Countryhuman Shorts

Drunk Actions are Sober Thoughts (SovNaz)

Word Count: 14,773
Warnings: Third Reich, Soviet Union, Alcohol, Drinking/Drunkeness, Smut, Swearing, Slight dub-con, Probably incorrect translations.
Starting off with a bang I guess. Some old smut that I wrote like three years ago and decided to rewrite. Special thanks to vic/pissdrinker420 on discord for reading the old story and making it so I still had a copy of the story.

|Intro: When the Soviet finds himself sitting alone at his local bar, drinking his problems away. He doesn't notice a certain German coming into the very same bar, for the very same reason. As drinks pass and the two lighten up with each other for the first time in years, they find themselves all over one another in Soviet's truck.|

The vast void of blackness was almost livid in color tonight. Dotted with bright stars and a pale full moon. To most, it was an other night. But, to the man sitting in the booth, it was a masterpiece. One so beautifully crafted it became hypnotizing to the eye.

The booth sat right beside the window; giving the man a front seat view of the dazzling night sky. It wasn't everyday that the blonde-haired Russian found himself here. Yet, recently it had become a regular occurrence to find the Russian sitting at the booth.

The man coming to the bar used to be a rare sight, but no one could pinpoint why he'd become a regular. He was quiet. Never speaking a word unless asking for a drink. He would sit and stare, drinking away until he thought it was time to leave.

Perhaps it was because of the lost feeling in his chest. The lost feeling that was deeply rooted into his heart. His heart that was so worn down that he didn't know what to do anymore. So worn with a pain that he wished to keep away from the world. Yet, the more he kept the pain away, the worse it got.

So, here he was. For maybe the hundredth time in the last three months. Drinking away the overwhelming pain in silence. Drinking gave him a little control in his life. It helped him forget how he was falling apart from the inside-out.

But, being so distracted on the moon, he never heard the ding that signaled a new body had walked in. And after countless nights spent in this very spot, alone, he never would've expected a man to join him.

Soviet snapped from his hypnotized state, glaring over at the male who now sat opposite of him. Darting his eyes over the other's figure with a skeptical gaze. Analyzing the other's features.

Upon the Russian's observations, he immediately saw that the other was just a few inches shorter than him, with long, raven black hair that was tied into a braid. His braided hair was draped over his shoulder. He had on a white, collared button-up with a black overcoat. An out of place military cap on his head. One that displayed a certain eagle that the Soviet knew all too well.

He finally looked at the other's face, seeing the scarlet red skin, a white circle in the middle of his face, and black 'X' like shape in the very center. The man's deep red eyes averted the other's gaze. A hint of nervousness tainted the male's eyes. His mouth turned slightly down in unsurity.

It was the same man that tore his heart apart all those years ago. His old ally that he used to turn to in times like this one. The man's presence used to be comforting, but now it just stood as an annoyance. The man who had stabbed him in the back, not just figuratively, but literally as well. The scar was still just as visible on his back as the day it happened.