It was only November, but, as far as Alfred could see, in Russia everything has already been covered in snow. Literally, figuratively – all he could see walking down a Moscow street was white; snow twisting and curling in its flight under the will of a blizzard's wind. Cold pieces of frozen water, mercilessly hitting everything that stood on their way. As he moved forward he could see only faint silhouettes of houses somewhere ahead and several first meters of the road in front of him. He wondered how Russians are able to simply find their way home in such weather. Such a cold country. Cold country in a Cold War, huh, what an irony.
Russia called him in the middle of the night (it was not that late at his place, though) and asked him for a visit. They've been through a lot of official visits already, but this time Russia asked Alfred to be alone.
- Please, I don't want all that stunned faces in front of me again. Only you, - his tone was childish, as always, anticipating, - I have something to show you.
- Sure, - shrugged America, and Russia gave out a soft laughter, as if he could feel his interlocutor shrugging, - how's the weather in Russia? Should I bring an umbrella?
- The usual weather. Just fine.
Alfred cursed. Just fine, eh? His glasses had frozen the first several minutes he spent outside the hotel, so he had to take them off.
The wind wasn't very strong, though, but America managed to get his hood full of snow, it got under his jacket, melting unpleasantly on his skin, making him shudder feverishly. He could no longer feel his face, and rubbed his stunned chin only to find it pricking painfully, as if it had been needled. He cursed again under his breath, his words instantly transformed into vanishing clouds of heat. He tried to hide his face in his furry collar, but it didn't help at all.
- You nasty Russian snow, - murmured America.
- I'm sorry, you're… - rustled a familiar voice behind him.
America nearly jumped from surprise and quickly turned at the sight of a man appearing from the whiteness. His pink scarf flied in the wind, getting tangled with his hands; his hair was just as bright as the snow around. He smiled a wide (a little unnatural) smile at Alfred.
- Oh, America, it's you! What a coincidence! I was just walking home to prepare everything for your arrival.
America couldn't help but shake more watching his enemy. This conversation wasn't as official, as so many previous had been, and somehow, all the other people (bosses, diplomats and others) nearby gave him a feeling of safety. Not that feeling had gone, vanished in the blinding sea of snow. Not that he was afraid, not at all, heroes know no fear! It was just.. a little uncomfortable.
He forced a smile in answer.
- Russia, what a surprise (it sure was)! Nice to meet you.
- I'll walk you to our meeting point then, - said Russia. He quickly reached America's hand and took hold of his elbow.
- You are shivering. Are you cold?
- N-no… I mean yes, but it's nothing…
Russia smirked and (it was unexpected) started to undo his scarf. Each movement revealed more of pale, smooth skin, and America licked his lips, saliva freezing on them.
- I don't really need that, you'll be cold… - said Alfred, rejecting a possibility to take something from his enemy.
- No, you do need it, - said Ivan unexpectedly harshly, but then added in his high childish tone, - I'm used to this weather.
Russia moved closer and gently wrapped America in his scarf, fixing it the way he himself wear it.
- You look like a present. Beautiful box with a ribbon over it. I wonder when I can open you, - said Ivan, tightening the scarf and throwing its sides to cover Alfred's shoulders.
- You're speaking strange things, - said Alfred, embarrassed.
Ivan gave out a soft giggle. He grabbed America's elbow again, firmly, and walked him down the street. The scarf was warm from his owner's breath, and it were small drops of water stained on it's inside, where Ivan's mouth touched it. America pretended to fix it to wipe the drops away.
- So, here we are! – said Russia, turning the lights on. They were in a small apartment, nearly as big as a tenth of Russia's mansion.
- I thought you lived in a… bigger place, - said America, puzzled.
- Oh, it's just a rented flat. I didn't want anyone to bother us, even my friends that live with me.
"Your friends, huh", - thought America, undoing his coat. But when he was about to take the scarf off, Russia stopped him with a quick gesture.
- No, please leave it on. It suits you, - he said in a quiet, intimate tone of voice, as if revealing a secret.
- I think that we should do the business first, so we'll have plenty of time for ourselves, - smiled Russia and grabbed America's arm. They walked through a short corridor, to one of the rooms. Russia opened the door – it was dark inside, and Alfred instinctively backed of a little (this reaction drew another giggle from the other). Russia let America's hand go and clicked the lights on.
Alfred gasped, involuntary bringing his hand to his mouth.
The room was absolutely empty – no furniture, only thick curtains on the windows. In the center on the room there was a man, sitting on a chair. His head was hanging to his chest weakly, but he didn't fall, and Alfred noticed that he was tied to the chair. Blood was dropping from his chin, marking his torn shirt.
- Please come in, America, - said Russia, ready to close the door behind them.
... tbc (I hope) ...