Not on drugs

A/N – Hello my dear readers! So, this fic is basen on a RusAme prompt I asked from my fellow author Elizelutus. The prompt was that Ivan and Alfred make a bet and the loser has to do whatever the winner wants. However, I got drunk on some good ol' Romanian wine and then stumbled over the song Not on drugs, by Tove Lo. And this 'grand idea' was the result… Also, we all know Ivan is a bit of a sorcerer, don't we?

"One day, someone will hug you so tightly that all your broken pieces will fall into place and you'll be whole again"

-Unknown author-

Ivan always sat there, in the back of the spacious lecture hall, his very presence an unspoken challenge. Unspoken because the Russian with eyes the color of the spring violets and a creepy-sexy smile always on his lips never made it openly. No need though, since pretty much everything he did was a challenge to Alfred's status as one of the university's top students, soccer player and overall popular guy. The ashen blond had a mysterious charm, residing most in the cards he seemed to have hidden up his sleeves, like a sorcerer of sorts.

"Do you really want to challenge me?"

In the back of his mind the American wondered if his sudden question - as he stood by Ivan's desk with his back straight and a stern expression – wasn't by any chance rather out of context, but his friends had pushed the matter and he wasn't going to back down. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. Or something…

Ivan looked up from his course notes slowly, showing no actual surprise but a fleeting expression of intrigue as he took in the other from head to toe. It didn't last long though, before melting into a wider smile than usual, the creepiness replaced by amusement. He shrugged his shoulders, nodding.

"Why not?"

Alfred fought back a smug smirk. If the Russian came up with the challenge – and lost – it would have been an even sweeter victory. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Well? Anything you'd like to bet on maybe?" A bet was good – he figured – there would be some sort of stake involved as well. That would make things more interesting, right?

The other continued to smile, even as he looked thoughtful, pondering on the suggestion. Ivan's fingers, which the blue-eyed blond was seeing up close for the first time, longer and thinner than he'd ever thought they were, toyed with the nondescript pen making it dance on top of the notebook.

"Da, for example I bet you can't resist..."

The words, spoken in that always so strikingly soft voice, nearly caught Alfred by surprise, enthralled as he'd suddenly found himself by other's insignificant gesture.

"What?"

"Me."

The blue-eyed blond blinked, unsure if he'd heard right. But he had, and the Russian sat there perfectly still, perfectly calm, his slight smile unfaltering. Suddenly he had the frightening suspicion that Ivan could read all the dark, horrible and carefully concealed secrets Alfred always kept locked behind that brilliant smile everyone loved, everyone but himself, because he knew it to be a lie. Maybe Ivan could also read the weakness which came with it, too.

"What…. You're saying that what, you could make me… like you, if you wanted? Just like that?" His voice shook the slightest bit as he spoke and the American inwardly slapped himself for it.

The ashen blond seemed to find the somewhat prudish choice of words quite entertaining, because his smile grew even wider, to the point he playfully bit his lower lip.

"Da, I could make you. Want to bet on that?"

A rather weird and passive challenge on Alfred's behalf, exceedingly simple in appearance. Or was it? It triggered some unwanted thoughts, fears… and his inner voice whispered words of doubt. When had he ever resisted anything? But then again, maybe he didn't even have to resist per say, just stuff down. Yeah, he thought bitterly, stuffing stuff down was something he was used to, something he could totally pull off.

"Okay," the American said simply, wishing he'd had Ivan's permanent self-assuredness. "We'll bet on that if it's the best you can think of," he added ironically.

"Da. One week?"

"Dude, you're in for a big disappointment, but fine, have it your way, I guess. And I'll give you, say, two weeks?" Alfred offered with a disbelieving smirk.

The Russian nodded, then turned his attention to his notes, still smiling. "If you win, I do whatever you want," he said softly. "But if I win… then it won't be a big disappointment, da?"

There was suddenly a fleeting thought that this was not fair… Ivan already knew all the right words, what to say to make him react, why? Why, how did he already know?

