Dmitri: this is going to be a three part story about Russian-American relations. The first chapter is titled Encounters to the Song 'Loving Strangers' by Russian Red. It is about their first convergence upon which Tsar Peter the Great of Russia and William Penn, the man famous for creating Virginia in the new world for religious freedom. I did research but if anything feels wrong to you, please drop it in your review~~~

EDIT: this story has been revamp beta'd by Serelinda, go love her! And it gets longer… since I'm losing my grip on one shots *dies*

So without further adieu, Our Love.

Loving Strangers

Alfred F. Jones, the personification of the American colonies, stepped foot on British ground for the first time since childhood one chilly autumn afternoon. He clutched his worn leather coat tightly but did not shiver, frozen nights on the unforgiving American coast had cured him of showing signs he was cold. One was not thought of well if he were to complain about such trivial things. But he could not deny the want to shake at the sight of the English port he had arrived in. Seeing his brother's land evoked sadness and restlessness for the first time. People were beginning to talk blasphemy at home and many had valid points. His brother did not treat them the way he should. The choice between his people and the man that raised him lay heavily upon his young mind. A deep weary sigh departed his chapped lips as he moved on down the harbor out into the streets of London.

İt was time to move on to business. The reason he was back in his father country, he reinforced in his mind, was to visit William Penn, the owner of the District of Pennsylvania. He needed to straighten out this Ford business that was making his stomach quite frankly, queasy. Penn needed to return home soon. Unfeeling stone houses passed by, newer than those of his own country, to the credit of the Great Fire, before he met the stony welcoming face of his intended man. Now he was reminded of how much he really admired this human. He was nothing short of intriguing, his ideas revolutionary.

Penn greeted him with faint surprise upon the dreary cobble streets. They shook hands firmly and Alfred again thought of his love for the man. There was no head bowing or removal of the black hat upon his head. Penn had no betters, not even a nation or king. The French dressed Englishman beckoned him to accompany him to his previous destination that the colony had intercepted him on his way to. The real estate worker was to visit the famed Tsar Peter of Russia in the mansion the King had allotted for him during his stay out on the outskirts of London. America heartily agreed in hopes of a chance to speak at length with him. So they set off, arm in arm, towards the residence of a Russian that would inconceivably shape the colony's future for centuries after. After a few blocks they boarded a cheap cab in which to ride comfortably.

The cab did not arrive at the destination until nigh on sunset. İt was not in good order, what with broken banisters, littered porches, and cracked windows. The two westerners could hardly accept that any sort of royalty nor gentleman ought to reside here, but were proven wrong when a noble came to welcome them in relatively passable English, slurred as it was by the effects of bottle clearly ailing the man. Both looked aghast at the interior in shambled disarray. The damage done was mind boggling. What did these Russian Elites do in their spare time? The house appeared to be run by barbarians intent on monstrous dallying and destruction of such fine architectural work. Strange faced Russian nobles seemed to congregate toward the large front parlor we were want to head to.

Now for the 'King of All Kings' in question, there was no doubt his nobility. The moment he surged forward to steal away the colony's companion, his confidence and utter surety shone blindingly through each breath and twitch of the body. This was a man who got what he wanted and fought for what he was not handed on a silver platter. Bordering on selfishly self-righteous, he was a charismatic force to be reckoned with. He sat back comfortably in his plush chair at the head of a small table and pulled William with him without caution of sending him careening off his balance. The Gentleman could hardly make comfortable his seat before the Tsar launched into an interrogation of sorts.

Penn's time was solely claimed by Pyetr of Russia whom was inquiring upon every topic available; politics, houses, the trade market, ships, philosophy, modernization, anatomy, industrialization in the Americas, and religion. Rather than be angry with the Quaker for insolence, the Tsar was absorbed in all the differences he found to be fascinating. The great foreign man was fallen to drink as well, for supply bottles were never slack. His breath that flowed under his dark moustache smelt of wine and a hard liquor Alfred did not recognize. Of all the strange men he had known, this man was the strangest. Penn seemed to be almost appalled by and drawn to Peter. He readily gave ear to all the English-American had to say but chose what he liked to remember and appreciate. He was worse than the monarch. He was a Tsar of absolute whimsical power.

