I am very happy. Another Russia/America fic, but written with help from Kang Jae Gyu!
Seriously, Kang Jae Gyu does such a great job with my fics... I don't know how she stands my crappy writing before she makes it great! XD
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Alfred tried to clean his storage closet... again. He didn't really want to - his worst memories festered in that room - but he knew he would have to tend to it eventually. Finally, on August of 1976, at a little over 200 years old, Alfred ventured into his closet. The walls had a thin layer of dust on them. He felt apprehensive, but charged in anyway. Sadly, he didn't watch where he was going and the American tripped over an old photo album. Alfred cursed, and was about to throw the thing into the wall when a photo slipped out from its place. The door creaked as it suddenly closed, leaving the room completely dark. The blonde cursed again, getting up and groping the wall for a light switch. When he found one and had the lights shining, he gently picked the old photo up to examine it.
It was a picture of him and Russia, shaking hands during the Civil War era.
Alfred dropped the photograph as if it scalded him.
The treacherous image fluttered downward, landing next to its wicked co-conspirator, the photo album.
Somewhere in his brain a levee broke, unpleasant memories flooded in, and he was helpless to stop them.
It was complicated during that time. Even though America was established as a nation, Alfred was not the only America anymore. He faced a foe with his face, who believed slavery was right and was God's will. Alfred, on the other hand, believed that slavery was totally against everything America was supposed to stand for. He couldn't turn to his usual on-again, off-again allies, England and France, for they were trading with the enemy for cotton. During those days, Alfred would cry himself to sleep, just wanting everything to end. He wanted to be a hero, but it took such a massive tole on his physical condition that he actually lost several pounds in a week or less. It wasn't out of starvation, but rather sheer depression.
There was never any true progress on either side. Alfred's Union was able to transport and communicate better than the Confederacy, but the other America was getting money from Europe.
Everything changed on a rainy day. He was sending letters to troops near the borders when a tall, muscular, pale blonde man walked in. Alfred couldn't help but feel small in front of him. The man was certainly in much better shape than him, even when Alfred was healthy and eating well. What really glued the American's eyes to the man was his skin; it was so light, and against the rain in the background seemed to have a ghostly glow. It frightened him yet fascinated him at the same time. It wasn't until he looked at minor details did he realize that this was no American. This stranger's uniform was dark gray, with a light grey trim at the edges. The double breast buttons on the jacket and the embellishment of medals and other awards proved he was a soldier, but they were unfamiliar to Alfred. The only thing that didn't scream soldier was his clean, beige scarf. The man smiled at him; the action seemed strange and forced, but then again Alfred didn't really judge people very well.
"Hey there, you don't look like you belong here."
"No, I do not." His accent was very thick and his English was awkward-sounding. Even though there weren't many Russian immigrants in America, Alfred knew he was Russian.
"Well, nice of you to visit, stranger. What's your business here?"
"I am the representative of Russia, like you are of America. I would like to help you, Union America."
This shocked Alfred. Someone in another part of the world wanted to be on his side? The American stayed silent. The only sounds were the creaks of the little movements the Russian's feet made in anticipation of Alfred's answer. Eventually, Alfred became embarrassed after realizing he hadn't responded to Russia.
"Ah, sorry about that. Of course I would like an ally. God knows I've gone crazy doing this by myself," he said, and got up to be face to face with the Russian.
"I can assure you I am the master of insanity," the Russian said with a smile. Alfred laughed, not knowing the truth of his words.
"Well, didn't know that anyone in Europe had a sense of humor, but um... you shouldn't call me Union America, that just sounds weird... just call me Alfred." The American held his hand out to the Russian. The taller blonde smiled, grasping the other's palm in a firm handshake.
"If I must call you Alfred, it would only be fair if you call me Ivan."
It was a happy moment in a time of war: the simple gesture of hands joining together. What they didn't realize is that this wasn't just a handshake for becoming allies. This was a handshake for the beginning of their history together.
