Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.
Title: A Long Winter.
Summary: When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.
Pairings: America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, unrequited Belarus/Russia, unrequited Prussia/America.
Chapter I: America's Shadow
America has a conflict with Russia and believes he is being stalked.
Bright, oceanic blue eyes blinked behind the lenses that were slipping down the bridge of a nose. Fingers absentmindedly darted up to force them back to their rightful place. He coughed lightly and turned his head away pointedly, attempting to pretend to be interested in the presentation that was taking place at the front of the room. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to sit all the way in the back today, but now he was regretting it due to the intense scrutinization that he was currently being put through. The longer he felt the gaze burning into the side of his face, the more pronounced the angry furrow in his brow became.
His lips curled in a snarl, and he felt himself become agitated with the attention, as surprising as it seemed. Attention-lover America was feeling heavily uncomfortable from the stare coming from across the table. It was getting to the point that he couldn't take it any longer without speaking his mind.
England jumped in mid-rant about his presentation of European issues, alarmed, and watched as his ex-colony abruptly slammed his chair backwards into the wall creating a sizable dent, slapping his gloved palms against the surface of the conference table.
"What?! What the hell do you want?!" America roared, his eyes narrowed in pure disgust at the calm, unfazed person seated just opposite him.
Russia had that small smile on his face, as always, and he visibly brightened at the waves of anger that poured off of the other nation. His violet orbs, which had been engrossed in studying the American during the entire meeting, never parted from the other's. He offered no reply; he simply toyed with the edge of his scarf bashfully. He was as unreadable as ever.
"America, what is the meaning of this?!" England exclaimed, placing his hands upon his hips and sending an annoyed glare down at the younger nation. "I hope you have a very good reason for interrupting the meeting in this barbaric manner!"
"Yeah," America began with a hiss, stabbing a finger in the direction of the nonchalant Russia, "this bastard won't stop staring at me. I won't sit here and deal with it for the rest of the meeting." America felt threatened, and from his already terrible day, this just wouldn't do. He was well out of his comfort zone.
England sighed, long and tiredly. "If you cannot behave yourself, you may leave."
The other nations turned their heads to watch the exchange.
"Fine, I will." America huffed and without another glance at those who were gawking at him, he stormed out of the room. Fuming, he thought over the events of his day and wondered how much worse it could become. He knew he was acting rather eccentric in the presence of the countries of the world, but he found he couldn't control it. If one more person did something to upset him... he knew there would be one less country in the world, courtesy of his own hand. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
He stalked down the hallway, fully intending on leaving the building and returning to his hotel room, which was a mere five minutes' walk from the conference. He clenched his fists until the material of his gloves protested audibly. "Stupid day... I just want to sleep it off. Maybe things will be better tomorrow..."
America burst out of the building into the winter chill of Europe. A breeze swept past him, reminding him that he had forgotten to bundle up warmly when leaving this morning. He shivered slightly and turned his head from one way to the other to insure that it was safe to cross the road. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he lifted his chin and stared up into the darkening sky. His eyes slipped shut while his feet carried him over the icy sidewalk with light, careful treads. He took care not to slip on the frozen water and possibly embarrass himself in front of German onlookers within the streets of Berlin... again.
He collided bodily with a misplaced brick wall and gasped, his eyes flying open. He flailed his arms wildly to regain his balance, but it was fruitless. His feet slipped on the ice below him. He felt himself falling backwards and braced himself for impact and another painful bruise on his backside. However, after seconds of not moving, he realized that something was preventing him from tumbling to the ground. He blinked confusedly up at his savior, almost unable to make out the blurry figures around him. His glasses had flown from his face and skittered across the ground somewhere.
"Amerika, you need to be more attentive when you walk," Russia chirped at him, his strong arms wrapped securely and tightly around the blond man's waist. His lips were curved in his mysterious little smile, and he beamed down at him.
America opened and closed his mouth a few times to mimic a fish, torn between wanting to demand that he be released and wanting to ask why the hell Russia had caught him. He furrowed his brow, settling on his tried-and-true method. "Well, Russia, you need to watch where you choose to stand uselessly," he retorted angrily. He could feel that intense, violet stare upon him once again, and he squirmed in discomfort.
Any other person would have dropped their smile and maybe glared, but Russia only smiled wider. "Where are you going?"
America let out a breath, watching it form from his lips and dissipate above their heads. "My hotel room."
"You are not going to continue attending conference?"
"I would," America growled, pushing at the unyielding body attached to him, "but it seems that a certain someone won't stop fucking staring at me."
"Why does it bother you so?" Russia tilted his head to the side, genuine curiosity obvious in his facial features. "I thought Amerika loves attention, da?"
