A heavy stench of death permeated the air. The ground was littered with mangled corpses, the earth stained with blood. A dark silence hung in the air as a gun clattered out of the hands of a tall Russian man. A blonde haired American pointed the barrel of his gun at the Russian's forehead, his fingers resting none too lightly on the trigger.
"Ivan," the American growled. "Give up, already. You've lost."
"Alfred, I will never lose." The Russian man, Ivan, looked up through the ends of his bloodied white hair, his violet eyes burning with anger and despair. "You may have won this war, but you will never win — argh!" A strangled gasp echoed through the air as the toe of a steel boot made contact with Ivan's stomach. The Russian man doubled over in pain, hacking into his hand. The American dug his boot into the back of the Russian's legs, forcing Ivan onto his knees.
Alfred pressed his foot down upon the white haired man's back, resting his left forearm on his knees and leaning down to whisper next to the Russian's ears. "What was that?
Ivan pulled his hand away from his mouth, eyes widening at the crimson that splattered his palm. His eyes screwed shut as he felt the cold metal barrel of a gun being pressed to the back of his head. "Nothing," the Russian man ground out.
"That's what I thought." Alfred's voice was cocky and arrogant, mocking Ivan's position in the dirt. "So sad, the wonderful king is now at my mercy." Alfred gasped mockingly, watching Ivan's fingers curl into fists. Alfred laughed ruthlessly, nudging Ivan's back harder with his foot. "Get up, Your Majesty."
"No," Ivan breathed, fuming inwardly. He wouldn't show anger to the American. The American wouldn't get what he wanted. He wouldn't get a reaction. With that thought, Ivan unfurled his fingers.
"Oh, what a pity. Perhaps, the cloak doesn't befit you." Alfred fingers curled into the black cloak on Ivan's back. Ivan trembled slightly, as Alfred's fingers ran up his back, feeling the dark velvet of the cloak. Ivan squeezed his eyes shut as the American's fingers reached the back of his neck, before sliding around to finger the clasp that lay on Ivan's throat. "A family heirloom, isn't it? It proves that you are the King." Alfred chuckled humorlessly. "How would you feel if I took it from you, huh?" Alfred's fingers slipped under the cloak to unclasp it, and Ivan snapped.
He grabbed the American's arm from his throat, wrenching it free of the cloak. Ivan hooked one of his feet around Alfred's leg, pulling the blonde's balance from beneath him, allowing Ivan to roll out of the American's reach and stumble to his feet. He kicked the gun out of Alfred's hands, before kneeling and seizing the American's collar, twisting Alfred's arms behind his back.
"Don't you dare take what isn't yours," Ivan growled.
Alfred looked up at him with a smirk that made Ivan's heart race against his will. "And if I did?"
"Well," Ivan's dark eyes bore into Alfred's blue ones. "You didn't," Ivan finished simply.
Alfred let out a mirthless laugh. "I defeated you."
"That is true." Ivan hated agreeing to it, but it was true. "However, one day, I will make you beg for my mercy." Ivan's tone sent sparks up Alfred's spine. He was sure Ivan didn't mean it in that way, but Alfred couldn't help how fast his mind conjured up some enticing images. He noticed how close their faces were.
"Is that a threat?" Alfred growled. His voice shook slightly, and he prayed Ivan didn't notice. A lazy smirk spread across Ivan's mouth. Ivan brought his face even closer, so that their lips were almost brushing. The American's fingers itched to grab the back of Ivan's neck and smash their mouths together, but he restrained himself.
"It's a promise," Ivan whispered, his breath fanning out across Alfred's lips. Alfred shivered with anticipation, trembling with arousal. Ivan suddenly drew back, releasing Alfred's collar.
Alfred swallowed a whimper of despair, instead opting to look down. Ivan's fingers slid under his chin, tilting his head up. "Until then, farewell."
Ivan stood up with a slight smile on his lips. He stared at Alfred for a minute, before turning around and walking away. His cloak flared out behind him, and the Russian walked away, his face held high, his stride elegant and royal.
Alfred watched Ivan walk away, his heart hammering in his chest. He called out to the retreating Russian man.
"I hold you to that promise."
I don't ship RusAme all that much, but this was an idea and I kind of liked it, so here. There is no historical accuracy, nor is this set to any time period, I just wrote it randomly.