I honestly can't believe this hasn't been written before. :DDD I mean, it's just so Alfred isn't it…I dunno, this is such a random oneshot. But more RusAme fluff is always a good thing, right? Especially since I'm planning on starting a long, angst, post-apocalyptic story after I finish Psychotic Release Syndrome. So enjoy the fluff while it lasts…
The toys are Transformers tie-ins because I'm uncreative.
The coffee table in America's living room is so laden with food that Russia is shocked that it didn't splinter. Somewhere between fifty and one hundred colored boxes sit on the polished food, edges already damp with grease.
He sighs and folds his long coat over the arm of one of America's couches. This was going to take a long while.
America loads the last stack of boxes on the table and straightens up and mock dusts off his hands, proud that he had stacked the massive amount of McDonald's Happy Meals without collapse.
He turns to the tall Russian next to him, grabbing both of Ivan's hands and leading him to the couch. They both sit and sink into the soft red, white, and blue cushions, Alfred instantly sidling up to Ivan and rubbing their thighs together.
"Are you ready, big guy?"
Ivan eyes roam about the waiting pile of greasy food on the table. He puts his hand on Alfred's leg, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jeans.
"I question why we had to go to several different restaurants."
Alfred leans up and slides an arm over Ivan's shoulders, smiling brightly, nearly bursting from his excitement.
"Dude! Obviously the same restaurant isn't going to have all of the ones we need! There's like a weird schedule where they alternate the toys for the different places. If you want to get all of them, you have to go to different places!"
Ivan reaches an arm out to snake around Alfred's waist, pulling him closer.
"I do not think the people who worked there were used to such a large order."
"Dude, it's alright!" He waves off Ivan's concern, "The teenagers who work there know me real well! I go to those places all the time!"
"I am quite sure they do. I am sure that every single individual who works at every fast food restaurant in your country knows you. As well as several of those in Moscow, as you always insist on frequenting them whenever there is a conference in Russia."
"Yeah!" America wraps an arm around Ivan's waist, "And you love it when I take you along! I know you do!"
Ivan sighs, but it is a happy sigh as he puts his other arm around Alfred in return.
"Da. I suppose that I do."
Alfred leans up and nuzzles the space between Ivan's jaw and his scarf, allowing them both a tender moment. Ivan presses cool lips to the American's brow.
"You ready to do this, Vanya?" Alfred pulls away a little and looks up, grinning brightly.
"Da, мой цветок. But I am warning you, I shall be expecting something in return."
"Huh? What do you— ah— " Ivan lets his hands travel down a little more to squeeze Alfred's hip. The American blushes, pulling back from Ivan's neck and giving a little distance between them.
"God, you're a pervert. I swear, sometimes you're worse than Francis. You can't keep your hands off of me, can ya?"
Ivan smirks and lifts his hand from around Alfred's waist after giving once last pinch to his hip.
"I can't help it," Ivan gives him a fond smile, "I find you utterly adorable."
Alfred begins to partition out the stacks of Happy Meals.
"No way! Not adorable! I'm a guy! I'm not adorable, I'm a total stud."
Ivan pats him on the head as America eagerly begins to open the first cardboard box.
"Da, but you see? Compared to me, my size and my age, you are quite cute."
Alfred rolls his eyes and ignores him, taking a ravenous bite of the first burger. With the burger hanging out of his mouth, he digs around into the box until he pulls out a slightly greasy plastic bag decorated with colorful pictures.
Stuffing the rest of the burger into his mouth, he tears open the bag and pulls out the cheap, brightly colored lump of plastic vaguely shaped into a humanoid.
"I'm afraid I failed to ask you what exactly we are 'collecting' here. Are they mere clumps of plastic?" Ivan asks as Alfred grins and plays with the toy's adjustable arms.
"Dude, they're Transformers! Obviously. And I totally have to collect all of them."
"Or else?"
"Or else? I dunno. Or else the Decepticons win. And the terrorists. Yeah, this is a mission of national security."
Ivan smiles and rests his chin in his hand, watching his darling set aside the toy and dig into another Happy Meal.
"You are very cute when you are babbling, my sunflower."
Alfred lets the mention of "cute" slide, too engrossed in stuffing his face with greasy meat to pay Ivan much notice.
Soon America has set a steady pace, going through the cycle of burger consuming, plastic bag ripping, and french fry guzzling.
"Crap. Another Bumblebee." Alfred carelessly tosses the toy into the large yellow pile on the floor next to him. Ivan casts a glance to the various, ever growing piles of "duplicate" toys. What were going to happen to the rejects? Ivan knew that Alfred would probably throw them all away. But recently America had become more Earth conscious, so perhaps he would recycle the lumps of plastic. He had been doing that with almost anything, recently. He had even begun to keep some of Ivan's old vodka bottles, insisting that they could be used for something and shouldn't just be thrown away to clutter landfills especially since, according to Alfred, "glass totally takes like, a quadrillion years to decompose, dude."
"Vanya," Alfred speaks around a hamburger, spraying crumbs all over, "What's up? You haven't even started on yours yet."