Then the great dark eyes fastened with the blonde colony's in recognition. "A, what is the term... Personification!" he shouted deeply in delight at his discovery. The man attacked him with a barrage of pointed questions about his health, life, and interactions with his colony. Once sated in knowledge acquired he called out into the house and a man dressed in strictly European style appeared from the recesses of the ruined establishment.

The two knew the moment eye contact was made who the other was. The Russian Empire, a young silvery haired man in his early twenties, was unable to tear his gaze from the teenage blonde he knew to be the American colony, though his Tsar begged his attentions. Violet to sky blue affixed to one another during the ignored introductions. Then, in a fateful strike, the humans bade them get to know each other while they finished exchanging ideas.

Neither knew what they were doing. They went out to the back porch to stand in the crisp open air away from the bog of human social restraints. The quiet night breeze flicked the elder's scarf behind him in a graceful dance. "My name is Ivan Braginsky, Russian Empire." the violet eyed man spoke carefully. Even his name had no accent to it and Alfred had the overwhelming feeling of sympathy for him. He knew what it was like to be dragged undertow of a greater force. Britain made sure he was the right image and then pounded him down afterward. He knew the pain.

The sixteen year old smiled softly. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, Britain's American Colony" But i want to be just America, independent and free, he wanted to confide. He knew this man would understand. So he told him about all the new things he was learning, hoping the elder Empire would smile and pat his shoulder and agree. Though Ivan agreed with many things, he could not entertain the notion of revolution any more than America at the time. He seemed to really believe, with some personal reservations, that his Tsar was doing something wonderful and he had all trust in the Russian monarchy to lead his people. Yet unmistakable was the small twinkle in his eye when Alfred bespoke of the unrest at home, those colonists itching for freedom and emancipation from the English. Ivan would not verbally convey his fancy of the concept but it was understood it struck somewhere within him. "I know not what it is like; to be completely free… The proposition is almost too exciting." Jones admitted.

The two held hands, almost unconsciously gravitating closer. They were so alike, yet going on such divergent paths. So different and beautiful. The taller Russian bent over slowly as the ambitious American reached up and their lips connected like a ghost of a touch. Then firmer as they wound closer. The pale man was warmed invariably by the sunny colony tenderly embracing him. His cold hands carded through blonde unruly locks of hair that he wanted so badly to know the warmth of. They pulled away before the frozen empire could melt into the kiss. There was so much sunshine around him. Not the light of Enlightenment, Europeanization, the sun, or summer. No, Alfred gave Ivan the sunshine of life. The Russian slowly began to smile until Alfred laughed at his rusty expression. He loved that free jingle, he decided, he would smile all the time to hear that heartening sound.

Ivan only barely caught his fast beating heart as it fell out of his chest. The blood stained his pristine white sleeves. Alfred's blue eyed clouded over and grew watery and Ivan readied himself to cringe at the fear he was sure would come. Then, to their surprise, the American laid a small kiss to the organ and carefully put it back in the Russian's chest. No further words were spoken that night. Just one more kiss before staring at the moon knowing their closeness that felt so right would be gone soon. The feeling that was so strange and wonderful and despairing and intriguing and indescribable would come to an end before its rise to climax.

William Penn departed thinking much to himself about the strangeness of Russia, much as Alfred was, before seeing off the colony that had come to see him. Though he tried to speak sense to Penn there was naught but grunts in response. He found nothing of interest in Alfred's words and paid his voyage back for the morning after. Thus ended the beautiful meeting that began a tumultuous relationship neither would forget. "Goodbye, friend Jones, have a safe return."

Years later, when Washington led Americans against British soldiers on American soil for Independence and Catherine the Great was Tsar over Russia, all the world was spinning for the newly deigned United Stated of America. But never once did he need search for comfort during the hardships. Only France helped his cause openly and the world seemed against him. But one other, he knew, held him dear. Ivan Braginsky, Russian Empire. Dear Tsar Catherine kept neutral trade with them through the whole war. A blessing on them. Then, during the times he was physically ripped in two from within during the Civil War, Russia did not attack him. No one did. He did not see his far removed friend again until World War 1 when again the world was plunged into chaos. But they were still the same humans behind the nations.