Note: These were originally posted in the FF . net story "Flying Pieces of Paper." They have been moved to this new story in an organizational attempt.
RusAme oneshots.
Alfred was on leave. It wasn't his first tour, but Ivan must have felt it acutely. It was almost strange, Matthew driving up to the—not their—house, the driveway unshoveled. Ivan turned tomaking oven pizza, various Russian recipes he could cobble together from the American ingredients.
"Russia has better ingredients," Ivan snapped one day, throwing a bottle of spices across the counter. "All this American shit is fake, the labels are fake, fake, fake." He scowled, the whole house absorbing his gloom. "Fuck."
Matthew would watch his fiancé storm around the house, throwing pillows and the vacuum. Cursing in any language he could remember. Cycle through the American, switch to the Russia, the swears becoming longer and more complex.
Six months was a long time.
Matthew baited with the wedding.
"Ivan," he tried, "We can't keep pushing the day back. Please, at least help with calling the catering places and apologizing. Again."
Ivan was in the kitchen, looking at the spice cabinet. "You Americans," he muttered, "So caught up on apologizing and keeping up looks." He glanced over at Matthew, before returning to the spices. "Why can we not just have small wedding?"
They have had this conversation before. The same recycled lines; Matthew could hear the frustration bubbling under Ivan's words. Ivan switched from the spice cabinet to the pantry, eyes still roaming for an ingredient he wouldn't find.
Matthew followed, list of people to call still in hand. "We both know my fathers—well, Francis, won't stand for that. Plus, you haven't met most of my family yet. Ivan?"
"What?" Ivan snapped, slamming the cabinet door.
"Call," Matthew handed him the list.
The wedding was always being pushed back. Matthew listened as Ivan called the caterers, calling them cunts and whores and dicks in Russian. Whenever Ivan caught Matthew looking at him, he smiled, fake and acidic.
There was a calendar hanging in the kitchen; Matthew watched the red Xs march through the months.
Matthew's eyes skipped over the words on the page. He knew Ivan was up, was highly aware of this fact. God, it had been months since they had touched each other. Matthew turned the page, but he hadn't been reading for a while.
"You up?"
Ivan mumbled something in Russian, half turning over. "Is there something you needed? I am job hunt tomorrow, I need rest." He opened his eyes, flicking them down and then quickly back up to Matthew. "Matthew, I am tired. Perhaps tomorrow?"
Matthew shut his book with a snap. "Maybe." He walked to the bathroom and didn't smother the moans from his mouth or the phone.
Finally, finally, Alfred's brand new car was in the driveway. Matthew's father had bought it because, as he explained over the phone, a man being over in one of those "God-awful places" needed something to come home to. Alfred got the insurance-wrecking purchases, while Matthew got house loans.
Alfred had painted his car fire red. There was an American flag bumper sticker.
Ivan was cooking something American—hamburgers on the grill, cooler nearby full of beer, Alfred sprawled in the lawn chair, tanned and built from his stay in the desert. The two of them had a collection of beer bottles scattered around their feet.
"Fuck you!" Alfred laughed, throwing the bottle cap at Ivan. "I get back and you insult me! I'd like to see you fucking pick sand out of your hair for six months! Not a drop of fucking water in sight, and the sand was like, I don't know," Alfred rubbed his fingers together, "Flour."
Matthew watched them through the open sliding door. Ivan had mowed the lawn.
"Did you try to eat it?" Ivan grinned, sitting down in a nearby chair as the food cooked.
Alfred lunched, trying to kick Ivan in the shin. The other man snorted, slapping away Alfred's feet and kicking away Alfred's lawn chair. Alfred's dog—of course had brought it—scampered over, jumping on Ivan and woofing.
"Get your fat dog off!" Ivan commanded, but there was a lilt to it Matthew was unfamiliar with, one that made Alfred laugh refuse to get up. "It smells like you, unwashed, disgusting."
"Oh, learned some big words when I was gone!" Alfred leaned forward, catching the dog by the collar and dragging him into his lap. "Disgusting! You sound almost like you're not from the ass-end of the world. I remember you could only swear when you got here."
Ivan cracked open another beer. "And look, my vocabulary is better than your—Matthew!"
Alfred sat up, his dog jumping away. "Mattie!" Alfred stood, pulling his brother into a hug. "God, fuck, it's so good to see you! Shit," Alfred held Matthew at arm length, "Yo!"
Matthew smiled, pushing away Alfred's arms. "How've you been?"
Alfred nodded. He was like his dog, all smiles and eagerness and jangling tags. "Fucking awesome! Dad picked me up in that awesome car, took me to Mc D's—and then I went home and slept for like, a day. Figured you guys missed me, the newlyweds."
Ivan coughed, holding his beer away from him. He stood, checking the grill and ignoring Matthew's pointed look. Matthew dragged his eyes away from his fiancé's back to Alfred. Another smile, this one half-hearted.
"Not yet. Pushed it back until you came back." Ivan had pushed it back when he found out Alfred would be deploying. "I wanted you to be my best man, and Arthur wanted you there, so…" Another hug from Alfred.
Matthew excused himself to change out of his work clothes. He walked back to Alfred throwing bottle caps at Ivan. Alfred spun dramatically, collapsing into the lawn chair. Ivan was kicking the bottle caps back at Alfred, trying to hit him in the head.
"Your fiancé was being a fucking dick, again," Alfred moaned.
Ivan crossed his arms. "I was just commenting that your 'favorite, all time country' has more men who playing the Halo than fighting in wars. And the men who come back are so well adjusted."
"Well, fuck you!" Alfred responded brightly. "I came back perfectly well adjusted! I can kick your ass, if I have to, you giant, hulking mother fucker!"
Ivan scoffed, stepping closer, leaning over Alfred. "I would liking to see you try. I used to fight dogs bigger than you, when I was a child. You have a few years in the military, and what, you think you're tough shit?" Ivan smirked, and Alfred scowled.
Matthew coughed. "Food done?"
Ivan stepped back. "Yes. Almost."
Alfred groaned. "Come on, I want food."
The party stopped when some local kids set off some fireworks. Alfred got tense and insisted they go inside. He refused to leave, muttering something about the dark and fireworks. Matthew made him up a bed on the couch. He was twitchy, but it was late and Alfred was drunk and Matthew was tired.
Distantly, Matthew hoped a firework hit Alfred's new car. He got a glass of water, the calendar abandoned on the counter.
Matthew gritted his teeth.
When he got upstairs, Ivan grabbed Matthew, spilling the water absolutely. Ivan grabbed the glass and threw it deeper into the room, pressing kisses into Matthew's neck. He ran a hand underneath Matthew's shirt, letting it wander around his chest before sliding around to Matthew's ass.
"I have been neglecting you," Ivan muttered, nipping at Matthew collar bone.
"I threw the calendar out." Ivan froze, breath hot and shallow on Matthew's skin. "I was hoping it was counting down the days to the wedding. There's no X today."