Well, Alfred hadn't known that any history with Russia wasn't pretty...
Alfred shook his head, leaned down and put the photo back in its proper place. What a horrible memory to bring up. A memory to taunt him about what was happening now.
It was just earlier that day, too. He had woken up that morning, grumpy after he stubbed his toe onto a bedpost. Alfred cursed while walking slowly to the kitchen. His days were lonely lately, usually him just doing chores around the house and going into the tool shed to try to invent something that would outdo a certain Russian.
Just like any of these days, the morning felt tiring. For about three to five minutes, he would get on his tiptoes trying to reach the top shelf in the cabinet of his kitchen. Alfred wondered why he would always put the Frosted Flakes back in the same place at the end of every morning for several years, even though he would have to go through this frustrating ritual repeatedly as a result. The hungry American would eventually grab it with the tips of his fingers, finally retrieving his prize. Following his ritual, he held the box against his chest, muttering something about heros accomplishing any task they face before putting it on the counter to get milk. Eventually Alfred would get his beloved cereal in the morning, and eat it while watching television on the couch.
On most days, he would haphazardly flip through channels, but there was a figure on the screen that stayed his hand.
It was Russia, Ivan Braginski, and he was on an angry rant.
His typically calm face was flushed with anger. The red tint made his violet eyes seem dark like coal. Even though Ivan was doing his speech in what would be perceived as a blizzard in America, his words were biting and full of fire. With every word, the Russian's body would quake in passion. Alfred felt his blood run cold. When he read the translated captions on the screen, his heart - like Ivan's did on occasion - nearly burst through his chest.
"Those filthy pigs will not beat us! I assure you all, standing before me! Russia will rise and the American greed will fall before our greatness!"
The roar of the people's cheers only made Alfred feel worse. He pushed his breakfast away from him, letting it splatter on the floor as he curled his legs to his chest. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop any tears dripping down. His teeth clenched down hard against each other, preventing any sobs excaping his lips. The American was unsuccessful, tears now slowly staining his blue pajama pants. He couldn't help but feel like such a fool. It was pitiful to think that he once considered this man to be the love of his life. He didn't understand how this same man who spewed words of hatred towards him was the same man who used to hold him gently at night. The Ivan who showed him that love making was not sexual gratification, gave him comfort in the turmoil of war, and taught him about keeping in touch with family no matter what comes between you.
Alfred tried to wipe the tears away by using his forearms, but as soon as he let go of his legs, he turned on his side and cried harder. He couldn't stop the sobbing and his body felt like it was about to burst. Unknown muscles contorted and contracted, and a chill ran down his spine. What was really a couple of minutes felt like hours of crying to Alfred. A hero wasn't supposed to break down into tears. His toes curled, and he couldn't stop his body from convulsing.
Needing to snuff out his misery, he had tried distracting himself with cartoons. Mercifully, the mindless images had slowly drowned the thoughts of Ivan.
However, now he had the photo album still open - maybe he just felt like being a masochist - and he looked at another picture. This one was taken during World War II at Arthur's house...
Matthew was taking a picture of him and Russia sitting on a table outside. He smiled when the picture came out just the way he wanted it, and handed it to Alfred.
"Here you go," Canada said in his usual soft voice and handed the photo to his twin. The soft breeze made his hair tickle his nose, making him wrinkle it. Alfred smiled at Matthew; the Canadian (when noticable) was adorable. He then ran back to England's side to make sure Arthur didn't burn anything. England had invited all of the allies to his house to have a day of normal, summer backyard grilling. The war had taken these days of leisure from them, and drained them of youthful and happy times. Everyone thought it was a great idea to stop thinking about the battle field. It would be less worrisome, however, if the Englishman didn't insist on cooking. Dark smoke came from the grill Arthur was working at, and the Canadian barely made it in time to salvage the food.
