Title: Trouble Marker

Rating: Mature (Sexual References, foul language, violence)

Pairing: America x Russia (Alfred x Ivan)

Description: What's the best way of dealing with your enemy, trick them into what will be their demise. The issue is, what would you do now after losing your entertainment?

Author's Note: This is an experimental story. I just recently got back into writing Fanfiction, so this is the newest of all the stories. I will must likely take down all the ones before this. There is also Russian Characters in the story, so if there happens to be a mess up, please let me know. They will not be represented by there countries.

The music roared loudly, bodies mingling, the pungent smell of liquor lingering around in the already sweaty, heated air. Nonetheless, the figure continued to weave through the dance floor with ease, so much so, nobody stupid or drunk enough was able to touch him. As he made it across the floor to the table in front of him. There sat a few, intimidating, older men probably twice his age. Not fazed that he made his presence know, but rather appreciative.

"So what brings you here… Braginski?" The eldest of the men spoke, smoking rather hefty, a harsh cough leaving his battered lungs that signaled he only had a few years to live but regardless decided to continue to destroy them. The only two men that sat beside the smoker only stared at the tall russian, obviously his lackeys. "Here to deliver some results." He responded in a deep monotone voice as he stared just as intimidating, violet eyes piercing his soul if he had one, of course.

"You know that wouldn't be the only thing you'd be here for…" And this was true, Ivan wanted more that to deliver the faithful news to the old man, he was destined to take over the business. To become the "head honcho" of what was his grandfather's. But of course he didn't say anything. It wouldn't matter, because the end result was the same, inevitably. The older man let out a weak chuckle, Ivan would never change and that's what reminded him of his grandfather. The very same cold eyes that could kill.

After a rather intense conversation about what was to be private and his inheritance, Ivan resorted to trudging to the back of the club. He was to continue his original plans after his visit but the rainy gray, washed out scene and bustling crowd that flocked the streets definitely deter him from traveling the normal way. The dusty blond turned, walking along the dark alleyway. Which he had preferred to take anyway and it now being way more convenient.

As he continued, he felt a presence, that similar feeling that plagued his nightmares but never had the nerve to address it. Because it was rather exhilarating to feel this same presence be so close and yet so far. Ivan couldn't help but release a soft chuckle underneath his breath. Making a detour from his original route to the open backway between buildings and when he stopped, violet eyes looked up to the swirling clouds of rage. What perfect weather we're having.

"So what's the plan today?" He called out, echoing out rather loud enough for whoever in the area to hear. It would have been mistaken to be empty if a figure, much more smaller and petite compared to the Russian's frame with a light that had glinted off their blue eyes from a distance and a rather smug grin along his face didn't step out. "You know, the usual takeout."

"You know with all these puns. I'd have to assume you're a fatass." He joked rather solemnly, turning to face the American. "I wouldn't put it past you to." The smaller of the two stepped close enough to toss a folder to the other before leaning against the wall. The response he got, was an eyebrow raise and quick yet very uninterested look through the documents handed over.

"You suck at your job…"

"And why is that?" There was an eyebrow raise, waiting for the insult to follow. "Because this doesn't apply to me.."

"I wouldn't be too quick to say that-..."

And just like that, rather on time, there was a few ticking noises that followed and was loud enough to echo throughout the alleyway. But as soon as it stopped, the was a bright shine of light from the direction they walked from. A gust of air followed and a loud booming noise. Just like that, there was debris and rubble that took the building's place, the same building that contain what use to be the old smoking man and his lackeys.

The Russian's eyes widen, "What the fuck-"

"I took care of the issue"

Ivan snapped his attention back to the American before charging at him, gripping at his neck and raising him high enough off the ground. "You've destroyed my progress…" His grip tighten, causing Alfred to gag but not resist the clenching of the male, instead the was a glint from behind his back. Where the American made an attempt to slash at the Russian's arm, causing it to bleed and a tear along the trench coat. This caused Ivan to drop him rather harshly and as Alfred got to his feet, he wiped the bit of blood that escaped his lips, off.

"Good guy my ass…"

"Now who said that, I'm just as bad… Maybe even worse"

Alfred ran towards him, knife still in hand and swinging motion in attempts to make more bloody damage. Yet not making much more progress, Ivan dodging most, if not all the knife blade's attempts. This was the sixth encounter where Alfred tried to ruffle Ivan's feathers and yet, even if he had killed his main source of power, Ivan stayed rather cool than most.

It must of been the russian. Alfred thought to himself, still trying to make an indent anywhere on his enemy. What he didn't anticipate to happen next was the sudden tackle to the ground where he ended up underneath the russian in what was to be his last moments. The russian's eyes glazed over in what was to be an impenetrable state in which Ivan wouldn't care what Alfred had to say, he wouldn't be able to hear him anyway.

The knife still in his hand, didn't hesitate to stab Ivan in his shoulder. There was a surge of pain and adrenaline, the rain still pouring and now rather harshly across the figures that laid in the alleyway opening. Yet in those moments, Ivan stared down at Alfred, breathing rather heavily. Mainly to do with him handling the adrenaline high but Alfred stared up at him, eyes large and more lost than he'd ever remember being.

No, this definitely isn't like before. He's never stabbed a guy, he never laid in the position where he could die right on him. He could have easily slid from underneath and went on, but something was definitely wrong. It definitely didn't help that Ivan was still staring, more of gazing with no focus. He'd only been stabbed one other time and yet it was the first time all over again.

Alfred pulled out his knife that was embedded in the taller male. He just had contact with his crime... and it wasn't exhilarating.

What happened next was that Alfred slid from underneath Ivan and watched as the man he just stabbed fall to his side, his breathing slowing and eyes dilating. Alfred watched with intensity, almost like a child who accidently hurt their other sibling to the extreme and there he stood, his adversary bleeding out.

And he should be gone, out of there, and yet he couldn't go.