Canada loved large, open spaces. Great big fields filled with nothing but fresh air and miles of crunchy snow or mutli-story homes with so many rooms to hide in. Russia’s home was perfect, one of his favorite places to visit. Outside lay a thick blanket of white while inside was quiet, near empty. A roaring fire crackled away in the den’s hearth, splashing warmth across the sleeping figure of Russia situated on a deep, plush couch.
A gentle smile pushed up the corners of Canada’s mouth. Gently, tenderly, he leaned over the back of the couch to brush stray tawny strands away from resting violet eyes. Awake, asleep, Russia never knew when he was around and Canada liked it that way. If he had been discovered his actions would have to stop. No longer would he be able touch, kiss, caress the oblivious larger nation. That wouldn’t do.
Gingerly stepping around the couch to sit, Canada daintily pushed Russia up a moment before re-positioning him over his lap. Leaning back against the plush cushions he began to pet Russia with a contented sigh. His gaze glanced off of Russia and over to the small circular side table. The delicate tea cup was only half empty. Canada pursed his lips in thought. This dosage seemed to be effective.