It was a late autumn day, just like any other really, dead leaves swept by the harsh wind dancing on the cold concrete steps – now empty because everyone had already left, the classes being long over – but Alfred still sat there, uncharacteristically alone and grim. He was chilled to the bone and it seemed to have gripped his heart too, while he sat motionless, clutching his books to his chest because he needed something – anything - to hold on to.

There was a fading bruise clumsily hidden with foundation under the rim of his spectacles – which thankfully had gone unnoticed by his friends - because he'd dared point to his father that his new wife, Francine and her son Matthew were taking up all his time, leaving none for Alfred. He was cold inside and out, and bitter with rejection, because he'd been sitting there too long, fruitlessly brooding over his misfortune. He was shivering almost visibly, making a constant effort to blink back the tears which kept threatening to spill.

And then, suddenly, some unseen hands wrapped a white woolen scarf around his neck, in a gesture so tender it felt like an embrace. But before Alfred could recover from the shock of it and turn around, the hands were gone and he was alone again. The soft fabric was there nevertheless, warm with the warmth of another under his surprised fingers, scented faintly with an alluring mixture of smoke and lavender. And he would have recognized that scarf anywhere.

Music pumping in his veins with a will of its own, Alfred swayed to the rhythm numbed by alcohol. It was such a welcomed feeling in the middle of his own personal hell, however short-lived and fake, a feeling of freedom. The blue-eyed blond mingled with the crowd as he danced, giving himself to the music entirely. It wasn't like he was alone – his friends were there – but it was one of those moments in which Alfred felt himself separated from the rest of the world by a thick glass wall which he was unable to break because he was unable to open his mouth and tell the truth.

A certain Russian happened to be there as well and even in his drunken haze Alfred could not shift his focus off him, not even when he closed his eyes. Because his gut feeling told him that Ivan would understand everything, he would know even without being told. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore and stumbled, pushing his way towards the exit. He needed to breathe.

Alfred rushed out of the club into the fresh night air, trying to clear his head. It was freezing cold and almost a rainstorm by the looks of it, but he abandoned himself to the biting wind and the icy rain nevertheless, allowing it to whip across his cheeks, sting his closed eyelids and mingle with his tears.

"Are you alright, my friend?"

Ivan's large hand rested on his shoulder and the American turned slowly, shaking the wet hair out of his eyes and squinting behind equally wet glasses while his lips formed a silent, choked 'no'.

The ashen blond drew closer, facing the other fully as his hand left his shoulder to cup the side of his face instead. The warm, soft thumb moved gently to wipe the moisture off one cold cheek. "You don't look too well, da. Did you… take anything?" he asked, violet eyes slightly wide with genuine concern.

And again Ivan was way too close and Alfred was unable to draw a proper breath and compose himself. After which his mouth decided to get way ahead of his brain.

"No, fuck no!" he shook his head as vigorously as he could without losing his balance. "I'm not on drugs, I'm just… just in lo-" the blue-eyed blond cut himself off brusquely, eyes wide with the horror of his own words before heavy lids fell, bringing darkness. No, he wouldn't even think of such a thing!

It was like a jolt of electricity when he felt first the tip of Ivan's nose brushing against his and then warm lips pressing ever so gently on his own. It was not real.

You're drunk Alfred, not to mention crazy and this is totally not happening! No way in fucking hell you're going to let this-

But then Ivan pulled him even closer, pressed flat against his strong chest with one natural, fluid motion of his arm and the kiss deepened. It was right, and Alfred wrapped his arms around the ashen blond's neck as they kissed with an odd sense of entitlement, as if they simply belonged to each other.

"It's alright, zaychik moy," the Russian murmured against the blue-eyed blond's lips as the other still trembled slightly and took hold of one of Alfred's hands, just to press it against his own chest. "It's alright."