"Why does England bother? Canada or France is just going to end up throwing away what he made and cook better food. So wasteful," Ivan said, taking a sip of water. Even though England kept vodka in his freezer, Ivan hated it. He called it a cheap imitation that he was surprised a "gentleman" like Arthur had. Of course, only after fighting with the man for several minutes did Russia give up and drink water, though he still didn't seem happy about that. Then again, Russia had had a lot of pent up anger.
"Well, that's what makes him cute and motherly-"
"Even with those huge eyebrows?" Ivan interrupted. The American was shocked; Ivan, his lover, never interrupted him.
"Uh... yeah. Ivan, are you okay?" Alfred asked. He put his right hand on the communist's left hand, softly rubbing it. Ivan sighed when he looked into Alfred's concerned eyes.
"Alfred... I am still struggling with myself right now. You know how my people feel about you and England," he paused to drink, "but I love you for Alfred, not America... but it's still so hard because I feel both feelings at the same time. I am sorry, I will try to control myself. You are obviously able to."
"Actually, there are some days that I want to bop you on the head in frustration - I can't lie about that - but like you said, that's the part of you that is Russia that does that to me. Not Ivan," Alfred confessed. Both felt awkward admitting that they possessed a degree of hate for each other. After all, they had been together since Russia helped him win the Civil War, but as with any relationship, there is a chaos. Unfortunately, their chaos was very explainable, which made it seem like they should be able to easily solve their problems... a fact that made their situation all the more frustrating.
The couple didn't do anything but hold hands as they waited for food. No longer did they look into each others' eyes or speak, otherwise unkind words might have exploded from them. Their relationship was like walking on cracking glass: they both danced around the crack and tried not to acknowledge it. As they continued this dance, the crack became all the larger.
"Here you go, Al, and don't worry, eh? I made sure to handle both of you guys' food personally." Matthew handed them two plates. Both the plates contained a large T-bone steak seasoned with a bit of salt and pepper, some chopped potatoes smeared with butter and cheese, and spinach garnished with some feta cheese.
Alfred grinned, licking his lips with his excess saliva building in his mouth and grabbed his fork and steak knife at his left. Ivan smiled. This part of Alfred was always cute; his hunger for food that could barely be filled. However, as soon as he stuffed a bite into his mouth and chewed so happily, the Russian gasped. He immediately stood up from his seat and walked off into England's house.
America thought it was strange, considering that the Russian was heading for the garage; the part of England's house that got bombed by Germany. The smaller man raced after him, leaving a confused Canadian twin behind. Alfred grasped Ivan's right arm tightly when he finally caught up to him, only for Ivan to brush it aside. He then used both of his strong arms to twist the Russian around and make Ivan's eyes meet his own.
"Ivan-"
"I am sorry Alfred, I just... I am not myself right now. I am Russia," he sighed. His control over his body would fool anyone, but not Alfred. The American knew his lover was on the edge, if he didn't chase after him he would have tears down his face. Alfred sighed and pulled the other into an embrace. The American's head rested against Ivan's shoulders, breathing in the soft smell of watermelon. Ivan's body was still tense. His arms were afraid to wrap around Alfred's waist and his body kept fidgeting. Alfred sighed, knowing that this wasn't working, and slowly pulled away.
"Do you still want to sleep in the same room tonight?"
"Of course, Alfred, of course."
They both looked at each other. They had their fake smiles painted on their faces. Alfred turned around to return to his food, though he truly didn't have much of an appetite anymore.
They both went to bed around 10pm after they had showered and gotten dressed. Alfred sat on the left side of the bed, reading the English newspaper. It was mostly on criticism of American troops. Ivan sat on the right, drinking a smoothie with blueberries, strawberries, and pinapples. The mix of smooth juice and the chunkiness of the unground fruits made the tall man smile. It was very hard to get large amounts of fruit in his country. Many people actually gave oranges to the ones they loved for Christmas because they were so rare. He took another sip of his drink before looking at his boyfriend. It was odd to see Alfred reading. His eyes would squint a little and his posture would be similar to England's gentleman act. This was the only influence of England's that he could truly see in Alfred.
