfare."

"Ah, but of course! You get that from me." Like mother like son.

But the question that lingered was: who? Who did the Soviet Union love?

France laughed. "I don't know."

States didn't know either, and he'd been fucking the guy for a while now.