"T-Take me away from here, Ivan…"

He didn't even know when they stumbled back to Ivan's moonlight-bathed dorm, both of them soaked and stopping to kiss nearly every other step. Alfred's giddiness only grew with a mixture of fear and anticipation as the door was hastily closed behind them and Ivan's lips hungrily nipped at his jaw and his throat, blindly guiding him towards the bed.

His drenched jacket was peeled off, quickly followed by his t-shirt and soon all of their clothing was discarded in a messy pile on the floor. Ivan carefully took off the American's glasses and placed them folded on the nightstand before resuming his heated kiss, then captured his hands and pushed him onto the soft mattress, pinning them on either side of his head.

Then the Russian paused, taking a moment just to caress the other with a longing gaze – his damp hair, now ruffled in a messy-sexy way, those gorgeous blue eyes squinting slightly, the cheeks flushed an enticing shade of red, like a ripe fruit, and further down, that amazing expanse of sun-kissed skin stretched over taut muscles.

The fresh sheets were pleasantly cool and smelled of lavender, just like Ivan himself, and Alfred relished the feeling of skin on skin, that vulnerable closeness which for once he didn't find frightening. The Russian playfully pecked his nose, then his lips, after which his mouth traveled south determinedly, teasingly kissing and nipping at his lover's skin. His skilled tongue circled each nipple in turn, all previous rush seemingly forgotten, then slowly traced the toned muscles of Alfred's torso all the way to his navel. Ivan's thumbs rubbed his hipbones along with his other ministrations, making the blue-eyed blond's body arch off the mattress and more into his mouth.

Alfred's hands were resting shyly onto the ashen blond's broad shoulders, fingers barely resisting the urge to dig into the other's flesh hard enough to draw blood as Ivan's tongue toyed with his belly button before the Russian finally turned his attention to his throbbing need. Soft lips engulfed the leaking tip, eliciting a rather loud moan, to which the ashen blond raised his head and tsked.

"Shhhhh… be quiet now. We don't want to ruin Edelstein's beauty sleep, da…" he said, muffling an amused snort against Alfred's thigh.

The American relaxed some more at the joke, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, but didn't have the time to dwell on the potentially mood-ruining thought of Roderich Edelstein's proximity or of whatever other annoying dorm neighbors Ivan might have had, because he was taken in the other's mouth again and his mind went blank. His fingers found purchase in Ivan's hair and he helplessly bucked his hips, craving a faster rhythm as tension began to build in his lower abdomen.

But the Russian was cruelly taking his time, sucking and swallowing, and tongue meticulously teasing Alfred's cock, forcing him to shove his own fist into his mouth and bite back his cries. It wasn't long before he pulled back altogether, releasing the throbbing flesh with a sensual pop and scooting back up to reach for the drawer of his nightstand.

The blue-eyed blond then found himself rolled face down on the bed, while Ivan picked up a larger pillow and placed it under his stomach. Soft kisses dotted his arched spine from the back of his neck all the way to his tail bone, distracting and partly easing the sudden tension he felt when a slicked finger gently pushed past his entrance, soon followed by another. The remaining tension rapidly turned into impatience when his prostate was reached and he pushed his hips back.

Only he wasn't momentarily given more, instead Ivan's warm body was pressed into his back and the lobe of his ear playfully bitten and tugged at. "There we go, zaychik moy," the Russian whispered soothingly against his mouth, hardly allowing any sound to escape from his lover as he gradually eased himself in and settled into a slow but steady rhythm of thrusts.

The angle was just right and Alfred muffled his ever growing moans into the pillow as his sweet spot was repeatedly hit, his mind filled with nothing else but the breathtaking pleasure of having Ivan's wonderful body inside and around him, making him feel truly alive for the first time.

A while later, still panting slightly, Ivan rolled his lover on his back and brushed a few golden strands now damp with sweat, away from his forehead before pressing a soft kiss there.

"Me too, zaychik moy," he murmured softly, gathering the blue-eyed boy protectively in his arms.

THE END

zaychik moy – my bunny (if Google translate hasn't messed with me)