"Sure, I love attention, but not from you," he spat out. His efforts to escape the man's embrace proved to be useless no matter how hard he pushed. "Let me go already, man!"
"I will allow you to stand if you will come back to meeting." It was a simple yet curious request, and Russia appeared innocent enough.
America paused, narrowing his eyes in distrust. "Why?"
"I do not wish for you to leave so early," Russia replied, smiling. He leaned forward so that his nose barely brushed the other nation's. "I only wish to observe."
The blond man felt a biting terror creeping up his spine. Russia wanted to observe him? For what reason? He shook it off, and forced a grin on his face despite how uncomfortable he felt with the large man's proximity. "Well, yeah, dude, everyone wants to watch me in action. It's only natural, after all!"
Russia smirked. "Then...?"
"I guess I'll go back," he conceded reluctantly. Though he loathed to admit it, he should not be missing the meeting in the first place.
"Wonderful," the silvery-haired, towering man exclaimed. He released America from his embrace, marveling at the way he missed the tendrils of warmth that had seeped through his heavy beige coat. He glanced down at his gloved hands while America snatched his glasses from where they had landed, spun away from him, and began marching back to the conference room with false cheerfulness. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shadowed the other man silently.
When America slipped back into the conference room in the middle of England's presentation, interrupting it for the second time that day, he received an embarrassing scolding once more.
"America, please decide if you would like to stay or leave," England barked, ignoring the fact that Russia had done the exact same thing and seated himself in his chair silently.
"Yeah, yeah," America trailed off, reclaiming his seat across from the intimidating Russian man, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. For the rest of the meeting, he was silent and lost in the recesses of his mind. He thought back to when he woke up that morning and clutched his stomach when it rumbled in remembrance. He didn't think that day would try his patience as much as it has, but clearly he was wrong. From waking up late and forgetting to eat breakfast to slipping on a patch of ice and falling on his ass in front of a crowd of amused people, he was amazed he hadn't snapped and broken something yet. Glumly, he stared at the wall behind England's head, wishing for something to eat to rid himself of the hunger pangs.
Russia's head was resting upon his hands, propped up by his elbows, and he stared unblinkingly at the blond a few feet away from him. He could feel the nations around him glancing at him from time to time and radiating discomfort from the way he refused to take his eyes off America. However, they were smart and said nothing about it. Nobody was brave enough to say anything against the potentially violent and unstable nation.
He traced the striking features of the strong and handsome America. He took in the unruly blond locks, especially the tuft that jutted upwards from the middle of his parted hair. Those oceanic blue eyes were hypnotizing, even during the times when they were glaring with absolute disgust into his own. That long, pale neck made Russia gulp in a breath of air. His cheeks felt slightly warm. His mind was wandering, and he was unsure of how to think of these unfamiliar thoughts about America. He sunk down into his scarf to hide his blush.
Before long, England concluded his presentation with a flourish, and the gathered countries began dispersing for the day. This was the final meeting for the month, so everyone was free to return home to their own countries.
England, France, Germany, Italy, Prussia, America, and Russia lingered behind.
"How vould you feel about joining me for a drink before you leave mein country?" Germany asked the group, folding his hands behind his back and relaxing his features a bit. "I know ein wunderbar place near here zhat serves some of zhe best beer you vill ever taste. It also has music und dancing." He was given positive replies from everyone but Russia, who ignored him and simply remained sitting in his chair. He shrugged at the silent nation and gestured for the others to follow him so he could escort them to the location he was referring to.
America pumped his fist in the air and smirked. "Man, I'm totally going to meet a ton of chicks tonight and drink myself into a stupor! Who's with me, yo?!"
The others cheered and laughed along with him, their noise fading more and more as they made their exit.
Russia twitched.
When the men arrived at the club, several were unsure of what to expect. After all, the countries all have different ways of spending their free time. America, however, was stoked, having spent more than enough of his time in and out of pubs, bars, and clubs. He was a party man, and he loved being around other people and letting himself go.
America entered through the heavy double doors at the entrance and grinned at the sight that greeted him. Strobe lights danced wildly in all directions in time with the pounding music that sent pleasurable vibrations through his body. Numerous people danced together in the center of the room, and snippets of laughter and conversation floated towards them through the bass. Tables and chairs littered the areas around the dance floor, and a well-stocked, lit-up bar with a flashing neon sign was against the wall to their right. Some patrons were seated there, sipping at their alcoholic beverages and conversing with the bartenders.
"Man, this looks so awesome!" America raised his voice to be heard over the music. He glanced from side to side to gauge the other nations' reactions.
France was whispering in England's ear and gesturing towards the dance floor. England blushed and furrowed his thick brow before consenting and taking the Frenchman's hand. He was led down the stairs, and they disappeared into the depths of the crowd.