"Alfred," Ivan whispered, grasping the newspaper gently and putting it on the nightstand.
"Yeah?"
"I love you," he said, and pulled the other man on top of him. Alfred squealed before covering his mouth with his left hand; after all, this was still Arthur's house!
"Ivan-"
"Please Alfred, I need you to be one with me. I want you to take control tonight."
It wasn't that it was uncommon for Alfred to be on top when they had intercourse, but it was strange that the Russian specifically asked for it. He looked down at him; Ivan's eyes showed no signs of joking. Alfred smiled, pressing his lips against Ivan's softly.
"I love you too, Ivan. Alright, lets do it," he gently consented, pressing his lips against his Russian's again. After two short kisses did Alfred stop to swipe his tongue against Ivan's lower lip. Ivan teased, not opening his mouth, making the American frustrated. Alfred resorted to other measures and grazed the sensitive skin between his teeth. The Russian still kept his lips closed, until finally Alfred bit down hard. His gasp from the other man's aggressiveness led to Alfred's tongue finally snaking its way into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the smoothie Ivan had a couple seconds ago, pressing his tongue harder to get even more of the taste.
The Russian whimpered, not used to being so submissive to the American. His body shuddered as Alfred's hands unbuttoned his thick pajama shirt, his cold flesh being warmed by the other blonde's hands. Ivan wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, further pressing his body to any touch Alfred was giving him. Alfred broke away from their heated kissing to make a trail of soft kisses on Ivan's jaw. The Russian sighed. The soothing kisses brushed away any tension he had. It was a sharp contrast to Alfred's left hand rolling his nipple between his index and middle finger. This was always the way Alfred dominanted; he was gentle, yet firm. He lulled one into a sense of relaxation, only to surprise with a rough touched elsewhere. Ivan's body felt a surge of blood rushing through it. His hands instinctively grasped Alfred's hair, sighing as Alfred's hands tauntingly moved slowly down his abdomen.
As soon as the hands reached the waist band of Ivan's pajamas, they would crawl back up to his hardening buds. There were alternating kisses and rough bites against the base of his neck. Ivan's legs tightened around Alfred's strong thighs, his half hard erection straining the elastic of his pajama bottoms. Alfred smiled as he felt the Russian's arousal against his stomach. He flicked his tongue around the dark pink nipple. Ivan's small gasps and the thrusting of his chest forward made Alfred grin. The American brushed his smooth teeth against the sensitive skin, reddening it.
Ivan's hands trailed down to the top of Alfred's back, massaging the tense muscles. Alfred mewed softly before fingering the waistband of Ivan's pants. He chuckled when he saw that Ivan was turned on to the point the elastic didn't touch his stomach anymore. He pulled them down slightly, and Ivan's cock sprang up immediately. Ivan gasped, happy that he was no longer restricted by his pants.
"You didn't wear any underwear?"
"England's weather is too hot for that."
"Hm... I should take you Texas or Arizona after the war. You'll run around naked there."
Russia laughed. Alfred took this opportunity to reach for the unfinished fruit smoothie, took a big sip, and placed it back on the nightstand. He chewed on the cold chunks of ice a couple of times before taking the head of Ivan's cock. Ivan groaned from the suddenly sucking on his appendage. The ice cold smoothie and the heat of Alfred's tongue massaged the sensitive head, while the warmth of the American's hands pumped whatever wasn't in his mouth.
Alfred groaned as he slurped more of the drink while sucking on Ivan's thick organ. The tingling of twirling his tongue with the crushed ice against Ivan's heated skin made his mouth numb. When the taste of the fruit and the rush of cold was gone, he pulled back, pressing his tongue against the slit of the head. His hands rubbed the dripping saliva all over the enormous appendage while his eyes locked with Ivan's. Ivan always loved the way Alfred looked at him when he had such control over him. There was this special sparkle, a gold tint like the color of beach sand that seemed to wink at him, as if to taunt him about how the other had so much control or to boast silently how sexy he was and how Ivan wanted him.