Alfred had partitioned a third of the mound of Happy Meals in front of Ivan, where they had remained untouched at the coffee table. Ivan glances at the waiting stack in front of him, his stomach curled. Though he is capable of eating large amounts of food, the thought of choking down an almost unending amount of America's favorite burgers makes his insides turn.
Speaking of "choking"—
Halfway through his twelfth burger Alfred pauses, making a hacking noise, grabbing at his throat.
Not even missing a beat, Ivan reaches over and smacks him hard on the back with a large hand, causing Alfred to choke up the offending, mushy piece of meat.
"Wow, you're fast!" Alfred gasps out, wiping his hands on one of the cheap paper napkins. Ivan sighs and rubs Alfred's back.
"I have had many instances in which to practice." He smiles fondly and leans in, pecking Alfred briefly on the lips. Predictably, he tastes of hamburgers. But Ivan has already become thoroughly endeared to the taste.
Undaunted by his choking episode, Alfred returns to scarfing down the burgers with gusto, tearing open the toy bags, occasionally yelping happily as he comes across a new one. Ivan slowly begins to wrap one of his own burgers, wondering why Alfred insists on eating the food first and then looking at the toys.
It continues on as such for awhile, as Alfred steadily depleted his pile, Ivan barely finishing a burger in the time it took the American to demolish five. Occasionally Ivan would lean down and attempt to pick up the discarded, greasy wrappers, but soon gave up on the ever growing layer of paper covering the floor.
"Okay!" Alfred slaps his hands together, momentarily taking a break from his eating binge. He shifts through the toys sitting on the coffee table, examining the back of one of the cardboard boxes for reference. Alfred smiles and pumps his fist enthusiastically.
"Alright! Vanya, dude, we've only got one left!"
His goal so close in sight, Alfred sets about demolishing the rest of the meals with an increased zeal, if that was even possibe. Ivan unwraps his fourth burger, first searching the box for the toy, only to find that it is one that they have at least seven duplicates of.
Alfred dabs a handful of fries into one of the containers of ketchup and shoves them in his mouth, grease and red sauce smeared over his lips and chin. Ivan sighs and makes a move for one of the napkins, intending to clean off his dorogoy's face, only to find that Alfred has gone through all of them in what must be a record time. Setting down the nibbled on burger, Ivan rises, moving to the kitchen.
He grabs a thick stack of napkins from one of the cupboards, not knowing how much longer Alfred will be working on his little "mission of national security."
Ivan almost drops the napkins when he hears a loud "woop" from the adjacent room.
"Fredka?" Ivan questions as he steps back into the living room. Was Alfred choking again?
But no, Alfred had stood up, face and shirt smeared with ketchup and some other liquids Ivan didn't dare identify, a stray pickle stuck to his collar, triumphantly holding the long sought after, brightly colored toy in one hand. He looks so exuberant, holding the toy up as if he had just won a prize, that Ivan just had to giggle.
He walks over to Alfred, slowly clapping his hands, the sound muffled by his thick gloves. Alfred looks up at the noise and smiles as brightly and widely as he possibly can.
"I am very proud of you for completing your goal, dorogoy. But you must sit down after eating so much, da?" He eases the smiling American back down onto the couch, plucking the pickle slice from his collar and folding it into one of the napkins. "If you move around too much, you will make yourself sick."
Not that sitting down would do them much good at this point. Ivan knows that even if he got Alfred to stop squirming, in a few mere minutes Alfred would be clinging at him and crawling into his lap and whining about his stomach ache and pestering Ivan to rub it until he felt better. And, albeit grudgingly, Ivan would always comply, to "help the digestion process," as Alfred said, although Ivan knew that it was simply because he wanted someone else's comfort in his gluttony. And Ivan would eventually get up and bring Alfred some soda water to help settle his stomach, like a mother would. There was still a massive amount of meals sitting on the table, which Ivan would have to wrap up and pack into the already overstuffed fridge while Alfred curled on the couch to watch reality TV. No doubt Alfred would then insist on them cuddling up together in one of Alfred's thick comforters, and Ivan would be forced to watch whatever bizarre show Alfred decided upon for the rest of the night to keep him happy. Yes, all too often Ivan felt like Alfred's parent, caring for trivial little problems while the larger issues remained hidden and only came out with some coaxing, and more often than not, some tears. Occasionally, it frustrated Ivan that Alfred only came to him for help with the small issues of stomachaches and colds and homesickness when he came to stay at his house in Russia.
Yet when Alfred smiled and hugged him after his ache went away and told Ivan that it was all because of him and his "awesome Commie belly rub," he can't help but smile back and give his flower a little kiss on the forehead and remember that it wasn't so bad to be Mother Russia.
OH GOD THE FLUFF IT IS SO FLUFFY I AM GOING TO DIE.
As you can see, I like to make Alfred cute most of the time. I think that's pretty well within his character. It's also why I can never see him as the dominant one in a relationship...or as the suave ultra-seme...he's just too adorable.