A/N: So…hi. This is my first Hetalia fic, and I'm a bit nervous about it.
Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Alfred F Jones and Ivan Braginski don't belong to me
It was cold. Extremely, ridiculously fucking cold. Balls-freezing type of cold.
Or, at least, America thought so. The violet eyed nation beside him did not seem to share his opinion. Sitting comfortably, humming a light tune under his breath, dressed with those warm clothes and not fazed at all by the frigid weather. He did seem amused, now and then sneaking glances at the shivering American with a suspicious twitch of his lips.
America was sure his hate for the Russian had just reached a new level.
"Something wrong, comrade?" Russia finally decided to ask, childlike smile in place and eyes opened wide in mock innocence. Alfred glared, gritted his teeth and curled tighter into himself. The larger blond blinked, before speaking again with unmasked giddiness "Oh? Amerika is shaking a lot. Maybe it is too cold for Amerika?"
"Sh-shut up you c-commie bastard!" America managed to stutter through his gritted teeth, failing epically at trying to sound assertive, but succeeding in freezing the inside of his mouth. Quickly closing his mouth again, he didn't miss the other's giggle
"But Amerika, I am not a communist anymore, remember?" Ivan answered with a smile. Said smile quickly morphed into a mock concerned frown as his eyes sparkled with amusement "Perhaps the cold froze what little brain Amerika had left?"
Alfred briefly considered answering that no, his brain was perfectly fine and whole, thank you very fucking much, but then he decided that it was not worth freezing his tongue off in the process, and instead decided to growl lowly.
Which, much to his annoyance and extreme mortification, sounded more like a whine.
Russia giggled again, this time in genuine amusement. Embarrassed, Alfred averted his eyes to look at the opposite direction, and he was not blushing – it was the cold. Yeah. The cold. And he was also not pouting. Because heroes don't pout and America was a hero. Yup. Not pouting.
Alfred heard Russia's muffled snickering, and his not-blushing and not-pouting intensified. And, after a particularly violent blast of fucking-brain-freezing-awfully- cold wind, so did his shivering.
"F-fuck!" Alfred hissed, furiously rubbing his arms and breathing into the fuzzy collar of his ever present bomber jacket. It was freaking March, for God's sake, it wasn't supposed to be this cold!
Fucking Russia and his fucking cold winters.
Alfred knew he should've insisted on another place to meet. He'd wanted to meet up in his country, but when he'd suggested it, Russia had opened those bright violet eyes wide and pleading and had asked if "Amerika does not like my capital city?" or if he was ashamed and didn't "want to be seen with me?". The taller nation had looked far cuter and more pitiful than he should've been able to, and America's resolve had crumbled immediately. He wished it hadn't. He could've been in a nice, warm place by this time. Like in California. Nice, sunny California. He wouldn't have to fear, or even consider, the possibility of his toes turning into ice in California.
Alfred briefly wondered if they already were frozen. Experimentally, he wriggled them inside his shoes. Great. Not frozen.
Yet.
Russia shook his head, smile still present. Alfred felt the undeniable urge to punch that annoying nose of his. Then he realized it was far too cold to even try.
"Maybe if you had bought warmer clothes, instead of being stubborn and only bringing that jacket, you wouldn't be so cold." The elder of the two suggested, dropping his usual childish persona in favor of a more mature attitude.
Alfred's not-pouting continued.
"But it's March!" He whined into his jacket "Why the fuck is it this cold in fucking March?!"
Oh yeah, because it was Russia.
Stupid commie.
Too busy mentally throwing every insult he could think of at the Russian, Alfred missed the shift in the other's eyes. He did notice, however, with a (extremely manly) squeal, when two big, strong arms wrapped around his middle, lifted him up and moved him until he was sitting on Ivan's lap, facing him and with his face cradled against the much beloved scarf.
"What the hell -?!" Alfred yelped, making half hearted attempts to free himself. In reality, he was reluctant of letting Russia go, considering the (surprising) warmth the other transmitted.
Although he couldn't actually see Russia's face, America was pretty certain he could feel the smirk on his face as he quickly figured out the true intention behind Alfred's 'resistance'.
"I'm just trying to make America warm." He cooed mockingly, childish smile quickly turning mischievous "Perhaps something else could help?"
And then, before America could think of doing anything at all to stop him, Russia grabbed his chin, lifted his head and connected their lips together.
Alfred, shocked, remained still while gentle lips caressed his own, sky blue eyes staring directly at the violet ones before him. Then he sighed softly, let his lids drop close and answered the kiss, opening his mouth when Russia's tongue lightly brushed his lower lip. He grabbed the long, warm jacket and used it to pull Russia closer, humming contently as he felt one gloved hand caress his hair and another settle on his waist. The kiss was slow, gentle and, if Alfred was being honest with himself, it was also turning his heart into mush.
When they finally parted, America opened his eyes to see Ivan already looking at him, with a half smirk on his face.
"It is better now, da?"
Blushing madly, America ducked his head and pressed his face once again against Russia's scarf, inhaling the scent kept in the piece of clothing (vodka and snow and gunpowder and sunflowers and something that was entirely Russia) and feeling the larger nation's arms curl tighter around him. Snuggling deeper into the embrace (seeking warmth, not cuddling, nope, never cuddling), Alfred decided to forever deny the pleasant warmth that filled his chest when Ivan kissed him.
He mumbled into Russia's scarf. Not catching what the blond said, Russia asked him to repeat himself.
"No more winter meetings in Moscow, you damn commie."
Ivan actually laughed.
"Very well, подсолнух." The Russian conceded, placing a brief kiss on Alfred's messy blond hair and then resting his chin on the same spot "Very well."
подсолнух – Russian for "sunflower", at least according to Google Translate
So, how about you click that nice button down there and tell me what you think? Pretty please with a cherry on top?