"Ivan," Alfred whispered against his dick, licking the sides up and down ever so slowly. His eyes darted toward the cold drink and back to the Russian. Ivan nodded, and held the drink so that it was close to Alfred. The American smiled before swirling three of his fingers into the concoction. He swallowed the head of Ivan's dick as he continued to twirl his fingers in the freezing mix. Ivan could barely hold the drink as his cock buried further into Alfred's moist cavern. Alfred went halfway before the head tickled the back of his throat. He moaned around the wide girth, sending vibrations that made Ivan tingle. Russia's hips tried to get more inside, but Alfred would just pull back. Ivan didn't know Alfred's hand was no longer playing around in the smoothie until he felt a finger stretch him. The cool liquid that coated the finger acted as a lubricant.
"God bless America..." Russia gasped. It had been a couple of weeks since he had Alfred inside of him. The probing digit rubbed against his walls, slithering deeper into his depths. The cold temperature almost numbed him, as the finger was searching for the nub that would make him scream.
The other man's tongue kept assaulting his hard on, distracting him from the numbness inside him. It wasn't until he felt the his prostate brushed against did he bite back a groan.
"Shh, we're in England's house, Ivan. You don't want to wake everyone, do you?" Alfred thrust two fingers inside him, pressing ever harder against the bundle of nerves. Ivan bit his lip harder, his body shivering from the rush of fire running through him. Despite his efforts, a muffled moan escaped. Alfred smirked, and sucked on the tip of Ivan's cock furiously as he moved his fingers. The American bobbed his head, taking more of the length as he moved down. When the head slid against his throat, he slid a third finger inside of Ivan. The invading appendages thrashed inside Ivan, stabbing his prostate. Ivan's head thrashed almost as violently, his fingers squeezing the sheets beneath them. Alfred removed his fingers and his mouth, making the Russian whine softly from the lack of stimulation.
"Look at me, Ivan," Alfred demanded, but he didn't get Ivan's attention until he unintentionally moaned. Ivan's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Alfred smearing globs of smoothie against his own cock. The drink wasn't as cold to the touch, but there was still ice particles that melted from Alfred's heat. The shorter man stared intensely at Ivan, make sure to get every inch slick with the elixir. Ivan desperately wanted to lick the drops that fell onto the sheets, but Alfred used his left hand to hold his hip back. Once the American thought his organ was lubricated enough, he grasped Ivan's legs and pushed them back so they almost touched Ivan's ears. He looked at Ivan with a haze of lust in his eyes as he slid his dick into the tight passage. Alfred pushed slowly, allowing Ivan to adjust as he inched in.
When he pushed all of the way inside, he looked down at the place where their bodies met. His length inside the Russian's hole was quite a sight to behold. The other's anus was usually red from the treatment of being stretched, but the ice from the smoothie seemed to calm it down. Alfred smirked as he watched himself pull out about half way before slowly going back in.
"Alfred, stop being a voyeur and fuck me," Ivan groaned. Alfred leaned forward, pushing his cock even deeper, and shoved his tongue into Ivan's mouth. Their tongues danced, sliding and brushing against each other and Alfred pulled out and slammed right in. Both Ivan and Alfred hissed. Ivan's muscles spasmed as the nerves inside him were brutally stabbed by Alfred's length. The thrusts were slow and hard, for Ivan was still adjusting. They never had to command the other that enough was enough, they knew the limits of each others' bodies. A pair of hands firmly grasped his hips, almost enough to bruise. Ivan moaned as Alfred moved at a faster pace. With the Russian's hips anchored in his grasp, Alfred sped up his movements. Ivan wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, his nails scratching lightly against the skin. Alfred knew that the nails digging into his skin was Ivan's silent language saying to fuck harder. He shoved his cock into Ivan's body, lifting the legs higher to get even deeper into his lover. Ivan's lips bled as he suppressed his mews and cries, his hips trying as best as they could to meet Alfred's swift movements. The burning fire inside just kept building up as Alfred continued to glide in and out of him.