Germany patted Italy's head; he was looking rather sick and dizzy from the lights and noise. The tall blond man took him to a table to he could rest and become accustomed to the new and unfamiliar atmosphere.
Prussia winked at America in agreement and sidled up to the nearest group of girls. He leaned into their personal spaces, no doubt asking if they wanted to see his "five meters," making almost every single one of them break out into giggles and blushes.
Now alone, America shrugged and looked towards the bar. He refused to do anything without some alcohol in his system. He was stopped by Germany's call for beer, and he turned his head, calling back, "I'll get you some. Hang on a sec'!" He continued his trek to an empty bar stool He seated himself upon it and picked up a drink menu. America was assaulted with an assortment of German words and phrases, and he grunted in annoyance. He barely managed to gather together what little he knew of the German language and picked out what he recognized as "beer" in the mess scrawled in front of him. Thankfully, some of the bartenders spoke English, so he was saved the embarrassment of stuttering out in poor German what he wanted. He nodded his head towards Germany's table and order a round of beers for him and the Italian man that leaned heavily upon him.
For himself, he grudgingly decided upon vodka. When it arrived in front of him, he picked it up and sniffed. He had smelled that exact scent earlier, when Russia had caught him. Shaking such thoughts from his head, he downed the shot glass. He rested his arms heavily upon the surface of the bar and stared into his glass, nodding his head to a question of if he wanted another shot. He watched as it was refilled, feeling his stress start to ebb away. The music was infectious, America realized, and began swaying his head to the beat. Picking up the shot glass, he emptied it into his mouth and slammed it down upon the bar enthusiastically. A few drinks later, he swiveled around on his bar stool and observed the crowd, unable to spot England or France in the couples. Little did he know, the two of them were busy "negotiating" in the back alley.
He unsteadily climbed to his feet and took a few steps towards the dance floor. He wasn't sure who to dance with, but he knew he would find someone in there. Grinning in his intoxication, he edged his way through the dancing, writhing bodies. Spotting an attractive female nearby that was dancing on her own, he reached an arm out to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. Before he could, a gloved hand shot out and guided his arm away from her. He suddenly felt a body behind him. He shivered at an unexpected chill that swept past him despite the heat from all the movement around him. The gloved hand dropped his arm and trailed up to his neck, wrapping loosely around it. A pair of soft, somewhat chapped lips pressed against the side of his exposed neck and planted a gentle kiss there.
America gasped at the stranger's audacity and swung his head around to see who was kissing his neck so he could demand an explanation. Dumbfounded, he saw that there was nobody behind him. He spun around and turned his head to see if he could spot anyone retreating that looked suspicious. To his absolute confusion, every person was wrapped up with dancing partners and groups.
He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling more than a little afraid at the possibility of an apparition. He bit at his lower lip and his blue eyes darted towards Germany and Italy. They were no longer at their table. He nearly jumped out of his skin when two hands landed on his hips and forced them to sway while their owner did the same with its own hips. The lips returned to his neck and brushed against his pale, sweaty skin.
Once again, America turned his head and found nobody behind him. The fear had overtaken him, and he rushed out of the crowd and back to the bar. He ordered another shot of vodka, hoping to ease his jumbled nerves. That chill he had felt earlier curled around him once again, and he felt eyes burning into the back of his head. Shooting to his feet, he frantically searched for his observer.
Beyond stressed with this situation, America decided it was time to leave. He couldn't handle whoever was teasing him... if anyone actually was. Ghosts scared him shitless, and he would not torture himself further by staying. He assumed that all of the other nations were either dancing and lost in the masses or busy with other matters, so he shrugged to himself and took his leave.
He was feeling a bit dizzy from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and he stumbled over his feet while walking through the snow in the direction he knew his hotel room to be. Passing an alleyway, he was suddenly yanked in and pressed against the crumbling wall of an apartment building. He grunted in pain as his nose was almost smashed on the bricks. His arms were locked in a vice grip behind his back, and someone covered his body with their own. He immediately recognized the chapped lips as they returned to his neck, taking in the skin and sucking on it lightly.
He moaned out despite himself, arching his back.
A hand crept over his thigh and up his side, stroking gently. Teeth raked over the skin that was just sucked on, forcing a violent shudder from America, who was finding himself becoming aroused by this stranger's advances.
Another kiss landed upon his neck, and then there was nothing. America pushed off of the wall and frowned, his brow drawn up in worry. He wondered if he was being haunted by a sexual deviant of a ghost. The idea terrified him, and he took off through the snow, suddenly feeling not so inebriated anymore. He fully intended to crawl under his covers and not come out for the rest of the night.