The sensation of being filled by Alfred made Ivan shudder. His mind wasn't in control anymore and his body was just reacting to every single movement or touch that Alfred willing gave. Alfred held Ivan back for a second before grabbing the lukewarm drink. He sloshed it around in the glass before spilling it over Ivan's face and chest. Alfred drove his cock even deeper into his Russian lover, lapping up excess smoothie on Ivan's chest. Ivan licked his lips, groaning at the feeling of the wet substance cooling his skin and Alfred's tongue greedily sucking it up.
Ivan could feel his release building up inside him and made his left hand jerk his own cock in time with Alfred's thrusts. Alfred lifted himself up to look at Ivan. Ivan's body was drenched in sweat and smoothie juice, his lips red from the abuse of holding back his groans, and his hand hurriedly rubbing his thick, long cock. Alfred's pace gained even more speed. There was no rhythm, just harsh pounding.
"Ivan..." Alfred sighed, shoving all of his length into Ivan's willing body. The gush of Alfred's cum filling him made Ivan spill all of his essence against their chests, stomachs, and his hand. The tightening of his muscles made more of Alfred's cum fill him. Alfred took a hand to the traces of Ivan's semen on his chest. He swiped it quickly and licked it off of his finger. Alfred grinned as Ivan watched him lick off the Russian's cum, the sight seemingly inducing a trance-like state. The spell was broken when Alfred pulled out. Ivan winced as he felt empty, and the American returned to the left side of the bed. Ivan opened a drawer to grab some tissues to wipe them clean and Alfred smirked at him.
"What is it, Alfred?"
"It's just... I'm not used to you asking for me to be inside you."
"... I don't know why, to be honest. For some reason I wanted to be close to you."
Alfred wrapped his left arm around Ivan's waist. "You don't have to explain yourself, Ivan. I know with the war and everything going on things have gone crazy. I know I have."
Ivan smiled. "But as I said when the first time I met you, I am the master of insanity."
Alfred laughed and they kissed each other on the lips...
Alfred sighed and sat on the floor, his back against a box. He closed the album and pulled it to his chest. He felt the familiar feeling of tears, and he didn't stop them this time. They flooded his shirt, his sobs hitting his body full force.
"Why is it like this...? Why?" he continued to cry. He didn't even hear the footsteps in his house or Arthur's voice calling his name. It was only when the door opened did Alfred attempt to stop crying and look at his unexpected visitor. The Englishman kneeled down, putting his hand on Alfred's broad shoulder.
"Alfred..." England sounded very concerned for his ex-colony. It was unusual that Alfred would cry. The only one he knew of that could do that to America was his brother.
Alfred looked as if he was about to respond, but he couldn't. Only more cries and tears broke out, and Arthur sighed. He knew Alfred wouldn't open up to him, so he would call Canada later. He scooped Alfred into his arms just as he had done in the past and carried him to his room. The shorter, blonde man gently lay Alfred onto the bed and pulled the soft sheets over his body.
"It's alright, Alfred, just go to sleep," Arthur murmured. Alfred nodded, tears still coming out of his eyes. Arthur didn't like to see America like this. Despite all the history and hardship they had, Alfred was still his little brother. His little brother that was crying and extremely upset and he didn't know why.
Within minutes, Alfred slipped into the world of sleep. Arthur kissed him on the top of his head and left.
End of Chapter 1
Oh Alfred... I hate it when you're sad! ;_; I wish to hug him.
Thank you to anyone who is reading. I hope you review because I'd love to see what you think!